3 items
Before the family had a cell phone, the family car had one: a curly-cord handset in the console, or a three-watt Motorola in a leather bag that lived in the trunk and plugged into the cigarette lighter. You called from it only in emergencies, because every minute cost real money and Dad said so.
The ancient two-player sowing game with wooden folding boards and little glass gem stones. A classroom staple, a doctor's-office fixture, and proof that you don't need batteries or fancy graphics to spend an afternoon completely absorbed.
A manila pocket glued inside the back cover of library books, a lined card inside listing every name who'd borrowed the copy before you, stamped with due dates — a fossil record of readers going back years, and you signed in to add yourself to the ledger. Then came barcodes, and 90s kids were among the last to know this ritual.