You may be a senior citizen!

Bam! Just Like That, You’re A Senior Citizen
By Joseph Walther


Two things happened to me last week. While both brought added perspective to the fact that I am a sixty-three year old retiree, they did so from two radically different perspectives. The first incident was funny, not just to me, but to everyone within earshot of it. The second incident was sad… no, stupid. It added to the growing volume of evidence that our well of social common sense is going dry.

People in search of things to write about need only go to a shopping mall. They are teeming with stories, each one screaming “TELL ME!” And, most of the ones I go to have damn good pizza, too. In fact, not only do I find great human-interest stories, I save tons of money on pizza purchases. Let me explain this last part before getting into the human-interest part.

Going to a mall to buy a single slice of pizza is a very expensive proposition. Let’s say that it costs $1.00 in gas money to make a round trip. You hit the pizza stand and pay $2.75 for a slice of pizza. Unless you’re some kind of a math retard, you will realize that you just paid $3.75 for the slice. Anyone dumb enough to pay $3.75 for a slice of pizza is just plain stupid.

If you do what I do and buy 4-slices, you save a small fortune. Again, for the math retards, here are the numbers. You’ll pay the same $1.00 for the round trip. BUT, instead of adding it to the price of a single slice, you’ll spread it over four slices. That’s right! Instead of a slice costing you $3.75, it will now only cost $3.00. You’re saving $0.75 a slice! Need I say MORE? Ok, back to the human-interest stuff.

At what age does someone become a senior citizen? Some people say that it happens at age 55-years. Others, certainly the bulk of the 55-year olds, say, “NO WAY, senior citizenship starts at age 60-years.” Still others, most likely the majority of the 60-year olds, say it begins at 65-years.

According to 6 ¾ year old Jessica Warren, it happens during 7th grade! She and her aunt were taking a pizza break when I overhead the conversation between the two of them. I just had to get the details. So, when her aunt saw the grin on my face, she smiled back in my direction as I introduced myself.

Jessica was solidly emphatic about two things as I talked to her. First, her birthday was coming up on June 19th and THAT made her 6 ¾, NOT quite as old as seven, but well beyond a mere six! Second, the kids in 7th grade are OLD. According to her considerable research, once a kid gets into the 7th grade, they change into fuddy-duddies, too old to share the same recess area but not quite old enough to be teachers.

By now, a number of the 50, 55, 60, and older set had taken up seats surrounding us. “You tell em, sweetheart,” an older person told her. Her aunt, by my estimate about twenty-five years old, could hardly contain herself. “My goodness”, she said looking in my direction, “I guess this makes me pretty old.” Grinning back at her, “no doubt about it’, I said, “but take heart; by this analysis, I’m old enough to have catered the Last Supper.”

Readers, no matter how old any of us are, there are those older than us, who unhesitatingly remind us that we’re mere young snots who have no idea what “old” is. On the other hand, none of us should ever forget that, to many of those who’ve made it to the mature age of 6 ¾ years, twelve year-olds are prime candidates for membership in AARP and fifteen year-olds are almost dead. As for me and others in my age group, I think we are just walking around to save on funeral expenses.

Mind you, now, that Jessica didn’t say this in so many words. But, if the shoe fits, put it on and be done with it.

On Saturday afternoon, about 4:30ish, I stopped at a Boston Market restaurant. As I stood in line to order, a woman, along with her four children got in line behind me. The youngest of the children looked to be about 8-years old. I’d place the oldest at around 15, maybe 16-years old. These were well-behaved kids.

It seemed that this outing was a much awaited and deserved treat for these children but, since mom’s income demanded thriftiness, she quietly cautioned them to use restraint when they ordered. If not, they’d all go home hungry, not to mention the real possibility of experiencing pain in their posteriors just below the waist lines.

Well, ok, she didn’t actually threaten them with bodily harm. But I could tell these kids were experts at reading their mom’s eyes. There was just something in the way her eyes seemed to beam the unspoken message of, “don’t risk your lives by messing with me.” She spoke volumes to her children without actually verbalizing.

My turn came and I ordered. By my calculations, the order total should have been $9.50. However, the cashier told me that I owed $8.55. As I was about to question this, I noticed that my receipt indicated a 10% senior citizen discount. I was shocked. I mean… this was an even greater blow than my encounter with Jessica Warren back at the mall. This one involved actual money. Boston Market had dubbed me an “official” senior citizen.

I don’t need a senior citizen discount. It has nothing to do with age, either. Financially, I don’t need it. There are millions of seniors, just like me, who do not need this discount. Conversely, millions of others do.

The woman behind me in line with her four children could have used my discount. She was, from what I gathered, a hard working mom, raising children alone. I wanted to give her my discount but the cashier wouldn’t do it. “It’s against company policy,” she said.

I was not about to raise hell over this because it would have been embarrassing to the woman and her children. I wasn’t going to argue with the 18-year old cashier, either, because she was just doing her job. I paid the price on the cash register receipt, took my tray of food to a booth, and started to eat.

As I was leaving the restaurant, the woman who had been behind me in line waved me over to her table. “Thank you, that was a nice gesture”, she said. I told her she was welcome and I left.

Folks, there are no such things as freebies in the business world. Neither are there such things as compassionate discounts. Yes, it’s true that you will pay less at places like Sam’s Club, Costco, and Target. But, this is because volume sales make discounts a business incentive, not because the volume discounters are benevolent.

In order for Boston Market to give me an unneeded senior citizen discount, they have to increase the price of all non-senior citizen meals. The massive savings on pizza slices, alone, that I described earlier in this column make a senior citizen discount a moot issue in my case.

The hard-working mother of four standing behind me needed the discount. I didn’t. Even though some senior citizens could use a discount, restaurants should stop such a stupid practice. Instead of factoring in the discount over the price of all non-senior citizen meals, pass the savings on to everyone. I’m betting they won’t do it, though.

Well, Jessica, I gave your aunt the web address of this column. She told me that she’d print it out and give it to you when you, too, get to 7th grade and become a senior citizen. I hope you have many happy birthdays.

I, on the other hand, intend to keep on going to the malls in search of huge pizza slice savings. I might even expand my horizons into soft pretzels and Chic-fil-A chicken strips. With the money I amass, who knows what I’ll be able to do for humanity. But no matter what, I’m not giving any senior citizen discounts!

Have a great week.

Joseph Walther is a freelance writer and publisher of The True Facts. Send your comments. Just click here.