A True Christmas Story

 

Wednesday I had to go to the Walmart pharmacy to get my mom her meds.  As I was waiting behind a very old man who was wearing a cap that said Marines on it, I noticed all this greenish liquid all over the floor.  I was wearing my superboots so I touched a toe in this and it was still very wet.  The old man was having trouble, and suddenly he revealed this object the size of a soccer ball.  It was wet and slime encrusted, the same color as the stuff on the floor.  Although I have never seen one, I knew it was his colostomy bag.  That meant that he had been standing in line with that thing dripping, and did nothing about it.  One of the clerks was dabbing at him with a paper towel, while he was going on and on about how he had changed it right before he came up to the store.  I doubt he had and I decided he was senile.  God, how awful.  I felt bad for him, and I wondered when he was at the Chosin Resevoir whether he ever thought that he would end up like this.  No, of course not.

Many people were inconvenienced by this.  All the lines had to be shut down while they eventually got someone there with a mop and disinfectants.  I am very sad about that old man but he should not go places in that condition.  If we had been on a spaceship I would have put him through the nearest airlock pronto.

Old age is an obscenity.  It is just our bodies and brains wearing out.  There is no virtue or wisdom gained just from living a long time.  I live in a town with a very high proportion of retirees.  Getting older myself puts me in the position of a man in a mirrored funhouse. An old, dim, decayed, empty, forlorn, isolated, cold, rain soaked, exposed funhouse.  This way to the Egress!