There I was, leaving the gas station with my gourmet Subway sandwich in tow, when a guy in his mid to late twenties runs the last four steps to open the door for me.
Why is this happening? He should only do that for old people and at 52, I’m not old…
I kept my composure and walked out like I wasn’t having an existential crisis. I even managed to say “thank you.”
Then it happened. “You’re welcome sir.”
When did I cross that threshold? Doors being held open for me and being sirred? What has this world come to?
Was I looking particularly rough that day? I mean, I do work as a formulator in personal care. Should I start preparing ointments and lotions and serums and whatnot for myself?
Getting old is better than the alternative, but yikes!
Haha! Too bad you forget that you’re in the South where, if raised properly, youngins show respect in this manner. Surely you remember when you thought people over 30 were old!
Lucky for me, I decided that my oldest brother would always be the definition of old. That way, I’m always 5 years away from being old.