Dear Sui:
Here is my ashtray confession: The year was maybe 1982, the bar was in the Madison Hotel in Washington, DC. I was pretty young at the time, and being from a smaller town I was impressed by its dark wood furniture and heavy red fabrics, along with the fact that Frank Sinatra used to hang out there. I worked as a secretary in the building next door, and sometimes a salesman or two from my company would meet me and another secretary for drinks. Sometimes they would pay; being "older" (28 at least) they were impressive examples of manhood to us.
The bartender's name was Alan. I can still picture his face. I think Johnny Walker Reds were $4 at the time, and I remember smoking Merit Lights and nursing the scotch for at least an hour. $4 was a lot of money, and if you had any class you gave the bartender $1 for a tip.
I did end up sleeping with one of the salesmen a couple of times. My secretary friend did too (a different salesman). Really classy. When I left DC to go to graduate school, I took this ashtray. I don't smoke any more and it is maybe time to pass my young and wild legacy on... Alan if you are still around, cheers!
Michelle
Chicago
My mother saved everything. Lengths of string too long to throw away, too short to be immediately useful; twist ties from bread bags; aluminum foil good enough to be reused. While cleaning out her house in preparation to sell it, I came across these baby teeth, a record of my childhood and that of my 3 siblings.
