Recently I’ve had two experiences that make me question my boyish good looks:
My mom was in a physical rehab place for a few weeks in October, and so I would visit her fairly often. They served dinner there at about 5:30, which is when I would arrive if I visited right after work.
Now, keep in mind that most of the patients there (i.e. all of them) were over 60 years old.
This particular evening visit I was seated with my mom, and a few of her friends, in the dining room. It was me, my mom, a lady, and an older gentleman patient. The gentleman got tired of waiting and sort of walked off. One of the worker who was handing out the food came over to the table with a tray for the man. She looked at me and said, “Henry?” (the patient’s name, though not really. Respect HIPAA, people).
I assured her I wasn’t the elderly gentleman in a wheelchair she had mistaken me for.
I was headed to catch a Long Island Railroad train in Penn Station the other day. The track for the train I was getting was at the bottom of a long flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a woman, in her 50’s, with 4 suitcases. As I was approaching two guys ahead of me offered to help her with one piece each. That left her with two pieces, so I offered to help her with one. She agreed and I grabbed a bag and carried it down.
She met up with a group of her friends at the bottom of the stairs and started chatting with them. I boarded the train, and started to read my book.
The woman, with her friends, boarded the same train car as me and sat down several rows ahead of me. The woman I helped started to talk about how amazed she was that strangers had helped her out. “Those two guys just came up and offered to help me with my bags! And then that old guy took the last one!
It took me a second to realize I was the old guy in that story.