Carson City, NV —
Shopping can be therapeutic. You’re having a bad day, so you go to the store, take your time perusing every aisle, and then suddenly you find the perfect item at the perfect price, and your spirit is renewed.
You approach the check-out with a proud grin on your face, as if to say, “Self, you’ve done good.” There, a pimply-faced cashier, who probably rode a skateboard to work, has a curious inquiry for you: “Ma’am, would you like the senior discount?”
Now, a quick calculation (subtract 6, carry the 1, pythagorean theorem, foot up this kid’s ass) confirms your ineligibility to collect said discount for two more decades. Yet, this pubescent boy, standing there with a dumbfounded look — symptomatic of his developing frontal cortex — can’t wait to assist an ancient being such as yourself, putting a little money right back in your pocket. “Ma’am?” He repeats himself.
This is the point when you say to yourself, what the hell? A discount is a discount. “Why, yes, young man, please apply your geriatric generosity!” After spending the next few minutes rewording what you just said in much simpler terms, this discombobulated young man saves you eighty cents off your bill, which will come in handy when you stop by CVS on your way home to pick up hair dye.
By Tommi Becker