https://www.facebook.com/pages/Little-Green-Coffee-Shop/123551887744419

I always enjoy hearing stories about folks’ experiences with these adorable old slices of Americana. I’d love to know where more are and to see what folks are doing with them these days.

I worked at Fotomat from 1987 to early 1989; I started out at the West Peabody, MA Fotomat (#BN-051, pictured above), and then became the person who covered shifts for people in other Fotomats north and west of Boston — when someone would call in sick, or get fired, or quit. I also delivered film from the central local film-processing Fotomat (a storefront Fotomat in Lexington) to the various branches.

The writing was already on the wall for Fotomat, as one-hour developing stores and cheaper options arose. Some stores I worked at would get three customers maximum during one four-hour shift. Other stores were busier, but never so busy that I had a line of cars stacked up waiting.

The best things about working at Fotomat were that you rarely had a manager breathing down your neck, the dress code was easy (you had to wear a blue Fotomat jacket sometimes), you could play the radio as loud as you wanted, etc. I was a teenager at the time I worked there, and it was one of the easiest jobs I ever had. During the summer, there was air conditioning (except for the Winchester Fotomat). During the winter, there was heat. One of the sides of the Fotomat building doubled as a door, so you didn’t have to climb in through the window.

The most frequently asked question: “Where do you go to the bathroom?” I would say, “Oh, the vast underground developing plant in the basement,” and I’d mime opening a trap door and then walking down a spiral staircase until I disappeared below the window. (like this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBNHALUdNC0) The real answer: usually a Fotomat would have an agreement with a store in the strip-mall where the Fotomat was parked, like a pizza shop, where we could run to.

Another question: how do you take a lunch break? Taking a 15-minute or lunch break was easy, too: put a sign up in the window, “BACK IN N MINUTES,” and leave. If I was in a town I didn’t know too well, I would usually take my lunch break to drive in a random direction, and then try to find my way back before my shift re-started. In this way, I would eventually become familiar with the tangle of roads that overlay the Boston suburbs.

Finally, “Do you get to look at people’s pictures?” The pictures arrived at the Fotomat sealed in their processing envelope. I rarely ever peeked at people’s prints without cause, unless they were obviously abandoned — e.g. if the envelope had been in the pick-up drawer for four to six months. And it was usually obvious why the pictures weren’t picked up. One abandoned set was two middle-aged people, naked and drinking in a motel room. The main subject, a bald fat guy, looked half-asleep, slouched on the bed, legs splayed, holding a beer listlessly. Those were the only “dirty pictures” I ever saw. Pretty depressing.

Thanks for the memories!