The only rational response to getting old...
Posted: Thu Feb 07, 2008 11:22 pm
Hi all,
On my way home last night, I was--as usual--standing at the back of the crowded bus, silently playing a game of cribbage on my cell phone. A couple of minutes into the ride, this nice young woman seated to my right--she was all of maybe 21 or 22 years old--gently tugged at my coat sleeve and, looking up at me, said, "Sir? Would you like a seat?" For a split second, I thought she was joking. Then I saw the earnestness in her face. All of a sudden, the world was filled this deafening whooshing sound, like a cosmic vacuum cleaner; I saw splotches of psychedelic colours flash before my eyes as my field of vision narrowed to a pinpoint somewhere above the girl's left eyebrow; and this silent scream filled my brain: "AAAaaaaaaaaaAAAHHHHH---I'm OLD! I look OLD! Hell, I feel OLD!" I smiled at her and said, "Thanks but, no, I'm fine."
That's it: at age 46, for the first time in my life, I had been offered a seat on a city bus. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or run to the nearest plastic surgeon's office. Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little. But (and no offense intended to the forum members here who get senior discounts on Mondays), this offer of a seat so came out of left field for me that it actually flabbergasted me. I couldn't concentrate for the rest of the trip home (and lost my cell game, to boot!).
So, earlier tonight, Roxanne and I were eating sushi at this restaurant downtown. At some point, after the meal and before the bill, finishing off the last few cups of sake, I went outside for a smoke. Standing there, shivering in my little hooded sweater, I saw, across the street, a shop called "The Tattoo Lounge." It was very brightly lit. Looked to have a very modern decor. A few people were mulling about inside inflicting God knows what kind of pain to whomever. The place looked warm and friendly. And very inviting.
I went back inside the sushi place, paid the bill, and, as we were leaving, told Roxanne that I just wanted to take a few moments to scope out the tat place across the street. We wandered in there, Roxanne and I, looking like two refugees from the 20th century, lost in a crowd who'd never heard of Elvis Presley. The receptionist, a gorgeous and exotic-looking young woman with at least three square inches of her natural skin colour still visible, greeted us warmly and very professionally.
"Hi folks! How can I help you tonight?"
"Well," I said, "I've been thinking about it for quite some time now and I'm sort of maybe looking into getting my nipples pierced."
She gave me the basic rundown, the price list; summarily described the procedure. As fate would have it, her "piercer," Erik, was just a few feet away putting his boots on, getting ready to leave for the day. At the possibility of a sale, he popped up right next to us and gave us a more detailed account of what all this involved. I told him that I and two of my colleagues had been thinking about getting our nipples pierced for the last couple of years (which is true) and that I was sort of shopping around. Really, folks, I don't know what got into me. To just cross the street like that and penetrate into this den of body modifyers.
Erik said, "Well, why don't you get the jump on them and do it now, tonight? You'll be able to show off your nip bars to them come spring and maybe provide an incentive." I hesitated, looked over at Roxanne--whose thoughts were hidden behind lips and eyes that expressed nothing else but a ferocious neutrality--looked back at Erik, and said, "Let's go! Lead the way, José!"
Folks, I write these words now with a dull, dual throbbing emanating from two tender places on my chest. I look down and I see these two alien, glistening, arrow-shaped pieces of silver jewelry violating my nipples. Having my nipples pierced was the only rational response to getting old. Well, it certainly seemed that way four hours ago, as I stood outside the sushi restaurant smoking a cigarette. I have to say this, though: the pain certainly does serve to remind me that I'm alive. Regardless of my age.
Love,
CJ
On my way home last night, I was--as usual--standing at the back of the crowded bus, silently playing a game of cribbage on my cell phone. A couple of minutes into the ride, this nice young woman seated to my right--she was all of maybe 21 or 22 years old--gently tugged at my coat sleeve and, looking up at me, said, "Sir? Would you like a seat?" For a split second, I thought she was joking. Then I saw the earnestness in her face. All of a sudden, the world was filled this deafening whooshing sound, like a cosmic vacuum cleaner; I saw splotches of psychedelic colours flash before my eyes as my field of vision narrowed to a pinpoint somewhere above the girl's left eyebrow; and this silent scream filled my brain: "AAAaaaaaaaaaAAAHHHHH---I'm OLD! I look OLD! Hell, I feel OLD!" I smiled at her and said, "Thanks but, no, I'm fine."
That's it: at age 46, for the first time in my life, I had been offered a seat on a city bus. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or run to the nearest plastic surgeon's office. Okay, so I'm exaggerating a little. But (and no offense intended to the forum members here who get senior discounts on Mondays), this offer of a seat so came out of left field for me that it actually flabbergasted me. I couldn't concentrate for the rest of the trip home (and lost my cell game, to boot!).
So, earlier tonight, Roxanne and I were eating sushi at this restaurant downtown. At some point, after the meal and before the bill, finishing off the last few cups of sake, I went outside for a smoke. Standing there, shivering in my little hooded sweater, I saw, across the street, a shop called "The Tattoo Lounge." It was very brightly lit. Looked to have a very modern decor. A few people were mulling about inside inflicting God knows what kind of pain to whomever. The place looked warm and friendly. And very inviting.
I went back inside the sushi place, paid the bill, and, as we were leaving, told Roxanne that I just wanted to take a few moments to scope out the tat place across the street. We wandered in there, Roxanne and I, looking like two refugees from the 20th century, lost in a crowd who'd never heard of Elvis Presley. The receptionist, a gorgeous and exotic-looking young woman with at least three square inches of her natural skin colour still visible, greeted us warmly and very professionally.
"Hi folks! How can I help you tonight?"
"Well," I said, "I've been thinking about it for quite some time now and I'm sort of maybe looking into getting my nipples pierced."
She gave me the basic rundown, the price list; summarily described the procedure. As fate would have it, her "piercer," Erik, was just a few feet away putting his boots on, getting ready to leave for the day. At the possibility of a sale, he popped up right next to us and gave us a more detailed account of what all this involved. I told him that I and two of my colleagues had been thinking about getting our nipples pierced for the last couple of years (which is true) and that I was sort of shopping around. Really, folks, I don't know what got into me. To just cross the street like that and penetrate into this den of body modifyers.
Erik said, "Well, why don't you get the jump on them and do it now, tonight? You'll be able to show off your nip bars to them come spring and maybe provide an incentive." I hesitated, looked over at Roxanne--whose thoughts were hidden behind lips and eyes that expressed nothing else but a ferocious neutrality--looked back at Erik, and said, "Let's go! Lead the way, José!"
Folks, I write these words now with a dull, dual throbbing emanating from two tender places on my chest. I look down and I see these two alien, glistening, arrow-shaped pieces of silver jewelry violating my nipples. Having my nipples pierced was the only rational response to getting old. Well, it certainly seemed that way four hours ago, as I stood outside the sushi restaurant smoking a cigarette. I have to say this, though: the pain certainly does serve to remind me that I'm alive. Regardless of my age.
Love,
CJ
Even after years of being there the holes were quickly healing closed. 