I know it’s been awhile since I did anything on this blog. I’ve been updating and reworking a favorite family Christmas story that I have plans for submitting for publication soon and just hadn’t felt creative in the blog sphere. Also I began coming off some medication I’ve been taking for several years and the withdrawals left me murky minded.
Which brings me all to this:
In November I passed my 30th year of working at the newspaper. Now, that’s a long time and why anyone would work at the same place for that long is questionable. Our advertising staff is divided into three teams. Each team includes several sales people and an assistant. When it was mentioned I’d been here for 30 years several of my team mates quickly responded they hadn’t been born yet when I started. In fact, only one other sales rep of the five on our team was earthbound when I began my first day of work and he was in diapers. Am I really that old?
Getting older is funny; it’s something that happens to everyone else. Jan and I enjoy a daily comic strip named “Pickles.” The strip is described as: “Pickles tells the story of Earl and Opal Pickles as they enjoy their golden years surrounded by friends and family.” Yeah, that doesn’t sound funny but the comic can sometimes be hilarious. Jan and I used to think the characters acted like our parents. Now, we’ve recently discovered the characters are acting like us.
A few days ago Jan was sharing one of the strips with me. She read, “Opal says: “Earl, are you wearing your hearing aid?” Jan quips, “I don’t remember the man’s name but this character reminds me of your dad.” I quickly responded, “Do you mean you don’t remember Earl’s name? You just read it, Jan!” (It was very early in the morning and I was still half asleep, Jan explains.) It was my nature to rub that memory lapse wound deeply for the rest of the day.
Monday Jan, her sister Jeanne and I went to see War Horse. Standing in line I overheard one ticket buyer mention she was a purchasing tickets for two seniors. I don’t mind being older if it will save a buck so I wondered how old I needed to be to receive the discount. It was 62 so I’m still too young for some things.
The theater was filling quickly but we found seats in the last row. Soon after we sat down two teenage brothers came in and stated they needed 5 seats. So, one brother left the seat next to me open while he settled in next to it. His brother quickly pointed out that he needed to scoot all the way down. In his words, “Sit in the chair next to the old guy.” I turned and looked down the aisle toward the whippersnapper.
“Did you just call me an old guy?” I asked incredulously. Now, I had a smile on my face while I said this but the fact I called him out on his comment really flabbergasted the young ‘un. He almost crawled in humility toward me, begging for my forgiveness. “Did you know I asked if I could get the senior discount ticket and they wouldn’t even give it to me? How can I be an “old guy” when I don’t even qualify for the senior discount?”
He begged for forgiveness again, explaining he didn’t mean what he said and that he didn’t know what he was talking about. I guess my knife had plunged deep enough so I just shook my head and waved him off as I laughed.
I’ve decided to drop all age/time adjectives from my vocabulary. So, my holiday greeting for this weekend is “Happy Year!”
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