When everything old feels new-ish again

I saw a meme the other day. It said something about knowing you’re old the instant you realize a co-worker is your child’s age. I’m old.

I’m surprised I even know what a meme is. And I probably didn’t need a meme to tell me how old I am.

I started a new job recently. Yes, I do have a job when I’m not writing newspaper columns. I have not quite figured out how to make mortgage payments while churning out 800 words a week.

It’s a great job. I love the work. I love the people. The coffee is so-so.

It was also a bold move for someone of my vintage. I’m quite experienced. It wasn’t easy to walk away from a long-term gig to take on a new challenge. I’m pretty old to be “the new guy.” Or the new old guy. Or the old new guy.

But here I am in completely new surroundings trying to get used to a new office layout, a new workflow and, yes, new colleagues who are, as the meme says, younger than my kid.

Honestly, no exaggeration, I have items of clothing older than some of my co-workers. I would bet $100 I have socks that are as old as someone in my office.

It’s easy to tell how much of an age gap there is when small talk turns to family.

My co-workers talk about getting kids to daycare or planning birthday parties. Last weekend my youngest kid and I went for beers. Legally.

Many of my co-workers are kids themselves. While I was gearing up for a big long weekend that included a 6:45 (a.m.!) tee time, some of my colleagues were talking about driving to Montreal for a weekend music festival.

They weren’t just talking. They did it. They took off for the festival and came to work Tuesday straight from the gig. Kids!

I knew I was going to be the old guy. I got a sneak preview of the “welcome” email that was sent around. It described me as someone with an extensive background in communications and journalism with “over 25 years of experience.” Twenty-five years! Who is this guy?

I was truly expecting my new co-workers to speak in loud voices to make sure I could hear them. They were probably waiting for me to start complaining about the office being too cold or talking endlessly about soup and the crappiness of today’s so-called music.

My age hit hard the day we were talking about gift cards being a perfect gift for any occasion. They are.

But, I told my new co-workers that when my kids were little, Beanie Babies were the perfect gift. Any time my girls were invited to a birthday party, it was easy. Pick up a Beanie Baby as a gift. Done.

My co-workers remembered Beanie Babies. That was positive. But they remembered because they collected them as kids. Uh oh. So old.

Since I started working with the young folks (young, hard-working and very smart, I should add) I’ve been extra careful. My ear/nose hair trimmer is getting a daily workout.

I’m two weeks out from my last haircut which meant this morning my five o’clock shadow was pretty much connected with the hair on the back of my neck. I had to do a full 360-degree shave to get rid of my homegrown turtleneck.

Speaking of that haircut — here’s a tip for all you old or soon-to-be old guys. If the barber asks if your eyebrows need a trim, your eyebrows need a trim.

I’ve also been hiding a slight limp this week. I don’t want anyone to notice I’ve had a little pain in my toe. I just don’t think they could handle a discussion about gout this early in our relationship.