Beyond the End of Time

May 22, 2011 at 11:30 am (Cussed Dumbers, Waxing Nostalgic)

Some folks are surprised the world didn’t end yesterday. In case you were living under a rock without TV or internet, some wingnut radio preacher spend thousands of dollars warning us heathens that May 21, 2011 was to be The Rapture.

Well, it wasn’t the first time. That wacky door-knocking cult I was raised in figured the End of Times should have happened in September, 1975. No? By December 1975 I’d realized that while my parents meant well, they were probably being misled. So I quit worrying and got busy trying to determine what’s real and what’s bullshit on this here mortal coil.

However, something reminded me that the end of *my* world is approaching. It came in the mail yesterday. In one week I’ll be old enough to join AARP and they sent my invitation, along with a personalized temporary card.

Oh joy.

My friends have often been older, so when they got theirs I mocked them with minimal mercy. (I even signed one guy up for it. Hi Rusty!) And while I’m all for Senior Discounts and preferred seating, I can wait on some of the other perks of getting old and dying.

The world didn’t end, but next week I turn fifty. Big plans? Pfft. It’s Memorial Day weekend, which means all my friends are out camping, or are end-of-month broke. The day itself is a work day, and I have no plans other than going to work. I kept my usual days-off open in case Mizelle picks this week to come to Portland, but haven’t heard any news on that front.

Rose Festival starts this week. I looked at the work schedule, expecting monkeyshines since Grinder has been in charge of the schedule and wouldn’t reveal it until after he’d gone home for the weekend. What’s this? All my usual days, plus a closing shift at the Waterfront store? Woohoo! Overtime…

But wait, there’s more. I’m working with someone else? Oh joy some more. I call him Triple H, not after the wrestler but the cartoon character Hardy Har Har. He’s the one on the right:

That’s not Grinder on the left. (He’s more of a Snagglepuss.) I ain’t that skinny, but the hair is right. We’ll see if I have to tell him to shut up. Usually he just sits in the corner and pouts.

I love Rose Festival. Not for the beauty and pageantry, but for all the white-trash bullshit that migrates downtown over the next month or two. “Cigarettes are HOW MUCH?” “Che-e-ew costs $4.79 in MY neighborhood!”

“We are not WalMart, and no, you may not use the restroom.

Along with the uptick in business, I will likely see faces from the past. Another bonus? Girls in skimpy attire popping out everywhere. My eyes will be busy watching for shoplifters, pickpockets, dope dealers.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll be looking at.

(Hat tip to Art East for capturing my fair-going essence)

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