Did You Say You Wanted A Beer?

The other day I placed an order at Starbucks. After I finished, the clerk grabbed a empty cup from the tall stack and paused for a beat. She then looked up at me and asked, “Did you say you wanted a beer?”

She didn’t whisper when she asked me to clarify, in fact she was rather loud.

I was taken aback. Not only had I not asked for anything remotely close to a beer, I hadn’t even utter a word since placing my order.

I immediately informed the boisterous clerk that I had not ordered a beer.

She burst into laughter attracting the attention of everyone in the store. A nearby clerk, who overheard her loud exclamation of “you wanted a beer,” made some obvious remark as he was re-stocking the lids.

I said nary a word as I thrust my gift cars (both of which added up to $2.38) into her chubby hands. She was going on and on, questioning whether or not Starbucks had started to sell beer.

I’m old and I didn’t appreciate her causing a scene. I can understand if I had said, “may I have a queer” or “can I get a pap smear, “or dear, ear, fear, lear” but I didn’t say anything remotely close to “give me a beer.”

In fact I didn’t say anything!

Her immaturity and youthfulness caused her to blurt out a rather embarrassing remark. Someone with more wisdom and experience would have treated my request (which I never made) with more sensitivity.

Worst of all, during this particular visit and on this particular day, I look exactly like someone stupid enough to order a beer at Starbucks and someone in desperate need of one.

Bagging Pants

I now know why old men wear their pants in a baggy fashion—they are out of shape. I have been wearing my jeans in bag mode, i.e. without a belt. While "baggishness" adds comfort, especially when I sit, it causes my pants to droop when standing and walking... just like an old man.

I’ve been removing my belt because the buckle cuts into my girth. This predicament leaves me with two choices. Wear a belt and suffer through the agony of my belt buckle digging into my beer belly or remove the belt and suffer through the discomfort of bagging pants. Of course there’s a third option, get in a shape, but I’m now where near that desperate.

Volleyball

I recently drove by a house that had sanded their entire back yard and installed volleyball court. They also put bars over the windows to protect them from being broken by errant spikes. What a bunch of idiots! This is the physical manifestation of the foolishness one spews when they are young and stupid.

“Dude when I get a house, I’m going to sand my entire backyard and turn it into a volleyball court.”

“Dude, we’ll have tournaments and s**t. Just have the entry fee be some beer.”

“Dude, when we’re not playing it will be like being at a beach.”

“Dude it will be sweet. I’ll help. My dad has a truck.”

“Sweet, dude. Sand’s got to be cheap and easier to care for than a lawn.”

“Dude you don’t want a lawn, you have to mow it and s**t. Think of all the time you’ll have for volleyball if you don’t have to mow you lawn, dude.”

“Dude, it will be awesome.”

When you get older you start to realize that you don’t want to play anything all the time, you don’t want your friends over all the time, sand is easily tracked into the house, lawns are multifunctional (not to mention if you’re a dude mowing the lawn is a nice break from you know who) and most importantly you don’t want to screw with the resale value of your home. Not to mention that in this part of the world it rains 8 months out of the year.

When you’re young, doing fun stuff like this sounds appealing and certainly adulthood gives you the independence to try it. Hopefully though, growing older will give you the wisdom not to.