ROBBLOG #888- Give Me A Bag, Please

 

Many years ago my Mother and her friend were talking about an acquaintance.

This acquaintance they had not seen for several years.

"I wonder how old he'd be- if he's still alive at all"- the friend says.

"Oh Goodness,"-says my Mum," He must be an awful age by now..."

An awful age.

That's 70.

That's me.

Today. It's right where I am at and let me tell you, it IS an awful age- especially if you still believe- inside, you're 27.

I wouldn't want to be 27 again but being a tad younger would be nice.

Life is good and I can't complain.

"You go Gurl!"

Then, there was yesterday.

We were lunching and shopping in Victoria with friends.

After lunch we headed to the Bay Centre. 

I needed some eye cream from The Body Shop. I've been using this particular cream under my eyes for a century it seems and I believe it keeps my eyes looking younger and refreshed.

Anyhow, I pick up two small bottles of the eye cream and it tallies seventy-seven dollars and change.

The young gal behind the counter who also suggests I spread the cream on my lips, asks -

"Would you like to place your Body Shop purchase in a bag for 25 cents?"

Well, my first reaction was WTF?

The next was...well never mind...but it pissed me off.

I spend seventy-seven bucks and The Body Shop is too cheap to throw in a quarter bag?

Good Grief!

Earlier, I had made a purchase at a new shop run by a gal from Dublin- Ireland, who by way of Saskatoon, ended up on the Island. She sells Floral Perfumery.

A beautiful shop. It's at www.zingaropure.com

She gives the Mister and I our purchase in a lovely bag tied up with fresh, fragrant greenery.

How nice.

No charge and a big smile too.

I also remember the day before here in the Cowichan, we shopped at a lovely home store run by a former Ontarian from Buckhorn. Brian's been on Island for 10 months. His shop is just barely a couple of months old and he gave us two "free" bags.

Check him out at-

www.countryhomeandkitchen.ca

So what I am trying to say is here's The Body Shop who happens to be a chain where I've spent hundreds of dollars over the years and they are too Fucking cheap to place my purchase in a little bag.

They could have gone to the Dollar Store and bought a box of doggie poop bags and had 60 bags to use for customers. It doesn't sit well with me- environment conscious or not, or whatever the reason for the pathetic 25 cent charge.

It's just wrong and that's that.

Customer service is key and if the little guy can do it- why can't the Body Shop?

Yesterday, it ruined my almost 70 year old afternoon. My friends and the Mister are tired of hearing the story but after all I'm an old guy now and I can vent if I want to...

Do you hear that Body Shop?

ROBBLOG #887- Don't Call us Anymore- You're Old.

 

So I have a rather large birthday ahead.

I will become a septuagenarian.

A Gay septuagenarian.

Damn and Double Damn. Many of my friends are in the same age bracket.

Nothing I can do about it. Seventy may be a very pleasant place to be in this game of life we all play.

I tell the Mister that I have another 13 good years left. 13 times to put up the Christmas Tree.

13 more trips to Hawaii, 13 more summers.

It's a short ride. 

Only time will tell how short.

I still have most of my hair.

I can jauntily climb out of bed- most mornings.

I can walk many kilometres in a stretch.

I ride my bile. Okay, it is an ebike but still I do a lot of  the pedaling myself.

I don't take my shirt off in public anymore which results in the best "farmer's tan" I've ever seen on a septuagenarian.

My dimming eyesight requires glasses for not just reading but distance and I may have glaucoma developing in my left eye. That will be confirmed or denied in the next month. 

Not a happy thought.

I can still pee unassisted and I am not yet wearing those under panties in a box I pass by every time I shop at WalMart. Actually, the handsome "Daddy" on the box's cover seems quite proud to be wearing the fashionable diapers. I hope I feel that proud when I slap on a pair.

You've all heard it before- we're not here for a long time. Just a short time.

We had better make the best of it.

The Angel of Death could come calling at any moment! I hope he's handsome!

I'm not being morbid here and I'm not dwelling on the end of days for me- although The Mister would tell you a different story. I am just trying to get my head around the swiftness that brought me from a little kid to an "old man".

Me at about 23 years of age with long hair- ya damn hippy!

That's my brand, spanking new Volkswagen Beetle in Clementine Orange. I loved her.

Then yesterday to drive home the point that I have a relatively short time left on earth, the Royal Bank of Canada sends me a letter. The letter says due to the fact that I am turning 70, they will not be able to cover my on demand account with life insurance at month's end after my birthday.

How nice of them.

Banked with them for decades.

Paid their stupid fees and now they don't want to take a chance on me any longer. I am lucky there's a nil balance on the account but still- what the fuck?

I am not just a liability, I am an old fucker who's a liability.

I mean they didn't even wish me a happy birthday.

"Sincerely" the form letter was signed.

Not "Sincerely and Happy Birthday" just "Sincerely".

There was a postscript:

"If the information that we have about your birth date is incorrect, please call us as soon as possible you old fart."

Okay, I added the old fart but really couldn't they have said- "Best Wishes on the occasion of your 70th- you old fart"?

It's not all been black and dreary news however.

I've had some happy septuagenarian news this week.

I was at the dentist.

Dr. Tom tells me I have 31 of my 32 teeth still in my head.

"That's remarkable"- he says, "The missing tooth is a wisdom tooth and you didn't need that one anyway."

Yes indeedy do, I still have three wisdom's and I'm thinking that's why I'm so damn intelligent at this stage of life.

Well, what  other explanation is there it?

ROBBLOG #886- Then I Saw Her Face

 

The "church" has been in the news of late- hasn't it?

What with the Catholics in shit with their residential schools and treatment of indigenous kids, to the Pope sitting on his gold throne refusing to recognize or at least ignoring the past and the need to say something.

Personally he could fart an apology and it would mean diddly-squat. Why people are expecting it or saying it's the right thing to do is beyond me. The sooner governments stop funding churches the better for all. Well, maybe not the churches...

Anyhoo, not to dwell on all things religious, I felt I needed to tell you of a remark made to The Mister and I earlier this week. There was a general discussion about something or other when the person who had the floor turned to us and said- "I know you're non-believers but I am going to tell you this story all the same." 

"Pardon me?"- I thought. "Non- Believer?"

I bit my tongue.

"Ouch!"

The teller of the tale commenced to tell us of a church-goer who was down on her luck. It seems a bunch of the flock from this particular church got together and prayed real hard. They clenched their fists and clasped their anus muscles very tightly praying with all their might. I used to clench my teeth when I was a church-boy back in the day. If I had of been a Catholic Lad, I would have been an altar boy- over 16 years of age, praying for extra attention at the end of mass- but that's just me.

Anyhoo, low and behold the angel of the Lord came down and gave the poor Christian Lady a bunch of money. 

That's right- a bunch of money!

I don't think she had references.

If it was that easy to become fluid, I would have been down on my knees a lot more than I was over the years and for a completely different reason too. I know one can make money from "old guys" by getting down on one's knees for the thing one gets down on one's knees for when one needs to make rent. I read it on the Internet...

However, simply wishing and hoping and praying for cash is a whole different aspect to getting down on one's knees. I never knew.

A reasonable facsimile of me sitting and thinking- only without the beard.

After being called a "Non Believer" I was taken aback.

I wanted to be able to have a snappy retort being the Humanist I am but nothing came. I thought about it for a couple of days.

Still nothing.

Damn looking back now, I should have prayed but to who?

I did get an answer eventually.

You see, the words "non believer" are nothing to do with me or The Mister and nothing we need to reply to. The words are part of being immersed in a Christian philosophy not part of an agnostic, atheist or Humanist's life. Christians just need to have a term for those that don't tow the line- besides words like sinners, the fallen and Satan's flock. 

So you see, I wasn't at a loss for a retort. I responded the way I should have by saying nothing.

As the Yorkshire Dales folk across the pond would say- "It's knowt to do with me."

I could have said "Duh" but I didn't.

I could have said "puh-hard-on me?" I did not.

I could have foamed at the mouth. Nope.

I might have called on Satan for help. Being that he's a fallen angel he'd have some measure of displeasure at the comment. Naddah

But, I didn't use any of the above.

I just sat there still as you like, smiling sweetly, sipping away at my morning coffee.

What a good boy am I!!