An old coot buys a Cinnabon!
By Merlin Lessler
You see this all the time, in a grocery store parking
lot, along the street in a shopping area and especially at a mall with a huge
parking lot. The driver’s side door opens. An arm comes out and reaches for the
roof. It lingers there for a moment or two and then tenses. A stooped, human-like
form begins to emerge. Up, up it comes; soon, the entire world can see the
thing that has exited the car. It’s an old coot (could be me) that’s struggled
out of a decades old crate, unceremoniously held together with gray strips of
duct tape. It’s like watching a chick emerge from an egg.
But, that’s just the beginning; the show is far from
over. The old coot locks the door. Twice! Then checks it to make sure it’s
really locked. He peers toward the mall entrance and heads off on a long and
dangerous trek, having parked at the remotest corner of the lot. He makes it to
the door, only to turn around and stride back toward his car in a panic. He
dodges people in cars who dangerously back out of parking slots while chatting
on cell phones. He skirts around families that insist on walking five abreast.
He makes it to his car, opens the door, bends down, reaches under the seat and
retrieves his wallet. It’s several inches thick, loaded with discount cards,
ID’s, memory aids and a plethora of items that he almost never uses. He can
prove he passed his Junior Red Cross lifesaving test 65 years ago; the
crumpled, faded card is there, mixed in with a stack of discount coupons, most
of which have expired. He can’t drive with the wallet in his back pocket; it
makes him tilt too far to the left (not a good position for a conservative old
coot), so he sticks it under the seat. Now, he jams it in his front pocket, locks
the door twice, checks it, and heads back to the mall.
Twenty minutes later, he comes storming out the door,
clutching a Cinnabon box. His face is flush from a combination of embarrassment
and anger. He just told the manager of the men’s department in Penney’s what he
could do with a pair of khaki pants, and then threw them at him to make his point.
He’d found them on a rack with a big sign that said, “50% off.” The manager
came over to the register to see what the ruckus was all about. It erupted when
the (snotty) clerk told the old coot that the 50% off applied to a second pair
of pants. “The first pair are full price; the second pair are the ones that are
half off.”
He stomped all the way to his car, put the Cinnabon box
on the roof while he unlocked the door and began a protracted entering process.
It took a full minute to bend, stretch and wiggle his way behind the wheel. The
cinnamon bun, that he was so looking forward to, fell off the roof and rolled
under a truck when he tore out of the lot. That’s an old coot for you!
Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com
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