I Can't Win

I can never seem to win the age game.

Today it was nice and bright outside. Jolie and I went for a ride, the kind that feels productive even when it is mostly just moving through sunlight. A few errands. A few thoughts rolling around like loose change.

At the grocery store, during checkout, someone mentioned that an item in my cart qualified for a senior discount. A friendly tip. A civic duty. I did what any reasonable person would do.

I asked, and immediately regretted it, “Really?”

The cashier smiled, polite and efficient. “Let me check your ID to see if you’re qualified.”

I should have stopped there. I did not.

“Why would you need my ID?” I said. “Look at me. I am old.”

Silence.

He looked again. Kindly. Firmly. “No,” he said. “You’re not.”

Big mistake.

I know that in the normal world this counts as a compliment. A small win. A feather in the cap. But I come with context. History has taught me not to trust these moments.

Years ago, Terry and I used to grocery shop together. It was our small adventure. I worked too much back then, and the store felt like reclaimed time. We would wander the aisles slowly, debating nothing of importance. One afternoon we decided on a case of beer. Jeopardy! was waiting at home. Life felt simple.

At checkout, the cashier asked to see my ID. This was before the "everyone gets carded" era. I laughed. “I’m much older than twenty one.”

“I can’t take your word for it,” he said.

Fair enough.

I handed over my ID, then pointed at Terry behind me. “I’m with him.”

Without missing a beat, Terry put his hands up to cover his face and said, “Oh no. Don’t say that. They’ll think I’m going out with a child.”

Every head turned. I stared at him.

“Honey,” I said, calmly, trying to hold my composure, “we are not going out. We are married.”

The cashier finished checking my ID, handed it back, and laughed so hard he had to lean on the counter. When he could speak again, he looked at Terry and said, “You are a very strange man.”

That was how we became friends.

Strange was never quite the right word. Terry had a way of saying things that unfolded over days, like a joke that kept ripening. I would be washing dishes later and start laughing again.

So today, when the cashier told me I was not old enough, I smiled. I paid full price. I wheeled my cart back into the bright afternoon.

Some things you win.

Some things you don’t.

And some things are simply stories that keep you company, like sunlight on the ride home.