Recently at the grocery store, the lady at the register said to me, “Hello, handsome, would you like paper or plastic?”
I smiled, said “paper,” and as she was ringing me up, I thought to myself things such as, “Dan, you handsome bastard, you still have it. Aging like a fine wine.” She handed me my receipt, and I was feeling pretty good about myself.
As I began to leave, she turned to the customer behind me, a ragged, haggard man with a wild, unkempt beard, stringy hair, and wearing a flannel shirt, old sweatpants, and eyeglasses likely made in 1983. A man who had long ago given up on his appearance … and probably life. And she said to him, “Hello, handsome, would you like paper or plastic?”