So there I was at the pharmacy the other day, waiting for a prescription for my wife. When an employee called Liz's name, I walked up to the counter and reached for my wallet. As I did so, a young assistant picked up Liz's meds, together with one of those long-handled, claw-like devices that elderly or disabled people use to grab out-of-reach items from high kitchen shelves.
"Is this yours too?" she asked, referring to the contraption. "No," I replied, in what I hope was a neutral tone of voice that disguised my true feelings.
I'd like to think it was the proximity of the prescriptions to the grabber that made the woman think the plastic gizmo was mine. Or maybe she thought I needed it for an elderly relative. Then again, perhaps I look a hell of a lot older than my 60 years. The next day, I got a personally addressed flier in the mail (complete with middle initial) from The Scooter Store, which sells power chairs. "Feel like yourself again," it said in bold letters.
Actually, I had been feeling like myself, until people started suggesting that I'm someone else.
"Is this yours too?" she asked, referring to the contraption. "No," I replied, in what I hope was a neutral tone of voice that disguised my true feelings.
I'd like to think it was the proximity of the prescriptions to the grabber that made the woman think the plastic gizmo was mine. Or maybe she thought I needed it for an elderly relative. Then again, perhaps I look a hell of a lot older than my 60 years. The next day, I got a personally addressed flier in the mail (complete with middle initial) from The Scooter Store, which sells power chairs. "Feel like yourself again," it said in bold letters.
Actually, I had been feeling like myself, until people started suggesting that I'm someone else.
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