“Old Man Club”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(12-18)

Dollar stores.

One thing I have learned from early retirement is the attraction old men have toward low-cost retail venues. Specifically, those such as Dollar General, Family Dollar and Dollar Tree. All three of these chains are represented well, in my area of Ohio. In each store, I have joined a parade of senior fellows, in Carhartt apparel or professional windbreakers, with baseball caps at the ready, canes in their carts, and military insignia or workplace logos prominently displayed. They represent a seasoned army of age-rich veterans. Worthy of respect. Gleaming with pride. But often, wholly unfamiliar with shopping on a regular basis.

They greet each other in the aisles, and discuss infirmities, distant memories, and grandchildren.

In my case, becoming a member came because of physical disability. Not a chronological benchmark. Thus, I was “early to the party.” At first, unwelcome. Not someone who would traditionally be in the group. Too young and unprepared. Retired at 55. Out-of-service. Sidelined. Warming the bench while other, more capable competitors continued the game.

But, I have learned how to belong.

My own cane is an item purchased while still managing supermarkets for a living. A tool for work, not puttering through golden years. But its flame design, a mimic of one used by Dr. Gregory House, fits my personal style. I prefer its height and sturdy construction for getting around. My cap is a giveaway tchotchke for the Jim Beam World Series of Poker. Something I received from the beverage department head at one of my stores. Though faded and worn by years of outdoor activity and indoor neglect, it fits better than any other skullcover in my collection. My jacket is a plain, job item from eBay.

As he grew older, my father began this march by patronizing the local Rite-Aid pharmacy in Philippi, West Virginia. An in-between sort of place with shelves of discount merchandise laid out to compliment a selection of medicinal goods. While getting prescriptions, he also bought soft drinks, tubs of cheese puffs, and cured snacks. This helped to minimize trips to their full-size grocery store. Something that became increasingly difficult to endure, walking with canes in both hands.

My younger brother adopted the Dollar General near his home as a favored spot for buying consumables, under similar circumstances. Though he did not need a walking stick. After years of piloting a tractor-trailer rig, he also suffered from declining mobility. But like myself, he was too young for automatic membership in the club of old men. Eventually, he enlisted our sister to perform the actual gathering of goods. He served as a driver and she handled navigating the stores.

This partnership works well, even today.

For myself, visiting dollar stores has offered a refreshing bit of social engagement, after years of salaried supervision. I enjoy hearing stories about the habits of each different vendor. When a manager on duty at one store spoke about receiving stock, presorted on wheeled carts from their warehouse, I was intrigued. She probably wanted to resume her work. But I felt hungry for information. When a new discount depot opened in my neighborhood, I attended the grand opening to ponder their layout.

Every detail made me curious.

Still, I was there to fill my cart. Like Dad, like brother, like the crowd of gray and balding oldsters steering around displays of crackers, potato chips and popcorn tins. Each store seemed to have its own hits and misses on the bargain scale. I soon learned that a healthy household bottom line meant shopping at a variety of chains, not simply one. I could buy twice as much hot sauce, for the same price, by driving down the road. Or find Pop Tarts in a bonus pack, at no more cost, by crossing the street. A favorite brand of pork rinds, made out-of-state, could be had by driving to yet another shop. Dry goods were easiest to find at bargain prices. But some value could be had with a bit of time perusing cases filled with oddball refrigerated and frozen items. Fresh potatoes were cheapest at another local business, offering processed meats.

My only limit was personal endurance.

Using a shopping cart at every stop helped to provide stability. Even if I only intended to buy a slim selection of items. I started keeping an open banana box in my truck, so that the loose bags of groceries would not fly around while driving. My list was divided according to each store, with a traditional food market still in the mix.

Stooped and stumbling, I had found my place in the club. An old man of sorts, before my time. Yet young at heart, by the grace of God and the calendar.

Comments about ‘Words On The loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024