Dinosaur Age

The post office opens at 8 a.m. for pickups. I have until 12 p.m. to drop off a special box. School after that, and I can’t be late. Quick stop at my dad’s café to grab a snack and some orange juice. He didn’t ask what I was doing out so early — he already had an idea.

7:50 a.m., and I was there, waiting for that unlocking sound from the door. October 4, 1994, and I was a 13-year-old anxious boy about to get his hands on a box, not knowing what was inside.

The city where I was born was small compared to São Paulo, but average-sized for the countryside. You could find a little bit of everything from a big city — except the full movie experience. No cinema, no big screen, no smell of popcorn while the light hit your face in a big, comfortable seat. I never experienced that until I was older and had traveled to a bigger city.

The sound. The post office door is unlocked. I’m the first and only one there. The officer is quite nice. I introduce myself, as always, explaining there’s a box that arrived during the night and I’m in charge of delivering it to its final destination. He listens carefully, like it’s his first time hearing that from me. A little suspense… and then he comes back with the box. I sign a simple receipt. I check the label — everything looks good. The box feels heavier than usual. Maybe a double one this time? Who knows.

As I walk home, my imagination starts rolling like a film in a projector. Characters, dragons, comedy, drama, horror… all genres in one reel. Heartbeat pounding. That was my sport. My thing.

I’m home alone — it’s Tuesday, the day my mom visits her sister early in the morning. My two brothers are already at school. I study in the afternoon.

I go to the living room, move the coffee table to the center between the couch and the TV, and place the box carefully on top. I open it slowly. That magical smell of plastic.

The first reveal: it’s a collector’s box. Not a regular one.

The second reveal: the film. Oh! That film — Jurassic Park, the original, from Spielberg. The box is shaped like fossilized dino bones. Heavy, classy… truly amazing. The best surprise so far, since I started doing this a few years ago.

There’s a ritual to exploring a new box. This one has no pictures on the front or back. Just the fossils and the Jurassic Park logo. My excitement grows. Then comes the challenge — opening it. Not easy this time. A little trick to get it open.

Not on the first try.

Second try — and I drop it. Bang!

Then — bang, bang — on the door.

Who could that be right now?

I’m torn between picking up the box and answering the door. Better check the door first.

“Yes? Good morning?”

“No, thank you. We’re not interested in eggs or fresh corn or vegetables today.”

“No, my mom isn’t home right now.”

“Sure, you can come back this afternoon.”

“Have a good day.”

Before returning to the box, I stop by the bathroom. Then back to the living room. I sit more comfortably now, better positioned to handle the box. Got it. It’s open.

But it’s not just a VHS inside.

There’s a booklet — cool!

Information about the park. My excitement grows even more. I read all the words — twice. Nothing about the movie itself or a synopsis — just details about the park, schedules, attractions, and serious safety notes.

Okay. Time for the tape. A regular VHS, but the label on the front and side has the logo. Very special. Probably how I started falling in love with design — experiences like this one.

That classic static image and fuzzy sound on the TV. The soft mechanical whir of the VHS player starting up. A warm-up noise, with faint clicks of little metal pieces inside. I put the brand-new tape in. I knew I was the first one to watch it — and probably the first person in the whole city. It made me feel special, connected to something bigger.

A sensation I would rarely feel again as I got older.

I found a comfy spot on the couch. The room wasn’t dark enough, but I was used to that.

I checked the clock above the shelf — 8:46 a.m. Not bad.

I grabbed the remote and pressed play.

The sound of the tape rolling. TV showing the colored bars.

All good.

Two or three trailers — I can’t remember them.

And then: the Universal logo spinning across the globe. Goosebumps.

Then black. Leaves shaking in the wind.

Workers handling a big and heavy container. The music fills the room.

We see almost nothing inside the cage — just the scary eyes.

A man is dragged inside after the animal breaks loose.

The opening scene that changed the history of sci-fi adventure family films.

121 minutes of running time. The credits roll.

It was the first time I stayed until the last image.

I was in shock, full of adrenaline, amazed.

The music ended — but not in my head.

Neither did the images of each dinosaur.

Click.

The tape stops hard. The VHS player starts to rewind automatically.

That sound — one you can’t hear anymore.

Fast at the beginning, slowing down at the end.

11:10 a.m. Time to go.

I press eject and take the warm tape, holding it in my hands, trying to stay in that universe a little longer.

Back into the case — hard to open, but satisfying to close. Like a treasure chest.

Quick shower. Backpack on. Running. 20 minutes to get there.

The video store is still closed. I knock on the glass.

William, the owner, still sleepy, unlocks it.

“Hey, there! Right on time. I won’t ask what you thought of it — I want to feel like it’s my first time when I watch it. See you Thursday?”

I thanked him and headed to school.

It was a hard day to concentrate on anything. Luckily, it was creative writing day. Open theme. I couldn’t resist.

For the last few years, twice a week, I’ve had this agreement: pick up a new release VHS from the only local video club and drop it off at the store for rentals. In a time when the postman only delivered letters, postcards, and telegrams — not packages — you had to go get those yourself. In a time when you didn’t buy or own new release VHS films — you rented them. As payment for my delivery service, I got to watch the movie first. The catch: every film was a surprise. Whatever was in the box would be my reward. Most of them I liked — not the horrors or the overly sweet romances — but today was different. More than a bonus, it felt like the ultimate reward. Jurassic Park, in a special collector’s box.

Jurassic Park1993