Many bonuses of being a senior

It didn’t take long for commentators surrounding last Sunday night’s Bucs-saints football telecast to point out that Tom Brady and Drew Brees were the oldest pair of quarterbacks to ever start an NFL game.

“QB codgers” one sports writer called them.

But if they’re considered geezers, what must that make me, someone who’s fast approaching their age?

And when I say “their age” I mean in the collective sense.

My wife tries to be supportive, reminding me of the many rewards seniors enjoy.

She’s right, of course. I recall the time I walked into a fast-food restaurant shortly after I turned 65 to buy tacos. I discovered they offered a discount for seniors but only after I had already paid. So I informed the young clerk I qualified hoping it wasn’t too late to receive the concession.

“Do you have any ID?” she inquired. So I displayed my driver’s license and she promptly returned 22 cents.

Regretting the deal, I tried to hand back the money, but you can’t buy back your youth.

I recall complaining to my wife about the incident. “Is that what you meant by rewards,” I questioned, “saving 22 cents on tacos?”

“Don’t worry,” she replied, “the rewards only get better.”

She was right again. Today, they no longer ask for ID.

I’m not suggesting discounted tacos are the only bonuses we seniors amass.

There’s also free coffee at participating Mcdonald’s.

Plus all the courtesies.

“Would you like carryout service?” the checker at the supermarket asked.

I wasn’t sure if she was talking about me or the groceries. I doubted it was about the groceries because I was buying only eggs.

So maybe it was an offer to carry me to my car.

But no, it was, in fact, about the eggs. I’m not trying to demean the offer. It’s not as though I was buying only a single egg. There were 12 of them.

So I decided to accept her offer, a response borne of nerve as opposed to need. So she summoned a young clerk to assist in the transport of the eggs.

It was the same youngster who earlier helped me locate the eggs in the first place. “Where might I find eggs?” I had inquired. “Follow me,” he replied.

Follow me? Really? Apparently, I needed an escort. It might have been sufficient to simply point me in the right direction, but such instruction is only reserved for the able-bodied.

The sound of mind.

I’m not saying there isn’t a time and place for an escort. For example, say I was a fighter pilot conducting an airstrike during warfare. I would likely be escorted by other fighter jets to deter enemy fire and ensure a safe return.

But I wasn’t on a bombing mission in the war. I was buying eggs in the supermarket. So I followed him.

To the eggs.

Back at the checker, the young man was handed the eggs and instructed to assist me to my car.

“Where are you parked?” he inquired. “Follow me,” I replied.