Talking ‘Bout My Generation

Sometimes I ask myself philosophical questions while standing in a long line at the grocery store. I look around at babies riding in carts, enthusiastic young couples, middle-aged persons who appear world weary and old folks who look like they are struggling.
I don’t look forward to getting old and I wonder how the world will cope with millions of elderly baby boomers.
To see how my generation will be in 20 years, I once again borrowed Michael J. Fox’s Delorean time machine and set it for 2031. I drove the Delorean up to 88 mph on Route 9 in downtown Court House and moments later I arrived in 2031.
I was parked in front of the Van Halen Convalescent Center. I walked in the lobby and the smell of medicinal marijuana was drifting from every room. Three Stooges short films and episodes of the Monkees played non-stop on an 82-inch television in the lobby.
Two old men sped by in scooter chairs with Harley Davidson logos on the rear fender. Three old ladies tottered by on walkers. They were wearing halter-tops that drooped to their knees. Everybody was missing their left ear.
I asked an attendant who appeared to be human but, on closer examination, was some sort of android like Mr. Data from Star Trek. “Ear cancer from too much cell phone use,” he replied.
From Muzak speakers throughout the nursing home I heard the Rolling St
ones, Joe Walsh and the Doobie Brothers.
“No Lawrence Welk here,’ I said to no one in particular.
Two old geezers in a corner of the lobby were yelling at each other.
“Al Gore won the election in 2000 and you know it,” shouted one geezer, wearing a Z. Z. Top T-shirt.
“Ralph Nader won, you dork,” shouted the other geezer who was wearing an REO Speedwagon shirt. “Mama said knock you out.”
A nurse on roller skates, who could have been a Hooters waitress, broke up the fight. “Time for your medication,” she said as she handed them both a joint.
I noticed a huge air conditioning unit on the side lawn.
The android nurse explained since global warming kicked into overdrive in 2025, the high temperature was 110 most days and in winter there are four-foot blizzards every other week.
I had my iPhone with me and logged onto the Web. I discovered in 2031, the United States of America wasn’t called the U.S any more. It was known as the Atlantic-Pacific Province of China.
I also learned all food had been given a Spanish names since all of it is now grown in Mexico which was now the second wealthiest nation on earth since it grew the all Northern Hemisphere’s food and pot.
The two old ladies on walkers settled in chairs in the lobby.
“How are you grandchildren?” asked the one with red, spiked hair.
“Perfect, it was a very good cloning,” answered the other who had shaved her head and had a Peter Frampton tattoo on her forehead.
“Do you remember when people had dogs and cats?” asked the redhead.
“Yes, it was before the worldwide food shortage,” answered the other. “By the way, what war are we in?”
“I think it’s World War V,” answered the redhead. “I think we are finishing attacking Italy and we are moving on to invade Australia next.”
I had seen enough of old age and returned to 2011.
“I hope I die before I get old,” sang Roger Daltrey of the Who in their song “My Generation.” I agree with the song’s writer, Peter Townshend. I see no advantage to growing old. The vast majority of people I have known have come to a bad end, often very sick and unhappy.
I think we better enjoy ourselves while we are still relatively young because the grim reaper is driving in the car behind us. The best we can do is put our foot to the floor and put some distance between him and yourself.
I took a test in Reader’s Digest some years ago that predicted how long I would live. According to the quiz, I’ll check out at the age of 67. That’s fine with me because the way things are going, I’ll be broke at age 66.