As a child born in the early 80s, I was unwaveringly caught up in the madness that swarmed over little girls when the most wonderful thing that ever happened happened:
The New Kids on the Block came around.
I don't mean "came around" like they "came around town." I simply mean that they existed. They existed and they made the music that every single-digit-aged little girl swooned over and HELLO did you SEE Joey McIntyre and Jonathan Knight? I wasn't a Jordan person, clearly.
Anyway, I had a Jonathan Knight poster. It hung on my wall and I loved it and I stared at it, and I loved being in my room because of that poster that my parents bought me when we went to Movie Time one Friday night to rent a movie. That poster also resulted in the assumption that I was in a family much different from the one in which I actually existed.
To all the youngins: You had to actually leave the house and go to a store that rented video tapes. Oh and tapes were these things that you put in a VCU to play your movie. They weren't on discs. Images and sounds were burned onto a tape that wound around 2 heads and if you were Kind, you would Rewind said tapes before returning them to the rental store. There were even these things that re-wound your tapes when you were done watching a million times faster than your VCR and sometimes I exaggerate. My family didn't own one of those b/c we weren't lazy and didn't waste our damn money.
Anyway.
I had a Jonathan Knight poster. On this poster was a phone number you could dial to, you know, talk to the New Kids. 1-900-909-5KIDS. I remember this b/c it was REALLY easy for a 9 year old to remember and I may have dialed it more than once. Maybe even multiple times. I thought 1-800 and 1-900 numbers were the same (free). While I thought they were free, I still was not comfortable calling someone I didn't know, much less the NEW KIDS ON THE FREAKING BLOCK and OMG what if Jonathan or Joey answered and talked to me? So of course I called multiple times.
So I dialed the number the first time and hung up. Lightning didn't strike me and my parents hadn't yet found out, so I called again. I remember them saying something that scared me so I hung up again. Then I called them back. And they entertained me. Then it was time to leave for church. Then I got home, changed out of my pretty dress and called the New Kids back again. I remember "listening to them in their studio." Then an exciting offer came my way!
What kind of exciting offer? I could own a cassette tape that let me hear MORE of them joking around in their studio! For only $12.99 and it would be added to the phone bill automatically so there was no need to try and get a pesky check or something mailed. Only $12.99 for a cassette of the New Kids? Add that bitch on there. Phone bills were, like, super-expensive right? My parents will never know that it's thirteen dollars more expensive than normal (before the cost of shipping, handling, and oh yeah, the cost of the MULTIPLE 1-900 calls I had made). Regardless, I wanted this tape and to get it, I just had to press a button indicating such. This was all made possible by the disclaimer on the poster that said you have to get your parents' permission first if you were under 18 so they're operating under the assumption that I had done so. Thus the purchasing process was insanely easy.
My bitchin cassette of the New Kids on the Block in their studio and making prank phone calls was going to arrive in an unmarked package (lest someone want to steal such a goldmine of awesome) but first I had to give them the shipping information. Of course, this included my name and address. Now, I didn't understand the importance of spelling a last name or road name at the tender age of 9, but that didn't matter b/c if I knew how to spell my last name, so did they, right? Just say it slow enough. Whomever addressed the package got the street name correct and that's not even a real word. They didn't, however, get my last name right.
My unmarked, padded brown package came delivered to someone with the last name "Gambino." Nothing is written on this package save my name and address. No return address, no business name anywhere, no nothing. Just a plain brown package, slightly padded so as to avoid injury to the undoubtedly fragile item(s) inside.
Poor postal worker. In his hands, he's handling a nondescript brown package addressed to an apparent member or relative of one of the largest, most infamous crime families in America. Remember John Gotti? The "Dapper Don?" He headed the Gambino crime family.
I bet that delivery guy had never in his career handled a package so gingerly. I also wonder if the girls with the last names of "Barton" and "Smith" got theirs faster than I got mine.
Epilogue:
The first few weeks were glorious. I took my tape to the babysitter's and the other girls there loved it too. I was a hit and my parents didn't know b/c surely they would have said something by now, right? Nope, turns out that phone bills only came once a month. When the bill came, what resulted was my first real grounding and the first time I had really, truly, honestly pissed my parents off. I mean pissed. Super pissed. Probably because multiple bills came. There was one from our regular carrier. Then another with more charges. All in all, I had to work off my debt from multiple phone bills (plural there, I don't know if that's sunk in yet) that totaled over $140. Do you know how much money that would be NOW for a simple land line? Imagine the late 80s. My brother got a break from chores for a while because I took over his in addition to my own. A lot of cleaning the litter box (daily, which is better than I do now actually), emptying the dishwasher, setting the table, cleaning off the table, taking the trash out, vacuuming, dusting, etc. It was a low period in my life. But I worked it off and I'm a better person now who appreciates hard work, the value of money, phone bill prices, and not being really dumb.
$20 says I can still find that tape somewhere if I look hard enough. My mailman and I worked our butts off for it, nothing was going to happen to that thing.
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