I overheard a conversation yesterday in the locker room that stopped me dead in my tracks. One of the guys was telling his buddy that he's training a guy that was born after we started work there.
I have been at that job longer than that youngster's been breathing on his own. I was working there the day he was born, when he took his first step, when he started kindergarten, when he started high school, when he graduated high school. I was working there when he got or gave (California, ya know) his first blow job.
I hate that motherfucker already and I've never even laid eyes on him.
Fifty three years old and feeling twice that all of a sudden. I mean, my maturity level is no more that it was in my mid twenties, and in my mind I don't consider myself old, but check this shit out - I remember going out and stomping my ex-brother-in-law into a little greasy spot for hitting my sister when I was 30 years old because Pops was headed out to do it and I didn't want him to hurt himself or break a hip or something so I beat him to the punch. He was elderly, you know? Frail. Almost 50. He was 4 years younger than I am now.