David Knows What’s Up: How I Dominated The Old Folks’ Home
How I Dominated The Old Folks’ Home
By David (Knows What’s Up)
I’m a straight-up hardass – except when it comes to family. So last week I took the train to suburban Philly to visit my Nana. She lives in an old folks’ home (OFH). You ever go to one of these places? They’re dope. Lush gardens, card tables galore, all the turkey loaf you can eat (up to your allotted daily meal allowance, past which you’re required to dip into your disbursement). It’s like heaven on Earth – kinda like a preview for where all the silver stags and foxes on the premises are headed. They don’t call the main foodatorium “Renaissance Hall” for nothing. It ain’t death knocking on the door here, it’s rebirth.
Everyone’s wicked nice at this place, too. You know how when you’re at Chuck E. Cheese or Video Invasion or Wizard’s Castle and you’re strutting through the arcade all stoked because you’re pretty sure you can redeem your Skee-Ball ticket winnings for a Koosh ball but no one even stops and says, “Nice work, bro!?” Well, at this retirement community, you can’t walk two steps without someone whizzing by in a walker and saying “Wuzzup, sonny!” or “Way to work it, youngin'” or “Give me back my wife’s ring!”
My kinda place.
You guys — you know how we, as a society, are all about being young and beautiful? Like, the only graybeards we call good-looking are Sean Connery and Sophia Loren and that’s basically it? (Even though they both look like waterlogged leather.) Turns out we as a society are right about that. Younger = hotter. But there are some ladies at this place who, probably like 60 years ago, were pretty fine. If you squint you can see it. It’s a fun way to pass the time.
Also, even though I’m superworldly and have contacts from Khartoum to Kananaskis (Joke – “Kananaskis?”; “I don’t know. Bend over and we’ll find out.”), people at the OFH give me crazy cred for doing normal stuff.
Old dude: “What’s that you’re eating, my boy?”
Me: “Sushi. Deal with it.”
Old dude: “Is that ethnic food?”
Me: “Pfft. Duh.”
Old dude: “The only ethnic food I like is cinnamon toast.”
Me: “World’s going mongrel, old dude. Adapt or die.”
Old dude: “I don’t like you, junior. But I respect the hell out of your sophisticated, adventurous palate.”
Then I tricked him into eating sushi by telling him a piece of hamachi was a wine gum. He tried it. He liked it.
I have so much to teach the elderly.