Today I old-ed.

I'm sure that the crushing realization of one's oldness comes at different times for different people. For some for it's the first grey hair, for others it's saying "oof" when they stand up. I've had these and more, but have thus far been able to pretend they weren't there.

For still others it's not until they
realize they've picked the wrong grail.

Remember it's quantity, not quality.

However, the while paying at the register of the coffee shop near my work I-what? Yeah, I'm talking about a personal experience this time instead of Star Trek or politics or something. After one thousand three hundred and eighteen of these of these posts I'm allowed to get a little self-indulgent every now and then. But I'll give you the same option to bail out I give you when I'm about to launch into spoilers for something or fall down a rabbit hole about video games or something.

Pictured: me now. I
might as well accept it.

Still with me? Super. Now, I believe I was about to transform right before your very eyes into Andy Rooney. I ordered a coffee and the barista asked me if I check in. Because I live in Santa Cruz California, this question has two contextually possible meanings. One, an emotional check in which would have been somewhat outside the parameters of a customer/barista relationship. Not impossible mind you, because again, this is Santa Cruz. Or two, he was asking me if I participated in the coffee shops rewards program.

Weirdly, an emotional check-in
might have seemed less intrusive.

It turned out to be the latter and this is where I old-ed. I said no, and when he pressed said something like "thanks, I don't do those things." I was polite, I am, after all a quarter Canadian. But the exchange kind of set me off. Not like a public outburst or anything, but in that internal stewing I and so many partially Canadian people are so good at. I mean, I'm not one of those off-the grid in a bunker kind of people, but there are limits to how deeply I want a coffee shop to be a part of my life. As far as I'm concerned the relationship ends when they hand over my latte. 

"Hey it's Dave from Peet's Coffee, I was
just calling to see how that latte worked out."

And I know they're not asking me to share deep, personal information, it's just an email address, but still it just feels kind of icky that I'd be doing a faceless corporation's marketing research for them. Yeah, it turns out they're not actually interested in giving us free coffee, they just want access to our buying habits, but I'm on to them. I don't know, maybe it was an overreaction (it definitely was), or maybe it was just a fundamental (but well-deserved) cynicism about the hyper-capitalist culture we live in.

Either way, it was a frustration that I am certain comes from the same place as complaints about loud music and how kids wear their dungarees too low.

Look at 'em, always on their cellular phones,
twittering at each other. Probably making
plans to hang out on my lawn later.