An immediate clamor arises when I open the black plastic case of my old Rolodex. The tactile satisfaction of clicking the clasp and raising the mold-made lid has a nostalgic feel, but I wonder if I am opening a sealed box whose time-stamped contents will disperse their preserved moments into the atmosphere like pollen from an ancient tomb.
Interestingly, they're still widely available and evidently sold by the thousands. I still keep piles of note cards in a kitchen drawer.