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Yeah, alright, I've never been into the whole club scene even when I was
younger, but when we walked into that dance club down in Myrtle Beach
last weekend, I felt so out of place and so dorky. There we were, six
thirty-somethings--in our jeans, tennis shoes, and
sweatshirts--clustered around a small out-of-the-way cocktail table,
drinking our Miller Lites and staring aimlessly out at the hipper,
younger, and better-looking people out on the dance floor. Pretty
pathetic, if you ask me.
But it's just seems par for the course nowadays.
Comparatively, I'm really not that old (compared to what though?), but I
continually find myself in situations that make me feel, well,
ancient. Like not getting carded anymore--ever--when I order a beer.
Like seeing some kid driving in a car next me and me thinking he looks like
a 12-year-old. Like reading the reviews of new CD releases in the back of
Rolling Stone and not recognizing one single goddamn artist.
But it could be worse. Matt had the following
conversation with a Hooters waitress over the weekend:
WAITRESS: "So where are you guys from?"
MATT: "The Northern Virginia area."
WAITRESS: "Really? My roommate in
college this semester is from Fairfax."
MATT: "Oh yeah? What's her name?"
WAITRESS: "Jennifer Martin. Maybe you know her parents."
Ouch. |
2000-2006