The Old Coot is a cave man.
By Merlin Lessler
The Old Coot is a cave man.
By Merlin Lessler
The Old Coot has a message.
By
Merlin Lessler
The Old Coot speeds along!
By Merlin Lessler
The Old Coot misses the rotten tomato era.
By
Merlin Lessler
Not anymore! Our right to free “rotten tomato” speech is a criminal offense. To even touch another person without their permission, can get you arrested and charged with disorderly conduct or assault. We’ve lost such a delightful free speech mechanism. Yet, we still do it mentally, at least I do, every time I watch the news and hear a bloated bunch of malarky from a corporate executive, politician or even an advertisement that I know is a lie. It makes you wonder what happened to the truth in advertising rules that were enacted five decades ago? The consumer protection czar is asleep at the wheel and most certainly deserves a pie in the face.
The Old Coot gets lost in the past.
By Merlin Lessler
Our school had a cafeteria, but many of us, either
couldn’t afford, or couldn’t stand, to eat the slop that the lunch ladies
plopped on your plate. The only thing I purchased in the cafeteria was
government subsidized milk, and once a week, a sliver of ice cream, served on a
cardboard dish for ten cents.
Things changed in senior high. There were no school
buses. You either took a city bus, walked, or were lucky enough to have some
older kid in the neighborhood with a car who would get you there and back for a
buck a week. At 25 cents a gallon, it was a profitable venture. If you played
sports, with after school practice, you walked home or bummed a ride. Hitch
hiking was another way of getting around in that era.
The other change in senior high, was where we settled in
to eat our lunch. There was a bakery just a few steps from school and for
reasons unknown to me, they let us crowd in to eat, even though most of us just
bought a container of milk. It was a mob scene, so crowded that it was hard to
get from the front door to the beverage container in the back. We stood around like
munching cows in a pasture. My bag usually contained three sandwiches, a boxed
snack pie and an apple. I’d weigh 400 pounds if I ate like that today.
When I made it to eleventh grade, my lunch room shifted
to the pool hall down the block. I learned more there than I did in class, but
the subject was street smarts. It cost ten cents to play rotation or eight ball,
a penny a minute for straight pool. Those games were fairly innocent. It was
the money games that improved our street smarts, nine ball and six ball. We had
an hour for lunch; it was enough time to lose a week’s allowance with a missed
shot on the money ball. The Lotis brothers, who owned and ran the pool hall, collected
a fist full of dimes and got a garbage can full of empty paper lunch bags as a
reward. Oh my, all that from a jar of honey in a paper bag.
The Old Coot gets a workout.
By Merlin Lessler
I was recently on a cruise in the Southern
Caribbean. It wasn’t my first rodeo. I’ve been on a ship or two or three over
the last 30 years, but I was a youngster when I started, in my early 50’s. A
lot has changed over those 30 years, but this isn’t a documentary about the
evolution of cruising. I don’t know what it is. Anyhow, I’m usually off my
leash in the early morning hours. I’m at breakfast as I write this. It’s a
cafeteria deal, with islands of food items, not one long line. You scramble
from place to place. Cereals here – custom cooked eggs there – meats at another
station- toast and bread off to the side.
You weave through a mass of people like an NFL
running back trying to avoid tacklers. No small feat for an octogenarian with
balance issues. On this day, I actually remembered to grab a silverware pack
(knife and fork wrapped in a cloth napkin) and shoved it in my pocket. Unlike
the day before, the several days before, when I located an empty seat, sat down
to eat, and realized – NO UTENSILS!
This day, with a knife and fork in my pocket, I
headed to the toast station where you wait while the bread you select runs
through a car wash like toaster conveyor. I decided to come back in a few
minutes and moved on, grabbed a juice at the beverage corral, found a table and
plopped down my stuff, marking my turf. End of trip #1.
Then, I
grabbed a large plate and a bowl and put the bowl on the plate. Did I mention
that there are no trays to purvey your selections? Not anymore. I went to the
cereal station and deposited a splash of Cheerios into the bowl- then to the
fruit island to add watermelon, cantaloupe and two strawberries to the plate
the bowl sat on. My solution to the no tray situation. I put the goods on my
table. End of trip #2.
Trip #3 - back to the beverage corral to snag a
coffee and said, “Sorry,” to the nice little old lady I nearly knocked over
when my balance issue hurled me into her. I sat down and breathed a sigh of
relief, opened my napkin and discovered just a knife and fork, no spoon. This
started trip #4. I went back to the cereal island and grabbed a spoon,
thinking, “This is it; I can finally eat my breakfast.” Oops! Not to be, I had
forgotten to pour milk on my cereal; grabbed the bowl of Cheerios and went back
to the cereal station where there were pitchers of milk and cream. Trip #5.
I‘d forgotten to pick up the toast, but decided I’d
had enough exercise for one morning. Maybe tomorrow. I hadn’t tripped or
bruised too many passengers in the process. Someone is sure to ask what I did
on my cruise. I’ll simply say, “Had a good breakfast. And, got a lot of
exercise.”
The Old Coot rides down memory lane.
By
Merlin Lessler