Preface to today's tale: I'm not one to dwell on age. I don't feel as old as I am, and it has been remarked by others that I don't look as old as I am, but in the end, I am as old as I am. And it's not what could be considered "young," but that's not something to be dreaded as far as I'm concerned.
One of the perks of being not young is not getting carded when going in to a bar or buying alcohol. Some may fancy the gesture, but I find it merely an inconvenient delay toward my aim. Generally, one look at my face and the bouncer or clerk may not reveal my true age but it can easily indicate I'm above the requirement, and that's fine by me.
A short while ago I ran down to the supermarket to procure some items my fiancee needed for her dinner menu. It wasn't a full shopping trip, so I had only a few items, and to bypass the lines at the cashiers I went to a self-serve checkout aisle to make my purchase.
Included in my items was a bottle of wine, and thus when I scanned it the overly cheerful voice associated with the machine called out to show my I.D. to the attendant. However, the attendant was absent at that moment. I glanced around for a few seconds, seeing no one to verify my age, so I turned and and put the bottle in the bag.
At that moment, I heard a voice from behind me say, "You're okay." I glanced over my shoulder and noticed it came from the attendant, who was already checking the I.D. of another customer at another self-serve station who required similar attention.
Then thing is: She didn't even look at my face. I was turned away completely from her, and I had on a hat and a coat that partially camouflaged my head.
Apparently I've reached the point where from behind--pretty much just the back of my neck--looks not young.
And I have to admit, I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Next time, I may just wait in line for a cashier. At least they have to look at my front side.