I have no doubt that the person on the other end of the Nintendo help line delivered excellent customer service. In the pre-Internet era, people on the other end of a long-distance communication actually held up their end of the bargain. At some point around 1995, I was looking through an old SimCity box and found a postage-paid postcard that read, "mail this in to join the SimCity fan club." The game was more than five years old at this point, but stuck it in the mailbox anyway out of pure curiosity.
A couple weeks later, I get this typed letter, personally addressed to me, that explains that the fan club promotion had concluded years ago and apologizing for the inconvenience. If this were the Internet Era we were talking about, someone would have made a "pffffft" noise and thrown it in the garbage. They wouldn't even wad it up first. They'd just hold it flush against their palm, crudely swing their arm forward like a catapult, and watch that flat slip of card-stock waft slowly to the floor like a dead leaf.
Long-distance stranger accountability has just eroded. People at the cable company will lie that they've scheduled a repair truck just to get you off the phone. A third of my email isn't answered in a timely fashion because the tab says "Inbox (4)" and I crumple within myself and compress into a single 190-pound molecule of despair.
A thing about period pieces that genuinely amazes me: a Roman general can send a message from Gaul to Caesar and it actually gets there. Hell with all the swords and flaming arrows and whatnot, the logistics are the real fireworks.
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