I’m not sure, but I think I had what could very well be my first “senior moment.” For the first time ever, I went to the grocery store, filled my cart, and then realized I had left my wallet at home. I had not yet tried to check out, so I was saved the indignity of screwing up with a line of busy customers behind me. I just tucked my full shopping cart to the side, up by customer service—where I caught the eye of a store clerk who I’m vaguely familiar with. I said, “I’ve left my wallet home. I’ll be right back. Can you keep an eye on my cart for a couple of minutes?” I dashed home and back, and my full cart was safe and sound when I returned.
This memory lapse will cost me. I already know that my fate is sealed on this point: for the rest of my Centerville life, whenever I pass this particular store clerk when I’m shopping at Dick’s Market, she will ask me if I remembered to bring my wallet this time. I’ll give my reply, and we’ll chuckle. Same joke, over and over again, probably weekly, probably for years. The joke will get old, but it’s just how it is with mere acquaintances in these contexts: you only “know” each other because of one odd occurrence, so you mention it in some way every time you meet up. It’s your one connection—the one thing that makes you not strangers.
As the future plays out, I’m sure I will occasionally decide I need to do my grocery shopping elsewhere because I simply won’t be able to stand the wallet question even one more time. But Dick’s Market is just around the block, so it’s too convenient for me to not patronize. Thus, I am doomed to my forgotten-wallet-reference-first-senior-moment fate until said store clerk retires or dies. Oh, well. My first senior moment could have been so much worse than a forgotten wallet, but let’s not think too hard about what those worse senior moment possibilities could be. 🤡
