Back when I was young and skinny, and sporting a full final-season Greg Brady ‘do, I worked rotating shifts for several years. Meaning, I did a week of days, evenings, and overnights, with a few days off in between. And it didn’t bother me whatsoever. I didn’t even really think about it…
Fast forward to 2015. Last week I had to work day shift on Friday, and the same thing yesterday. So, I’m just talking about two days out of the month — with a couple of days off in the middle them. And it’s knocking me on my ass.
I was a mess when I got home last night, and fell asleep in a chair almost the moment I sat down. In fact, I think I lost consciousness during the free-fall itself. And I had a hell of time getting up this morning. I slapped the alarm clock five or six times, possibly more. Oh, I was a slappin’ machine.
I don’t feel old inside my head, but do notice things like that. It’s discouraging. The smallest of schedule-changes destroys me now? It’s a sad state of affairs.
How are you different from 20 or 25 years ago? I’ve calmed down considerably, because I’ve seen some shit. Know what I mean? I have a lot of experience under my belt, and realize that every little thing isn’t the end of the world. But other than that, and my inability to adjust to new schedules, I feel pretty much the same as I always have.
Are you noticing any signs of aging yet? Please tell us about them, won’t you? I don’t even think I look all that old, because I’m kinda fat. And fat is nature’s Botox. It’s the skinny folks who turn into turkey-necked skin sacks. Am I right? Pass the beer nuts.
Oh wait, I almost forgot… my hair is pretty freaking gray at this point. So, there’s that. I’m starting to look like Skippy Hicks, or whatever that guy’s name was on American Idol a few years ago. Fat doesn’t do a thing for gray hair, unfortunately. Oh well.
Speaking of old, it used to bother me when cashiers etc. would address me as “sir.” But, I’ve come to accept it. I guess I’ve entered the “sir” years, and, as they say, it’s better than the alternative. Whatever.
But what do you think about young people addressing you as “man?” “What can I get for you, man?” It feels somewhat inappropriate, but I also don’t mind it. I like having one foot in “man,” and one foot in “sir.” I know it’s only a matter of time before I go full “sir.” So, I view it as a good thing.
The other day, however, a cashier (possibly at Subway?) said, “What can I get for you, boss?” WTF? What are your thoughts on that one? Please help me form an opinion. All my circuits are sparking and canceling each other out.
And I need to call it a day, my friends. In the comments section tell us how the aging process has been treating you, and your feelings about cashier etiquette, and I’ll see you again soon.
Have a great day!
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First post, boss!
I’m pushing 50 years old, will be so in November 2016. Aside from the various aches and pains that didn’t bother me 25 years ago, nothing too troublesome.
The work schedule, however, is starting to affect me. My typical work week is 55 to 60 hours. Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays are 12 hour stints and by the end of the week, I’m ready to do absolutely nothing.
I will also turn 50 years-old in November 2016! The aging thing…I am like Benjamin Buttons so I will ride that wave as long as I can. The work schedule…I now work for myself so I can only bitch at me when things don’t get done. In my “old age” (been working since I was 15) I have learned that endless and useless meetings plus corporate-speak from kids less than half my age is irritating enough that it makes me want to slap the shit out of them, and I’m a pacifist. So, offices, “team players” and me don’t mix…I like this getting old thing.
November 13th here. And, if memory serves, our illustrious leader JK has a birfday in November, too…
I think the term Boss is used in certain regions of the country. I have been called that when I was waited on by someone from NY or NJ. A cashier in Wal Mart called me “Sugar Pie Sir” the other day. I have never heard that one before.
Today is my birthday! Old feelin’ @ 62….? Nope!!. I say dude or man and get dude or man back. I get sir now and then but mostly “Man”. Yes Ma’am to the ladies always. Attitude is my forte. I strive to present an appearance of mental stability and at times that is put to the test. I’m a truck driver again. Over the road 11 western states. Everyday is a different mile. Harriette-R-Dog (aka Poop-Doggie_Dogg) rides along too. I’m not kidding myself I’m not getting older but I’m carpe dieming it at every twist and turn of the road and having a blast. Still 6’2 ‘(haven’t started shrinking yet I guess) and a 36″ Wrangler original cowboy cut. I’m home now and on Thursday I have to be in Pixley, CA. 1000 miles away. And then…? I’m buying the ticket and taking the ride.
Happy Birthday Boss !!
Thanks man!
Happy Birthday, dto! Enjoy.
Thanks madz1962. Drinkin’ some beers and headed out for some messican lunch in my little village here in northern New Mexico.
Mr. Q gets called “chief” a lot. He doesn’t look ex-military to me (anymore), but I guess he still comes off that way somehow to others.
I had a nurse at a doctor’s office refer to me as “sweetie” recently. WTF is that? I didn’t even know her.
I just turned 50 earlier this year. My gray hairs are getting more numerous, and I’m starting to get those thick, wild hairs growing out of my eyebrows.
I am a much calmer and all around better person now than in my 20’s. I had two children in my early twenties and at 44 years old had another son. We were about to buy a boat and kiss the kids off but had that surprise instead. It turned out to be the very best thing and I always said what I lacked in energy I more than made up for in patience and wisdom.
It’s all so frustrating. I feel in my 20’s in my head and most of my friends are much much younger than me but I can’t hang and I need a nap every day.
Two words: belly fat.
Freaking estrogen.
Ever since I’ve gotten older, the number of fucks I have to give about much of anything has decreased to right around zero.
I love you.
oh……..I don’t get a lot of ma’am by cashiers. People in the Seattle area, especially are generally rude anyway. Lucky to get non-word responses like mmmkay or sorboutthat. It’s ok, the quicker they eff off the better.
And, seriously Jeff, I don’t want to hear about your gray hair. Mine is gray (under the color) except for the goatee and mustache and that shit is black. There is nothing distinguished about a mature woman. Hanging boobs resting on a distended belly. Just lovely. The leap from cougar to road kill is pretty much that quick.
My hair is graying, but I only really notice when I cut my hair . . . which is also when I notice that my hairline is slowly creeping north. Then there’s the ear hair, and the Brezhneving of my eyebrows. I might be losing my hearing, but I’m pretty sure that it’s actually that my girls are whispering all the time.
Yeah, what up with all that hair coming out of every previously smooth orifice? Like for the first 43 years of my life I never even thought about trimming ear, nose and eyebrow hair. Now if I skip a day it’s like Al Lewis all over my face.
Ok so I admit I’m pushing 50 now…only 1 /12 years to go. Like most posters here, I’ve never felt that old. I’m only grey in my beard, weigh the same as I did when I was 27, go out and see loud rock shows, drink way too much way too late and have positive sexual encounters on a frequent basis. I’m often pegged for late 30s or even mid 30s by some perhaps less worldly folks. I see people that I graduated with in my class from high school and they look like 67 and bald and fat and just..fucking old. I met this one cat who was like 8 years younger than me and I swear he had an AARP card already. Get it together, boss.
So all around no complaints in general. But…
I groan loudly every time I get in and out of the car. Hell, I groan loudly every time I lean over to pick something up. Like loud old man groans that just spontaneously erupt without effort or intention like nocturnal flatulence. “Oh, miss, did you drop that? Let me get that for yoooorrrrgraaahhhhhhhhh… bbrahhhhh, uh…ugh. Here you go.” I can’t help myself. It just happens.
That and my eyes have just gone to shit. Can’t read anything up close and keep stacks of $3 readers I got at Big Lots all over my house and car and office like Fred Sanford. My girlfriend has to read menus for me if I forget a pair. That sucks right there.
And that kid at the grocery store that asked if I had a senior discount. That little shit, I think he did it just to be funny. Fuck you, little turd-dude…fuck you.
“How are you different from 20 or 25 years ago?”
I have hair in different places now. I also think girls are gross, but in a sexy way rather than an avoidance way. I went through a stage where I got a lot of boners that went unused. Now I have fewer boners, but the great majority of them go appropriately applied.
I can drive now. And drink. I can also drink and drive, but I think it Is actually more illegal now than if I did it 25 years ago. But, at least I can see over the steering wheel now.
I’m much angrier now. I think that’s a cumulative progression though, every day I’m angrier than the day prior. I just didn’t have as many days of build up when I was 4.
I carry a wallet now. I can also eat candy whenever the fuck I want. (I think that’s my favorite part of being an adult, getting to eat candy whenever I want.)
My hair is still a deep shade of brown. However, it is vacating its position like a crappy clown on a sinking rodeo barge.
I forget how old I am sometimes. I kept thinking I was 35 a few weeks ago.
People call me “Sir” all the time. But I think that’s mostly at work where Soldiers don’t know how to talk to civilians who doesn’t give a shit about how people address him; especially if said civilian looks like he might be in charge of stuff but really isn’t. One of the Captains in the office next door keeps calling me “Boss”. I don’t know why. It’s weird. He’s from West Virginia.
You’re from WV. Do you know a guy from West Virginia name Dan? I bet it’s the same guy.
We have a guy who retired as a Colonel a few months ago and just got hired as an SES. He’s the highest ranking civilian on the installation. I worked with him daily while he was a soldier and now he wants me to call him “Greg”. That ain’t happenin’. However, if/when I get his job I’ll want people to address me by my first name. COGNATIVE DISSONANCE!!
Grey hair, failing eyes and more and more “WHAT?? WHAT??? as my hearing is now in question.
We just bought a summer condo in Rhode Island (FINALLY I own my own home) but it needs a lot of work (think Money Pit). After a weekend of scrubbing, lifting, stretching and bending, my ass is whupped. When did that happen? Then driving back home (to New York) I get literally roll out of the car resembling a goddamn hermit crab. It takes 2 days to recuperate.
53 and while I can still swing the bat, running down to first is like running through quicksand. And don’t even think about stretching it out for extra bases.
Most the time I view my penis as nothing more than a piss spigot. And then…HELLO.
I feel pretty young… until I look in the mirror. Who the hell is that old fart looking back at me???
I work in retail and ALWAYS speak to all my customers with respect but I address people appropriate to the situation, Sir, buddy, etc. Man, that one comes out very rarely. As far as women, its pretty much strictly ma’am. Little, 10 and younger, I will refer to as sweetie from time to time.
Boss is pretty big around here in Eastern Massachusetts.
Well, I went to the doctor
I said, “I’m feeling kind of rough”
“Let me break it to you, son
Your shit’s fucked up”
I said, “My shit’s fucked up?
Well I don’t see how”
He said, “The shit that used to work
It won’t work now”
I had a dream
Ah shucks, oh well
Now it’s all fucked up
It’s shot to hell
Yeah, yeah, my shit’s fucked up
It has to happen to the best of us
The rich folks suffer like the rest of us
It’ll happen to you
That Amazing Grace
Sort of passed you by
You wake up every day
And you start to cry
You wanna to die
But you just can’t quit
Let me break it on down
It’s the fucked up shit
Yeah my shit’s fucked up
Fucked up
-Warren Zevon
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qHDdqubE7zQ
A beautiful song from a beautiful guy. Like Warren, I figure I’ll sleep when I’m dead.
John
That song comes into play far too often these days. I was just refraining it a couple of weeks ago.
Delbert McClinton has a nice take on the deal.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyE-QmEfRBk
I’ve only ever been called Boss in northern Virginia. The first time was by a mendicant, and I was so taken aback that I snapped, “I’m not your boss!”
Getting old.. as they say, it beats the alternative. I’m a good deal wider than I was 25 years ago, but curiously I’m the same height. I think I suffer fools less gladly than I did then, but I’m also less inclined to stress out over things I can’t control. My hairline is still where it always was. I suspect there might be a gray hair or two, but it’s hard to tell. I’ll be 57 in August.
.
Damn, my power went out in the middle of writing this. How is it still there? Miracle of technology, whatever.
.
I’ll be 57 in a few weeks. Starting to think I might have a gray hair or two. Plus the usual aches and pains, bifocals etc.
.
I don’t like a bunch of goddamned noise. It can be a loud car sterio (or one of those hatchbacks with a huge mufler), someone tapping on their desk, birds chirping early in the morning, dogs barking incessantly – whatever it is, I wish everyone would stop the fucking noise.
The chirping birds don’t bother me but the loud crows need to shut up at 5 in the morning. I agree with all the other noises. I can’t tolerate anything loud except if I’m at a concert. And that loud BEEP BEEP of a large truck backing up is like an ice pick through my eardrum.
My house is surrounded by native trees, bushes, and plants that, especially this time of year, provide blooms that offer nectar to birds and insects, and I welcome birdsongs any time of day. It is the ABSENCE of those songs and the loss of the birds who sing them that will presage the beginning of the end of our species.
The thousand watt subwoofers I can live without.
jtb
55 and it looks like I’m wearing a flesh colored yarmulke all the time, Hair is 50/50 brown/grey including mustache, ears, eyebrows and pubic areas. I now jog instead of run my 3 miles every other day and even at a jog I must have the recovery day. Still no problem getting it up but harder keeping it that way as the wife also ages and there is nothing new or special going on during the act.
Every person I have to deal with in retail or customer service irritates the hell our of me but I’ve given up starting an argument unless it is costing me money.
Most people call me sir now days and I’m okay with that.
Happy Birthday to me! I’m 54 today and this is Jeff’s post. 25 yrs ago I was rockin it as a Boss Jock in DC having a blast. Now I’m an old lady trying to grow her colored locks out to see the reality of gray. At this point in time I have no more fucks to give. We did find and buy Casa Revashane last week so I see a my future retirement as selling admission to Ripley’s to the tourons. I downloaded Live at the Roxy recently, one of my favorites, and hearing My Shits Fucked Up this morning made me cry. Yeah, happy birthday to me.
Happy birthday. At 54 you have thousands of shits left on both AM and FM. Enjoy every sandwich.
John
Happy Birthday revashane! Hope you have a fantastic day.
When I was a kid my uncle would call me boss. I don’t know if it contributed, or was in response to my tendency to run the show as it where.
I use ‘man’ intermittantly. Too many 60’s and 70’s B-movies when I was growing up.
More white hairs. Starting to appear in spots in my moustache that people sometimes say theres something caught in it. Saw the first eyebrow white hair last week.
The aches and pains…
I can close my eyes anywhere anytime for a nap during the day. You’d never have caught me doing that before no matter how tired I may have been.
Here’s a question for some of you older folks:
Do old people really think you are interested in their dumb ass stories about their neighbors, or do they just not give a shit?
i’ll be 80 in a few months and I don’t give a fuck.
The only thing I give less of a fuck about than stories about Dorothy’s neighbor are stories about your job, and I only wish I could describe how much of a fuck I don’t give about either. Stories about Dorothy, on the other hand, are pretty damn interesting.
My own neighbor found a caustic manner with which to murder his family and I don’t give a shit. And, if I might go as far as to speak for Dorothy on this matter, she most likely doesn’t give a shit either. In reality, she doesn’t give a fuck, but we’re trying to tone down her language. You know, for the neighbors.
Love,
John
Or their medical procedures and what kind of meds they’re on??? Why can they go on and on and on with that shit? I don’t care that your hip, knee and partial asshole have been replaced. I got my own worries.
Turns out my neighbor is a partial asshole. That would bore the piss off a piss tree.
jtb
You know you are getting old when the shop girls start calling you Honey or Sweetie. I’ve been both Honey and Sweetie for some time now. I don’t really mind, I guess. Hair is silver and I still have most of it. I’ll never rock the Friar Tuck look tho with that little fringe around the sides. I’ll go full Kojak first. Don’t get me started on the old guys with the little white dogs in the park. That’s some sad shit right there.
Sometimes it’s hard to get up off the floor when I’m cleaning and I make that old man noise when I stand up sometimes but I’m not ready for Life Alert just yet.
Oh, and go fuck yourself. I mean that in the most respectful way.
The “go fuck yourself” sentiment would be even more respectful if you added “, Honey!”
good point.
Statistics:
Baltimore Colts/New York Giants
First downs 27 10
First downs rushing 9 3
First downs passing 17 7
First downs penalty 1 0
Total yards 460 266
Passing yards 322 178
Passing – Completions-attempts 26–40 12–18
Passing – Yards per attempt 8.1 9.9
Interceptions-return yards 0–0 1–5
Rushing yards 138 88
Rushing attempts 39 31
Yards per rush 3.5 2.8
Penalties-yards 3–15 2–22
Fumbles-lost 2–2 6–4
Punts-Average 4–50.8 6–45.6
Colts Passing
Johnny Unitas 26/40 349 1 1
Colts Rushing
Alan Ameche 14 65 2
L.G Dupre 11 30 0
Lenny Moore 8 23 0
Johnny Unitas 6 20 0
Colts Receiving
Raymond Berry 12 187 1
Moore 6 101 0
Mutscheller 3 46 0
Ameche 3 17 0
Giants Passing
Charlie Conerly 10/14 187 1 0
Don Heinrich 2/4 13 0 0
Giants Rushing
Frank Gifford 12 60 0
Webster 9 24 0
Triplett 5 12 1
Giants Receiving
Gifford 3 15 1
Kyle Rote 2 76 0
Bonus material this week:
Outlined against a blue-gray October sky, the Four Horsemen rode again. In dramatic lore they are known as Famine, Pestilence, Destruction and Death. These are only aliases. Their real names are Stuhldreher, Miller, Crowley and Layden. They formed the crest of the South Bend cyclone before which another fighting Army football team was swept over the precipice at the Polo Grounds yesterday afternoon as 55,000 spectators peered down on the bewildering panorama spread on the green plain below.
A cyclone can’t be snared. It may be surrounded, but somewhere it breaks through to keep on going. When the cyclone starts from South Bend, where the candle lights still gleam through the Indiana sycamores, those in the way must take to storm cellars at top speed.
Yesterday the cyclone struck again as Notre Dame beat the Army, 13 to 7, with a set of backfield stars that ripped and crashed through a strong Army defense with more speed and power than the warring cadets could meet.
The only time I use the word ‘Boss’ is when I am doing an impression of Hervé Villechaize’s celebrated character Tattoo from Fantasy Island. I might add that I do this with disturbing regularity.
Wasps by Emperor Yes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFfrG3-ZMac