The Senior

He had her number.

Gladys was about the most gregarious person you’ve ever met. She couldn’t stand to be silent. Even in a checkout line she’d get your name, jobs, and kids’ and grandkids’ names before it was her turn to checkout. If you ever had a chance to voice an opinion, she’d have one bigger and better than yours. Always joking, always kidding, always playing with people, but never taking herself seriously. She had been that way for 77 years and nothing was going to change.

“Ma’am, that’ll be $15.24 please,” the tall thin cashier boy said.

“Do you honor senior discounts here?” Gladys asked.

“Of course we do, but you have to be a senior for that to happen.”

“See these gray hairs, young man? Those are senior hairs. I’ve got freckles older than you.”

“Give them my regards then. $15.24 please.”

She turned to the woman behind her.

“Can you believe this, Anna? Says I’m not a senior.”

Anna just shook her head.

She squinted at him, trying to figure him out.

“Do I know you, Jeff?”

Cashier Jeff said nothing but smiled.

“What? You’re still not gonna give me a senior discount?” asked Gladys.

“Nope. Seniors only. No Freshmen, Sophomores, or Juniors allowed. And definitely no post-grads. It looks to me like you’ve done plenty of post-grad work.”

“Thank you. A smart Alec, this one is. Well played, Jeff. Well played. Gotta good sense of humor. Must run in your genes. But back to the point, as a matter of fact, I have done post-grad work on top of my post grad-work. You see, to pay my way through grad school, I, wait for it now, Jeffery, wait for it, I dug fence post holes. Get it, Jeff? Sometimes I crack myself up.”

“Aunt Gladys, you know that’s lame, don’t you?” Jeff the cashier said.

“Just give my me discount, Jeff, so we can get these nice people through the line. They don’t have time to hear you clowning around all day.”