#730 Eras of Age

Age sometimes divides people. Like in that old 60s maxim not to trust anyone over 30. I haven’t trusted myself for about 25 years now. And most of the time I’m right.
Although I question my judgment.
Anyhow, I saw this old recruitment commercial for the air force. One line in it was interesting. It said, “If you are between the ages of 19 and 26½ apply today.”
26½? Where did the get the ½? What possible difference could it make if you were 26½ or 27? Are your reaction times that severely impaired in just those 6 months that you couldn’t be a fighter pilot?
‘Cause after they retire, air force officers pilot commercial aircraft for decades.
But what was weird was hearing an official commercial voice saying “26 and a half.” Nobody says “and-a-half” after 19 or so. Everybody’s an even year after that.
Yeah, I’m 36 and a half. I can’t wait till my 37th birthday!
26½ is a year when young folks breed though. And it’s a particularly obnoxious year for rudeness as well. At least it seems to me when I’m in line behind one of them.
At my age, I hate lines. It’s funny, because I’m more patient about other things—the foibles of humanity, little kids stepping on my shoes, frisky dogs. But standing in line drives me up a wall.
Maybe because at my age you don’t want to waste what limited time you have left.
So I’m at the store and this 26-year-old jerk at the front of the line was holding up the whole process by talking on his headset. The clerk was gesturing for him to take his scratch ticket winnings and move on, but he was so wrapped up in his cell conversation he just stood there blocking the rest of us.
I suddenly felt better when I saw his main phone was stuffed in his front pants pocket. I’d just read this article about cellphones in front pants pockets causing sperm abnormalities.
With any luck, the rude bastard will wipe out his next generation of rude bastards.
Did I mention age has made me more cranky?
America, ya gotta love it.