Cantankerously Yours

Don’t Decry Your Age. Use It.

By Wendell Abern

Dear Readers,

I know all about the vagaries, limitations and annoyances of growing older. I hear about them all the time.

Well, last month I turned 83, and I haven’t had so much fun since I was a teen-ager.

Okay, granted: I’m healthier than anyone my age. This, I believe, can be attributed to the superior diet I created for myself decades ago, which mandates red meat at least twice a day.

But healthy or not, no other octogenarian will tell you that once you reach this age, you can use it to get away with just about anything!

Last week at Publix, for example, I ambled my way down the potato chip aisle, smiling at the prospect of storing up once again on my favorite snack of all time, Cheez Waffies (cheddar cheese sandwiched between two thin wafers).

These crispy treats from Wise Company had for some reason disappeared from all stores’ shelves for years; the previous week they had miraculously reappeared and I had bought eight bags; Went through one per night.

I arrived at the right shelf. Only two bags left! As I reached for them, a young man reached at the same time. We each got one bag. We glared at each other.

“My kids love these, grandpa,” he said, “Four kids. One bag ain’t gonna do it. If you give me that one, maybe they have some more in back.”

“Yeah, well I’m bringing these back to the home, where five bed-ridden women are waiting for them,” I lied. “You give me your bag and you can wait to see if they have more in back.

“Hey, how do you explain to a three-year old that there aren’t enough Cheez Waffies?”

“How do you explain it to a cranky 86-year old widow who drools?”

We continued staring at each other. Then I spotted Tiffany, one of the store managers, who happens to be a beautiful blonde.

Long ago, this particular Publix started using Tiffany’s looks to soften the tempers of irate male customers. She has mollified me so often she not only knows me by name, she knows where I live, how many grandchildren I have, and the names of two of my bridge partners.

Key moment: One of those critical junctures where one conjures up vivid scenes and complex scenarios, all in a nanosecond. If I called her over, would she say something like, “Okay, what did you do this time?”

But Cheez Waffies were at stake! I decided to risk it and signaled her to come join my new friend and me.

The fact that the young guy was already salivating told me my strategy was  working.

“We each want more of these,” I said to Tiffany, “but there are only two bags left.”

“You know what?” the young guy said, looking at Tiffany instead of me and suddenly becoming very magnanimous. “Why don’t you take this other bag? Maybe this nice young lady has some more in back.” He handed me the bag.

“That’s very sweet of you,” Tiffany said, smiling at the young man, whose hormones had obviously gathered into avalanche mode.

I chortled.

“I’ll go see if I can find some more in back,” Tiffany said, walking away.

“Thank you,” I said to the young man. “If you’d rather, you can take the two bags and I’ll wait for her to return.”

“Oh no, no! That’s okay. You go ahead, grandpa. I’ll wait for her.”

I put the bags in my shopping cart, smiling. He had no idea he’d been played.

I went from Publix to pick up my prescription at Wal-mart.

I arrived at about 1:50; the pharmacists close down for lunch from l:30 to 2. So I stood next to the sign that read, “Wait here.” I’m not big on waiting, but decided being first in line was worth ten minutes of my time.

Then a little old lady hobbled over and stood in front of me.

“Hey!” I said.

She turned around and smirked at me. She had tiny reading glasses, big green eyes and a nasty smile.

“Yes?” she said.

“There’s a line here!” I said. “Can’t you see the sign?”

“To hell with the sign. I’m old.”

“Well, so am I!”

“I’m 92.”

“Well, I’m 89!” I lied.

“You don’t look a day over 83.”

That she happened to nail my exact age left me nonplussed. She grinned.

“Don’t mess with me, sonny boy. It’s obvious you’re still learning how to play your age.”

“There’s nothing to play! I was first in line! You’re just being rude and discourteous!”

“Of course I am. I’m 92 and I have arthritis.”

“My arthritis is worse!”

“And I have sciatica.”

“Well, I have spinal stenosis.”

She lifted one foot. “Bunions.”

I lifted my foot. “Corns,” I said.

“I have the croup!”

“I have irritable bowel syndrome!”

“I’ve had a knee replaced!”

“I had a goiter!”

She pressed her lips together, shook her head negatively, then looked past me. “We’ve attracted a crowd.”

I looked around. We were surrounded by at least two dozen people, all of whom were grinning or laughing.

“You were doing okay until you got to the irritable bowel,” she said. “And the goiter … way too much.”

“What, now I’m being graded?”

“You’re still new at this, you pathetic bumpkin. And now I’m going to pick up my prescription.”

And with that, she walked over to the counter and asked for her prescription before I could move.

     *

            As I mentioned, once you reach 80 (or even younger), you can have a lot of fun with your age if you know how to use it.

Until you meet someone who’s better at it than you are.

Cantankerously Yours,

Wendell Abern