I Guess I Won’t Age Gracefully. . .
When I was a teenager, I used to see all the crazy ads for the newest miracle product to make someone look younger. It boggled my. I decided then that I didn’t care about face creams and eye potions and anti-aging defence. But I was a teenager. Even though I thought I knew everything, I really didn’t.
Last week, I was in a local drug store picking up a few items. When I was finished, I went to the register. And this register is where I received the shock of my life.
The blue-eyed cashier asked me for my rewards card. Then she asked something I wasn’t prepared to hear for at least another eight years:
“If you are 50 years old you qualify for our extra discount today. I have to ask everybody. Are you 50?”
Speechless is not a state easily achieved by me. And yet there I was. Speechless.
In ten silent seconds, the following went through my mind: “Did she just say 50? Didn’t someone guess I was 35 last week? Is my mascara running? Did I sleep well last night? Did my face suddenly grow a riverbed of wrinkles I wasn’t aware of? How old is that cashier, anyway? It’s not like she’s 20!”
And that’s when I knew. I was not going to grow old gracefully. I looked at the cashier again, turned to the customer in line behind me and laid my head on her shoulder for comfort and solace.
Luckily for me, the next customer happened to be my good friend Mitzy Dunkirk, on a lunch break from the hardware store. When my head hit her shoulder, I could feel the laughter she was trying to hold back.
The cashier looked a little afraid at this point, even though I was just playing with her. Bad Joyce. I looked up at her as I paid for my purchase and said “No, I’m NOT 50, and won’t be for another eight years, thankyouverymuch.”
Here is where Mitzy couldn’t hold in her laughter anymore.
“I’m sorry, I just – I just am supposed to ask everyone.” She hurriedly finished my purchase. I assured her I wasn’t really offended (though my vanity was sorely so), and I understood she was just doing her job.
Mitzy placed her purchases on the counter. I moved aside to allow room. I looked at the cashier. “So, you have to ask everybody, right?”
“Yes, I have to ask every customer.”
I looked at Mitzy, who looked at me, comprehension dawning on her 36-year-old features, and turned her heated gaze to the cashier. “Don’t you dare ask me.”
“It’s her job, Mitzy. She has to ask you.” I turn to the cashier. “ASK her.”
“Don’t ask me that question – don’t you dare ask me.”
The cashier didn’t know what to do, but my fierce stare had her asking my not-even-forty-yet friend “If you are 50 years old you qualify for our extra discount today. Are you 50?”
“I can’t believe she just asked me that.” Mitzy tossed a forlorn look my way and I did a little jump of glee.
I’d like to think the cashier was having fun too, but reality dictates that she probably couldn’t wait to get rid of us. Serves her right, asking us if we’re 50.
