I was the worst paperboy on the planet. I hated it but inherited from my older brother, who inherited from the next older, etc...

Walked it as it was too steep in my neck of the woods to ride a bike filled with papers. Used to cut thru one back yard and carefully walk around the perimeter of "Mugsy", this huge mongrel mutt who would come charging out of his dog house and get yanked backwards on a truck chain around his neck. Every day I teased that dog by staying just outside his range. Then one day he broke the damned chain and I about pissed on myself, only able to stand there in fear. He just walked up, sniffed me once and went back in his house. I was his best friend after that and petted him every day after.

I used to to get side tracked at a friends house who had a ham radio setup, which I found way more cool then delivering wet papers on a freezing cold rainy fall afternoon, walking dark streets where I knew I was going to get mugged for the $10 I made on collection day. And I just hated the old farts who would claim they would pay me next week. Customers would call my Mom to find out where their friggin paper was at 5PM. She would then call the home of my ham radio buddy to tell me to get a move on.

My route started at 56 customers and dropped to maybe 25 within a year, when I passed it along to a neighborhood friend who is still my best friend, 50 years later. I recall the smell of the papers when they were wet, which was never a good thing as the customer got a freebie and I ate the cost.

I might have started the trend of people finding alternative news sources to a printed paper, TV, radio, Internet at a later date, etc... Once you wean yourself from the printed press you never go back.

Which is is funny as I subscribe to a rag called L.I. Newsday and have done so for 35 years. I don't tip the paper guy having learned to be an old curmudgeon myself.