In June, while turning into the driveway after work, I noticed an advertiser’s flyer attached to my garage door’s handle. Instinctively, I reached up to my sun visor and activated the garage door remote. The door rose. So did the flyer, disappearing. Driving into the garage, I told myself I would retrieve and read the flyer later when I shut the door at bedtime.
I shut the garage door at bedtime. Unfortunately for the marketer, my home garage door remote is inside the garage — I’m pretty certain this is not unique — so the only way to read the flyer after lowering the garage door would be for me to go through the house, exit the front door and then walk to the lowered garage door — in the dark, mind you, only wearing boxers. Thus, not only had the marketer left an ad for me to read, I was also given an unwanted chore not to mention a visual my neighbors could do without).
I’ll read it in the morning, I thought.
In the morning, I got into my car parked inside the garage, instinctively reached up to my sun visor and activated the garage door remote. The door rose, along with the already forgotten flyer. I backed into the street and activated the remote. The garage door closed. The flyer reappeared. Not only had the marketer left me with an ad to read, he or she wanted me to be late for work, which would not work in anyone’s favor since I could possibly get fired and then be unable to afford whatever was advertised. In business, we call this lose-lose.
I’ll read it when I come home from work, I thought.
After work, turning my car into the driveway, I instinctively reached up to my sun visor and activated the garage door remote. The only way for me to get close to the flyer was to accelerate and risk crashing through the garage door before it fully ascended. Not only had the marketer left me an ad to read, he or she provided a potential opportunity for me to issue an insurance claim on both my house and car.
The door rose. So did the flyer, disappearing. I told myself I would retrieve the flyer later when I shut the door at bedtime.
This has been going on for three months now. Up. Down. Up. Down. Now you see it. Now you don’t. Later. I’ll read it later.
Wouldn’t it be terrible if the flyer was actually a ransom note for my daughter? No wonder the laundry seems light this summer.
The flyer is still there, faded from the sun, curled from humidity, waiting for me to read it.
It’s not that I’m forgetful.
OK, let’s back up.
Breaking news bombshell: I am three months from 50.
So, yes, I have succumbed to some forgetfulness.
I have long pitied older co-workers for their “senior moments” after, say, they sever their tie at the paper cutter. Sadly, by tie, I mean bowtie. The fact that anyone wears a bowtie to work now, is, in itself, a senior moment. Especially if they come in wearing it for a shoe.
Sadly, I am at the onset of my own senior moments—and I fear the floodgate has barely opened.
Age: I have actually forgotten my age at times, ever since reaching my late 40s. To figure out my actual age, I have to rely on paper and pen, then subtract the current year from my birth year, 1964, the latter of which I have never forgotten, which is weird considering how long ago 1964 was (just give me a moment to subtract the current year from 1964 and I’ll tell you just how long).
Glasses: In the mornings, the increased frequency of not being able to find my eye ware is alarming. Often, after checking nearly every flat surface in the house, including the toilet tank lid (I wouldn’t be surprised to lift the tank’s lid and find their submergence), I desperately pull back the sheets and find my glasses there, usually misshaped from the weight of my sleeping body. How did they get down there by my knees? What the hell was I doing last night?
Getting dressed: Last week at work I noticed my shirt was inside out. It was 1 p.m. by the time this self-discovery occurred, and by then, I had participated in two meetings, visited two banks and ate lunch with a co-worker. No one said anything. I thought people were only too embarrassed to tell you about that visible booger.
Laptop: Occasionally, I have reached my office’s parking lot only to retreat home to retrieve my forgotten laptop. One morning, I returned home for the laptop, returned to work, only to realize I had again forgotten the laptop. By the time I returned home twice, I just wanted to return to bed and start the day over, eventually reawakening and scrambling to find my lost glasses.
But now back to the advertiser’s flyer on my garage door. Point being … wait a minute … I have forgotten my point. Oh, yeah: Has anyone seen my daughter?
Scott Saalman’s next Will Read and Sing For Food show to benefit Community Food Bank, featuring singer-songwriter and motion picture/TV actor Tim Grimm, is at 8 p.m. on Sept. 26 at Kimball International corporate headquarters auditorium.