Back in the early 70s, the exchange rate was such that if you wanted to save a ton of money, you drove across the border to Buffalo to go shopping.
My grandmother dragged me along on some of these jaunts, where she’d stock up on weird tasting toothpaste we didn’t have up here because it was 42-cents, while my grandfather drank beer in extremely dark bars with “ladies entrances.”
Once she bought a ring from a guy on the street and tested to see if it was a real diamond by raking it across a department store window.
Another day, it rained. Really really hard. To get out of the rain, we ducked into a movie theater.
Doing the math, I must have been 10 or 11 years old, and why they let me in, I don’t know.
Because the movie was Lenny.
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