I ORDERED fish recently at a fast food restaurant, and a 17-year-old waitress with a crew cut and an earring in her nose gave me the "Senior Citizen Discount" before you could say AARP.
I'm a baby boomer, the folks born in the years 1946-64, after World War II. There are a lot of us.
So you can understand my astonishment when I got a senior discount on lunch without being asked. I'm not even 50.
When I was old enough to buy a six-pack, it really irked me to get "carded." Now, it's the reverse.
But this latest experience has led me to do some soul searching.
I don't like being categorized. But, are we "boomers" slowly becoming "geezers?" Jeepers.
"Baby boomer," seems inaccurate. As people like Burt Reynolds, Cher, Cybill Shepherd and Clint Eastwood age, I see myself aging, too, which isn't all bad. Sure beats the alternative!
You might be aging, too.
That's why I've come up with this checklist to measure our "Geezerability," with apologies to Jeff Foxworthy, creator of "You Might Be A Redneck If . . ."
By the way, being a "geezer" isn't a bad thing. Webster's Dictionary defines geezer as "an eccentric man or, rarely, woman: usually preceded by old." With that in mind . . .
You might be a "geezer" if . . .:
You remember any president before Ike.
You think "Soul Asylum" is a sanitarium near Chattahoochee, not a rock band.
You recall the real Woodstock.
You have a telephone with a circular dial, like the one in the movie "Butterfield 8." In fact, you qualify if you remember "Butterfield 8" starring Liz Taylor as a hooker.
You've forgotten what you had for lunch yesterday.
You've used carbon paper.
You remember when paperbacks cost 50 cents and you couldn't wait to get your hands on Ian Fleming's newest "James Bond: 007" novel.
You remember the sound of JFK's voice.
Purple hair turns you off.
You remember black and white television.
You ever turned up your collar and combed your hair back.
You don't have hair anymore to comb back.
You remember when cars had vent windows.
You have ever heard the expression, "Twenty-three skidoo."
You remember when they called detectives "dicks" in the movies, as used once in the following sentence by Broderick Crawford: "Cheese-it, Sammy, the guy's a private dick."
You remember what "cheese-it" means.
You've worn bell-bottom pants and weren't in the Navy.
You fell asleep before you read all of this.
C'mon in, sit right down. You're no "baby" anymore, boomer.
Tom Tucker is a columnist at the Daytona Beach (Fla.) News-Journal.