Sometimes, it’s the subtleties of life that invade your thoughts and give you the 411 that you have changed. You realize that your walk in life is different. More succinctly, you understand the troubling reality that you have reached “that age.”
There are so many indications that can bring you to that brutal realization. And I’m not talking about those times when people say you look great, but then feel obligated to add “for your age.”
And I’m not talking about that moment when you realize you are the same age as those “old people” you used to talk about.
Since I tend to think so differently from most people, my reality on the intersection of being old and really old crossed in a way very different from most people. And, surprisingly, both happened on two recent visits to department stores.
The other evening, I was in my nearby cathedral of shopping, Walmart. I wasn’t there to buy much, but to get steps in to chart on my Apple watch.
My watch and my daily step count run my life now, and I try to reach the magical number of 10,000 each day, with the idea that if I eat right, those 10,000 steps or more can help me to lose weight, or at worst, maintain it.
There’s a big problem attacking my thinking on that. I have an affinity for very large cookies, boudin and things that hide their butter content.
On this trip through Walmart, I was around step number 7,200 and looking for a rice cooker. I couldn’t locate the right aisle. Just then a wonderful woman in a Walmart-labeled shirt walked by.
I asked if she knew where the rice cookers were. As she guided me to the location, I began to remember her. She was a cashier I had crossed paths with many times. But wait, as I recall, she had black hair. This woman was totally gray.
“Hey, didn’t you use to work at ...?” She said no. Then I asked about another store. She said no again. Then she proclaimed that she has worked at this store for over 25 years. Yes, she has checked me out probably over 100 times here. Now suddenly, she has gray hair and has no clue who I am.
When did this happen? How did she get that old, seemingly overnight? Had I missed that many of her shifts? I was so confused.
Then there was another incident.
This time it was a person who works at Dillard’s in the Mall of Louisiana. When I saw her, I remembered her from several stores, going all the way back to a shopping center off Plank Road, to a Winn-Dixie grocery store, to Cortana Mall, to now the Mall of Louisiana.
She was easy to remember because she always had a big smile and a face full of freckles. You can’t forget freckles. When I told her I remembered her from all of those places, which turned out to be over a 40-year period, she nodded, and smiled. But, it had that “he is weird” look to it.
She admitted that she had worked in all those places but really didn’t remember me. Still, she was gracious in checking out my purchase, although it seemed she was looking around for security.
Why couldn’t she remember me?
After those incidents, and a couple other ones, I have concluded that maybe the problem was with me. I didn’t look like the 165-pound man with the 32-inch waist and black hair from so many years ago when I first met them. Man, I look nothing like that.
That was when the reallization hit me yet again, that these people look so much older because I am no longer getting old, but have arrived at that designation. And, worse, there is nothing memorable about me.
But it’s not totally a bad thing because I’m still north of dirt and feeling good.
Now, thinking back on my conversations with those two people and their reactions, I am a little concerned. I wonder if after I left they were thinking: It’s so sad about that old man.
Email Edward Pratt, a former newspaperman, at epratt1972@yahoo.com.