Geriatric Park
I am back
from a visit to my friend the back operation recuperating, Frog. Frog is not one to just sit around. He will not retire. He works several days a
week doing police sorta stuff and one day a week at a local college teaching
police kinda stuff. He fly-fishes, deer
and duck hunts, and plays and teaches bag-piping. He recently underwent back surgery. Facing a serious case of cabin fever locked
up alone while wife and kids are out doing wife and kids stuff this cranky old man
was summoned for companionship.
There was a
time when Frog and I got together that there would be drinking, golfing, and
carousing. Now there is bitching,
limping and reminiscing.
Oh, we were
crazy we were. We went shopping for
guitar and banjo stuff and then lost all control and bought some bagels. Frog’s back is still barking so even with my
arthritic hip I heard “wait up” a lot. If they did a movie on our day it would be
called "Geriatric Park."
After a day
and a half of bitching about everything, limping around and trying to play
guitar and banjo in tune and in time I was due to head home, a four
hour drive. In keeping with tradition I
left my toothbrush at Frogs. It is not a
proper visit unless I leave something behind.
The drive
home was uneventful except for my inability to properly pay the Pa. Turnpike
toll.
The print on the toll ticket is too small for a Geriatric Park resident to read. I knew it was around sixteen dollars and
change, and as I cruised into the toll booth I was obsessing on gathering the
right money. I had a twenty ready, and
was prepared to scoop up the exact change as soon as I determined what that
exact change might be. I like to be toll
booth prepared, especially for the Pa and NJ turnpikes as those toll takers are
notoriously unfriendly.
I handed the toll lady the twenty and asked,
I handed the toll lady the twenty and asked,
“How much is the toll, sixteen dollars
and what cents?”
“HUH!”
“I have exact change, how much?”
“Sixmptry fnver!”
“Excuse me?”
“SIXTY FIVE!”
“Oh, ok, just a second…here.”
And this is
where old kicked in and why Mrs. C does not like to let me on my own. Fixated on getting the correct change so as to
not anger the irascible toll taker, I handed her the sixty-five cents in exact
change, only I dropped the nickel. “Oops just a second, I have another nickel.”
I fished it out and handed it again to
the taker.
She
responded “Thank you” and with the
transaction completed and my appropriate “Your
welcome” delivered, I pulled away and headed down the road. As I pulled out I wondered why the taker had
not hit the paid button and turned the light green, then about a quarter a mile
down the road I realized I didn’t wait for my four dollars change. I was really ticked off at myself.
I will be
even angrier if because I pulled out too soon the toll camera snapped a picture
of my plate and I get a $100+ fine for being a scofflaw!
Well that’s
life here at Geriatric Park.*
*I thought this title was clever and original, then I Googled it. Not so much.
