On leaking dignity while delivering the goods

thirty stops, one zipper and a truck that smelled like justice

Oh dear reader, aging is difficult indeed!

One day, you’re out in the world, skipping down a sandy beach, the next, they’re putting you in a nursing home.

That day for me isn’t tomorrow, but the signs of aging are beginning to show.

It’s not the big stuff yet. The small humiliations show up first

Ricky, stop the truck. I gotta pee.

Each bump was increasing my discomfort and we were on a very bumpy road.

There’s houses all around us and we don’t have a Tim’s cup.

It didn’t matter. I had to go.

Just pull in close to the trees. I’ll find a way to hide.

I slipped from the truck already leaking dignity, leaned in by the rear passenger wheel and found relief falling all over the tailpipe, creating a satisfying and nasty smelling spiral of steam.

I got back in the truck and we resumed our day.

We stopped at the old folks home. We stopped at the school, the car dealership and thirty more houses where people came out to greet us, eager to talk.

At the gas station filling up, Ricky started laughing.

You didn’t notice eh?

I had no idea what he was talking about.

Your fly, dumbass.

You took a piss on the truck then spent the day walking around talking to people with your barn door open. It’s a good thing the horse didn’t get out.

Well shit.

I was that guy. You know him - that dirty old man with two days of stubble and hair like one of those troll dolls walking around with his pants wide open for all the world to see.

I spoke to a lot of women, Ricky. I delivered to schools. You let me do this?

Ricky shook his head and smiled.

Damn right bud. You’re pre seniority. And a pre senior. This ought to teach you to check yourself before you wreck yourself.