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| My favorite mug, by Brooke Gehman |
My first thought was “How old do you have to be to get a
senior coffee anyway?” Then the moral dilemma
began to set in. Do I inform the young
attendant that I am pretty sure I don’t qualify as a “senior” under anyone’s definition, or do I let it ride
and save the 50 cents?
While I am normally the first one to return incorrect
change, this particular moral dilemma did not seem all that critical to solve,
so I abandoned that thought, as a more serious issue was at hand. How
had I been labeled a senior? Was it the
poor line of vision between the attendant and the location of the speaker in
the drive-through line? Perhaps a poor
quality video system was the culprit.
As I pulled up to the window, I realized there were two
young employees working the drive through.
The one who took the order was not the same one who handed it to
me. She too was young, and was giving me
a look that seemed to be saying “How did you manage to get a senior
coffee.” Or perhaps the look meant “Now
I know you’re not a senior… what are you trying to do, rip us off?” Or maybe the reality of the situation had
occurred to her and she was thinking “Oops, we made a mistake...We have surely insulted you, and now neither
of us knows how to remedy the situation.”
I took my coffee, trying to look senior-ish, which was
challenging, since this was my first time.
As I pulled away, I wondered what lesson could possibly be gleaned from
this maiden voyage into Senior Citizenship. Even
now, months later, I can find no redeeming value, spiritual or otherwise, in
being called old before one’s time.
Note: I wrote this story 3 years ago. The fact I have not been offered a senior coffee since then has provided a small amount of satisfaction.
1 comment:
Great story! Just wait til your receipt shows a deduction and you have not said a word!!!!!!!Oh well, we're only as old as we think.
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