Mostly Anecdotal

When I was younger there were cars with push-button automatic transmissions? It was a bad idea, and it wasn’t long before the buttons disappeared and more traditional methods of changing gears returned. We know now that it was not a harbinger of a button-less future, but rather a blip on the path to our modern push-button society.

I read somewhere, that beginning in the nineties, pushing the close button an elevator did nothing, but it didn’t stop me or others from pushing the button anyway, sometimes repeatedly. And when the door eventually closed we felt the power of a prayer answered, or in my case the laws of physics confirmed.

I’m an itinerant button pusher. I’ve pushed buttons on more than one continent. I not only push the close button in the elevator, but in my impatience I push the open button too. If there were a button for the sunrise and the sunset, I’d be pushing it as well.

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The rules are simple, choose ten people who you think will die in the next year. At the end of the year when all the deaths are counted, the winner is the player with the highest score. The score is calculated by subtracting the person’s age from 100. No points are awarded for anyone over 100.

When a new resident checks into the Ranch, a retirement community, the unofficial gatekeepers, Betty a brassy blonde, and Agnus a natural redhead, usually see him first.

“There’s the new guy,” says Betty.

“I see him,” says Agnus.

“He won’t be around long,” says Betty “he’s already got one foot in the grave.”

Agnus laughs, “Yeah, you got that right.

Betty was right; the new guy only lasted 10 days. Betty is often right when it comes to questions about the end of life. The death, as unexpected as a death at the Ranch ever is spoiled the new guys’ birthday party. His family was on their way to visit him at the very moment he expired at the foot of the stairs. When they arrived they would be making arrangements to have his body transported home, not eating cake, and sharing memories.

The new guy tripped. He fell down the stairs, and he broke his neck. Betty provided the details; she was there at the top of the stairs when the new guy took his tumble. The police investigated, they said it was an accident, just another one bites the dust at the old folks home, they said. I think the police ended their investigation too soon. I think they should have asked more questions. I think they should have asked if there was a dead pool at the Ranch, and if the new guy was on Betty’s list.

The transaction was complete, I’d entered my PIN, pushed the yes button agreeing to a total of $47.56 and the magic box had approved. I’d moved to the end of the check stand and grabbed my cart, when the checker said, “wait, your receipt.” I paused as he took out his red pen and circled my savings, “you saved $4.96 on ‘hot buys’ today,” he said.

Well, as you might expect I was thrilled, I was whooping and a hollering as I guided my cart across the front of the store, passing other customers who were just learning of their “hot buy” savings. I was overcome with joy and needed to share.

I stopped and walked over to the end of the nearest checkout stand. The bagger was just finishing up an order for a young mother and her daughter, paper not plastic, when I came up behind him and gently touched his shoulder with the back of my hand. He stopped bagging, turned and leaned toward me. I whispered, “I just saved $4.96 on ‘hot buys,’ is that cool or what?” The mother looked at me, not sure if she should be annoyed that I was delaying her checkout, she paused for a moment to consider, our eyes met, she smiled, and said, “I have ‘hot buys’ too.”

He was half in and half out of the dumpster, and yelling for help. I ignored the stench, a fellow human and all that. I wasn’t sure if the odor filling my nostrils was coming from the dumpster, or from the man, or a combination of both, but it was like standing next to a giant cat box that had never been emptied. I unhooked his belt from where it was caught and yanked. The combination of gravity and my tug righted him. He turned and faced me, an empty Bud can in each hand. I didn’t ask. “I’m an environmentalist,” he said, “and a recycler.” I was startled by his job description, and said nothing. “Ah, so later,” he said, “and thanks.” He turned and walked away.

The speaker crackled, a voice, an impatient voice said thank you for shopping at Harmons. We will be closing soon, please bring your purchases to the front of the store.

“The store is closing,” he said, “can I help you find something?”

“Why yes,” I said, “I’m looking for saltine crackers.”

I expected him to give me the aisle number, but instead he signaled that I should follow him. He got a better start than I did and quickly had a half an aisle lead on me, and when he reached the end of the aisle he disappeared. I wasn’t sure if he had turned right or left.

I reached the end of the aisle and turned left, but the next aisle was empty. I was ready to turn around when a voice said, over here. I turned, but he was gone again. I retraced my steps, pass the aisle where I’d started and on to the next. There he was mid-aisle, crackers in hand. He was wearing his you’re-the-customer smile, a smile that was forced and fading. I took the crackers, while he deftly moved to the middle of the aisle assuring that my only exit was to the front of the store.

Twenty minutes later I made it through the checkout, and there he was again, no longer blocking my path, but pointing the way out of the store.