Fascinating, isn’t it? There are all sorts of strange little echoes of modernity in Ancient Rome. You might get a ticket with your seat number on it to see a show, or hear the clerk ask if you want the book you’re getting gift wrapped, or the local bureaucrat tell you to come back when you have your form signed in triplicate, or hear your kids complain about the homework their teacher gave them.
Yet their teacher is a slave, the signatures you need are pressed in wax by signet rings, the book has to be copied by hand before the clerk can sell you it, and the ticket is to literal bloodsport.
Fascinating, isn’t it? There are all sorts of strange little echoes of modernity in Ancient Rome. You might get a ticket with your seat number on it to see a show, or hear the clerk ask if you want the book you’re getting gift wrapped, or the local bureaucrat tell you to come back when you have your form signed in triplicate, or hear your kids complain about the homework their teacher gave them.
Yet their teacher is a slave, the signatures you need are pressed in wax by signet rings, the book has to be copied by hand before the clerk can sell you it, and the ticket is to literal bloodsport.