Nearly everyone in my realm maintains a universally held truth — I look younger than my age indicates. A welcome bit of DNA. My sister, my mom and I reap the benefits. Armed with that glory, I revel in the assessment. A day of reckoning, however, levels the playing field. I stopped into a Taco Bell for that healthy dose of nourishment. I placed my order for a drink. Because the young clerk was obviously not well-acquainted with my reputation as one among the eternally youthful, she made a grave error.
“With senior discount that’s $1.35,” she offered.
Taken by extreme surprise, but not speechless, I asked her, “What makes you think I qualify for senior discount?” Flustered, the hapless clerk managed to produce nothing more than stammering. “Well, I mean…er…uh…oh…” She stumbled along.
Really? That’s the best you can do? “Do I look like a senior?” That may very well have served as the height of idiocy on my part, but I was feeling reckless. In a moment of fine surrender the clerk pushed my drink closer to me and made this last conciliatory effort. “No charge!”