I’m Down With Aging

There are times when I look back at my younger years and shiver. My guardian angels deserve a raise, because I’ve definitely worked them overtime.

The other day I read about a police raid in Seattle. A woman got bagged for selling shrimp of dubious origin from the back of a van (I can see buying cigarettes this way, but shrimp?). And this reminded me of what might’ve been the dumbest move from my twenties.

I was driving out west for the first time, heading to a job in Utah. I drove my packed Volkswagen Jetta with the skis bungied on top through downtown Dallas, hoping to see J.R. Ewing. While I was sitting at a red light, a low-rider with a lightning bolt on the side pulled up on my left. I glanced over at the guy in the passenger seat. He was wearing blade shades and had one of those super narrow goatees.

The guy looked at me and said “Chew want to buy some stereo equipment?”

To which I replied “Is it stolen? I only buy equipment that’s been stolen.”

The guy just stared while I, the clueless smartass from the suburbs, smiled back.

I could’ve ended up with a cap in my ass, my body pitched into a dumpster to be fed on by rats. A ski pole protruding from my forehead would’ve been a nice added touch. But I didn’t. When the light changed, the low-rider just squealed off in search of better, more appreciative customers.

I liked the mid-twenties me. We had a lot of fun. But it’s things like this that make me perfectly fine with growing older.