Well known to most of those who have made my acquaintance is the fact that I have reached that milestone in life known as “The New 30” (funny that you never hear 30 year-olds saying that). Never bothered me much as I approached it, and really hasn’t bugged me since arriving. Not the daily arrival of AARP propaganda, not the 27 ‘scripts for Viagra that were generously donated to me at my “New 30” party, not the monthly letter I get from my doctor recommending a “routine” (read “bi-century”) check-up, not even the offer of a “senior citizen” discount at the liquor store last weekend. Nope, you’re as old as you feel, I've always told myself, and fuck anyone who says otherwise. Besides, that discount saved me 10 bucks!
Yesterday I spent my lunch hour picking up some groceries for mom, who has been under the weather of late. I walked into the store sprightly – humming the theme from “The Little Rascals” for some unknown reason - flashed a quick smile at the check-out girls, grabbed a cart and made my way to the “Nutritional Supplements” aisle. As I dropped a couple of Ensure 4-packs into the cart, I realized that the mood-altering music coming over the store speakers was “Dark Side of the Moon”. Not the Milwaukee Philharmonic Symphony/Mannheim Steamroller version played on every Otis transportation device worldwide - the original Pink Floyd version. The whole damn album (CD). I slowly looked around, and shoppers all around me – you know, the usual workday noon-time shoppers, carts filled with things like I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, Metamucil, Eggbeaters and Depends - were happily nodding their heads to the music. Some were even mouthing the words to “Us and Them”. My shoulders slumped as I trudged to the register, paid (no, I didn’t ask for a fucking discount), and made my way out of the store.
Damn I felt old. “New 30” my ass.
Albertson’s, thou art my Paris, and classic rock the arrow to my Achilles Heel.
Yesterday I spent my lunch hour picking up some groceries for mom, who has been under the weather of late. I walked into the store sprightly – humming the theme from “The Little Rascals” for some unknown reason - flashed a quick smile at the check-out girls, grabbed a cart and made my way to the “Nutritional Supplements” aisle. As I dropped a couple of Ensure 4-packs into the cart, I realized that the mood-altering music coming over the store speakers was “Dark Side of the Moon”. Not the Milwaukee Philharmonic Symphony/Mannheim Steamroller version played on every Otis transportation device worldwide - the original Pink Floyd version. The whole damn album (CD). I slowly looked around, and shoppers all around me – you know, the usual workday noon-time shoppers, carts filled with things like I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, Metamucil, Eggbeaters and Depends - were happily nodding their heads to the music. Some were even mouthing the words to “Us and Them”. My shoulders slumped as I trudged to the register, paid (no, I didn’t ask for a fucking discount), and made my way out of the store.
Damn I felt old. “New 30” my ass.
Albertson’s, thou art my Paris, and classic rock the arrow to my Achilles Heel.
1 comment:
at least there was no belt fed weaponry present.
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