The Old Coot knows your age.
By Merlin Lessler
I bumped into this guy (not literally) in the locker room
at the YMCA a few weeks ago. He came ut of the gym; I came out of the pool. We
were in sort of an undeclared race to get dressed. He was pretty nimble,
impressively so. I asked him how old he was. (It’s considered OK for old guys
to ask other old guys how old they are.) “Eighty-eight,” he responded. I told him I was 83 &1/2. He said, “You
look pretty good for your age.” I said, “You look pretty good for your age.”
It’s a rule; us old guys say this to each other. It makes us feel good.
A week later, I ran into him sitting on a bench, leaning
down and putting on his socks. Not an easy task. I said, “Hi eighty seven.” He
said, “I’m eighty eight.” I said, “Now I remember.” I knew it would be much easier to remember a
number than a name. I came close. When I meet an old guy like this, it’s what I
do. Trouble is; they have a birthday and I have to expunge the old “name” in my
head. But, we don’t care if we get or give the wrong age or name. It’s no big
deal. We know each other’s brain compartment that holds names is slow on the
uptake. There is a young guy (in his thirties) in the locker room eating an
apple every day. I never asked him his name; I just started calling him
Apple-Boy. He chuckles every time I do that.
Us old guys aren’t the only ones who use age to identify
people. You can’t get to see a doctor without reciting your birth: day, month
and year. Even the YMCA uses that to identify you. I went to the desk to add
three months to my membership. When I started to say my name; the clerk stopped
me and said, “We don’t have members listed by name; we have them listed by their
birth date.” I kind of wondered if they ever had two members born on the same
day? If they do, and it’s the same date as me, I won’t say anything; I’ll let
him pay for my membership.
Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com
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