It happened again. An unsolicited remark, this time in the form of a question, that confirmed I am deluded about my appearance. I go about my day, running errands on my lunch hour or after I log off, checking my reflection in the car mirror and shop windows, thinking, “damn, girl, no way you look that old!”
Um…..
I went to ship a package at the local package shipping place, and there was confusion about the correct zip code. First, they told me the address didn’t exist.
“Well, the house is there. I’ve visited it several times. Try again.”
Then, they said the zip code I gave them was in a different town.
“But I’ve been sending stuff to them at that address, with that zip code, for years! I’ve never gotten anything back saying it had the wrong address!”
I tried to call the recipient, but there were no bars (no cell reception) inside the old brick commercial building where the always overflowing shipping store has boxes stacked to the ceiling.
So, I stepped outside and connected. I did have the zip code wrong. Apparently I’ve had it wrong for twenty years.
Went back in, gave them the zip code I was given, and they said that it was still wrong.
OK now my patience was wearing thin. Angelic Daughter was with me, waiting to go home for lunch. So I just insisted, and they overrode their system and put in the new zip code I told them to use.
When we finally got to the part where I paid for the parcel to ship via ground delivery (all the time thinking, oh, my God, this clerk is sooooooo slow…he can barely type…..must be new here…but he’s also old: probably just doesn’t understand the system they’re using….come onnnnnn!) the guy asked me, “are you an AAA member?”
“No.”
“AARP?”
Bam!
“Yes.”
Acknowledging my membership was automatic, and I comfort myself that people years younger than I am are eligible. And, hey, a discount’s a discount, right?
I looked at the receipt.
Swallowing my pride was worth sixty-four cents.
To top all that off, the package, which was supposed to be delivered Tuesday (I’m writing this on Thursday evening) still hasn’t been delivered. It “encountered a sorting error.”
Which must mean that the zip code I insisted on was wrong, and my resistance to being corrected about it was very “boomer” of me.
And by the way, why is it so cold in here?
Off to figure out where I hung up that darn sweater, I remain,
your bumping-into-a-“silver”-wall-I’m-not-ready-for-yet,
Ridiculouswoman
PS Given current world events, I know writing something that suggests I’m fixated on my appearance is silly and trivial. I refer you to the name of this blog. If there is any relief to be had from the unrelenting carnage that is the daily news, I hope something trivial and silly, and, I hope, amusing, can be a tiny bit of that relief, if just for a moment.
And thank you, President Biden, for reminding us tonight what a real President does, and what a real President says, and who we are: the UNITED States of America. Pray for peace.
Thanks for that chuckle. I used to live at 416 N. Queen St. My next door neighbors’ address was 416 1/2 N. Queen St. I got a lot of stuff delivered to me that was intended for them.
I know that feel. I was asked for my pensioner’s card at the store the other day. Ok, my hair and beard have streaks of grey, but come on!. I guess we all look the same to these kids. Now I’m glad I chased them off my lawn.
Balancing tears with laughter at any age is important! Thanks!