(Age before beauty means me first)
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This week, I was granted yet another reminder that I am, as they say, “no spring chicken.” I’m not clear on the exact progression of fowl-based taxonomy, but I’m probably closer to a “late October bantam.”
I had had one of those “oh no” mornings in which you fixate on a grand breakfast but then realize that you’re out of a key ingredient, like butter, or milk, or nitrous oxide. (This is doubly frustrating for single guys, because when we discover the milk carton in the fridge is empty, there’s no one else to blame.) So I popped out to the grocery.
Not exactly the stuff of a New York Times bestseller, I know, but trolling the grocery was not at all a commonplace event for me, at least not recently. Like the rest of Earth, I’d been avoiding public contact venues since those clever Chinese medical mask salesmen first started lacing the egg rolls with tainted bat. But breakfast trumps fear, so I girded and sallied.
I grabbed a mask, some sanitizer, wrapped myself in protective foil, and drove to the grocers. The first thing I noticed was that my grocery had (finally) added an alley lined with self-checkout stations. There were Plexiglas barriers and footprint floor decals everywhere, like some deranged Arthur Murray dance studio for introverts.
After a quick visual reorientation, I headed into the food labyrinth, only to discover all the aisles are now designated as one way, as if the entire grocery had been rezoned by the Big Apple DOT. (The store manager had even added potholes and fire hydrants.) At the endcap between aisles four (eastbound) and five (westbound), a young songwriter performed for the passing shoppers, his open case on the floor in hopes of luring tips. (He kept trying to find words that rhymed with pastrami, but hey, he’s the artist.)
Finally, after two wrong turns and a yield violation, I grabbed some butter and a spare tank of N2O and headed for checkout. And that’s when I received the aforementioned poultry reminder.
A friendly clerk who was younger than my car patrolled the self-checkout gauntlet, in case any patron reading the kiosk screen couldn’t figure out what NEXT meant. I nodded a greeting and smiled, because I’m an idiot who wastes his time smiling while wearing a medical mask. For all she knew, my mouth could’ve been making like Hannibal Lecter at a barbecue.
As I walked to one of the devices, she helpfully chirped, “Sir, you know you can’t get the senior discount at the self-checkout?”
I swiveled quickly, hoping there was another “sir” in the alley. Nope. Her “October bantam” lifeline analysis was intended for me.
Remember, I hadn’t been in here for a year … and I was masked. Heck, I don’t even know the grocer’s age threshold for “senior.” But somehow young Trixie McNubile had decided she ought to lob the grenade.
Was my birthday candle count that obvious? On the drive over, had I suddenly gone bald, or senile, or joined league bowling? Did I forget to check my wardrobe and left home wearing plaid shorts, jogging shoes, and black socks? Had I used some ancient, obscure term in a sentence, like eight-track tape, or personal responsibility?
To be sure, before the grocery trip, I’d been seeing other signs that I’m not exactly fitting in any more … especially in the realms of grammar and sex. And by sex, I don’t just mean that behavior that humans used to do to make some more humans, but now do to make more Twitter followers.
People are now freely using “ask” as a noun and “theater” as a verb. (The day some GoFundMe-er hits me up for money because “Our troop done got an ask to theater their school,” I’ll probably give up on it all and go propose to Trixie McNubile.)
(And don’t even get me started on “troop” or “done got.”)
Ultimately, though, I just chalked up the grocery revelation to another (and certainly not the last) souvenir scar to remind me that I am probably past the days when the Yankees will call, begging me to pitch.
I thanked Trixie, showed her my Social Security Number (4), and limped over to the “standard” ten-items-or-less checkout line, where I asked if they had any senior discount coupons this week for nitrous oxide.