When I was 55 or so, I walked into a fast-food restaurant and placed an order. The kid who served me, who appeared hardly able to see over the counter, took the details of my simple request and then asked me, “Would you like a senior Coke?”
In the few seconds I had to process this request before I gave my answer, I pondered what on earth a senior Coke might be, having never before been offered one. Was it a Coke served by a little old man named Perkins wearing a beanie hat with the restaurant name on it after he emerged from a small room when some senior citizen servers were kept, or was it a Coke that had been formulated in 1945 and, like a bottle of fine wine, was just now ready to be uncorked? Or, would a portion of the cost of this Coke be given by the restaurant to a benefit organized to help needy seniors in the community?
I was confused.
So I asked, “What is a senior Coke?”
Well, as it turned out, it was a small Coke given for free to seniors.
Which begged the next question.
Why was I, a young whippersnapper still wet behind the ears, being offered a senior Coke?
Perhaps the youngster who offered me this thought I might want it for some old guy standing right behind me who he mistakenly thought was my grandfather. I looked behind me to see no one there.
“Yes,” I finally decided. “I would like a senior Coke.” It wasn’t my fault the kid had screwed up so badly.
Fourteen years later, I don’t even have to ask for a senior Coke any more. They just plop one down on my tray like they might include a toy if I was a kid.
But there were a few years there when my status as a bona fide senior was in doubt. This restaurant had other specials for seniors and if I wanted those, it took some planning.
I would stand back and size up the servers. If a kid took my order, I was a shoo-in as he or she had not likely ever seen anyone who looked so ancient. But if the server was an older adult, I might have to produce five types of identification before I could score a cheaper hamburger and fries.
So, I would hang back, and hope to get a younger server. I got pretty good at that over time.
Alas, probably because shysters such as I were ripping them off too badly, the restaurant dropped all special pricing for old folks except for the senior Coke.
But it’s a just world and there are always compensations. A few years ago, they introduced a junior menu. It feels a bit strange ordering a junior burger and a senior Coke, as though one might cancel out the other, but so far, so good.
Besides, I have a ball at night playing with the free toys.
©2020 Jim Hagarty
