When a very old person has one of those days

Tuesday morning a violent storm rolled through town and took our giant, city-issued garbage can with it. I noticed it missing when I came home from work and briefly contemplated tracking it down. That turned out to be as undignified a process as you’d imagine, kind of Alice Kravtiz-y too.

I wondered how I’d even identify my garbage can as I tiptoed down the street looking for it. I vowed to pay more attention to that poor, old bin and, should I convince it to come home, treat it kindlier. No more half-open containers carelessly tossed in, no more kicking the bottom half to tilt the top so I can roll it up the driveway. 

I spotted a garbage can that could have been mine, splayed out there on the street. I righted it and peaked inside.

Embarrassed for both of us, I quickly shut the cover. No one, not trash bin not human, wants to be identified by its innards. I apologized and high-tailed it home without making eye contact with anyone.

From the privacy of my kitchen, I called the Department of Public Works, who assured me they would either track down my missing bin or supply me with a new one.

Pleased with problem solving ability, I turned my attention to our dishwasher, which needed to be unloaded following a large gathering. That’s when I noticed that my finicky old friend, the one I coaxed into seeing me through one more frantic week, had died. Rigor mortis had set in, along with the crust of our delicious Mexican feast.

Rest in peace, good and humble servant, I told her, as I unloaded about 100 plates and glasses and prepared to handwash them. You’ve served us well.

I ordered a new dishwasher, still clinging to an increasingly frantic cheeriness.

Our cool though ridiculously inefficient downstairs toilet offered me my next opportunity to prove how impenetrable a good mood can be. Though it suits our nearly 100-year old house, its pull-string design rarely lands that ball where it needs to be.

Last week I paid a plumber $200 to rig it up and he told me he did, “well enough to land right “90% of the time.” He turned out to be 100% wrong.

So, my next call was to a plumber. I ordered a new, admittedly boring toilet that will not amuse the neighborhood kids nearly as much, but it will, in fact, flush.

The last and most grievous blow to me (and my ego) came during an innocent trip to Festival Foods. As I waited to mail a package at the service counter, I observed an elderly man getting help with the digital coupons on his phone. He looked up at me and said, “Woah! I guess you learn something new every day!”  And I was so pleased that he turned out to be a cheerful, not crotchety, old man.

I later saw him in the Jello aisle where he greeted me and said, “Guess we need to rely on the young people to work our phones, don’t we?” And I said, “Ha Ha! I guess so!”  But I thought, “WE? WE? How could this ancient man think I’m his contemporary?”

In truth, he might be younger than I am.  I don’t know these things.

But, I did not enjoy that conversation.

And, now, if you need me, I’ll be over here in my rocking chair, sipping my prune juice and watching my neighbors roll out their garbage cans.