I had a job at the Tacoma Mall taking surveys. You know, the clipboard brigade. "Excuse me, ma'am. Can I ask you a few questions?"

Everyone hated me. That's because I was, by profession, an asshole. You came to the mall to shop, ostensibly. Except the kids, who came here because it's indoors and they can get away from the parents. And the elderly, who mostly come just to walk around in circles.

Anyway, we all had positions where we were allowed to stand and harass passersby. Back then the allotted spots circled the information booth near what is now the Food Court (that didn't exist yet), and across from KB Toys (where the best fistfights of the century occurred every Xmas over the las Tickle Me Elmo doll in the store). The outer ring of our positions was encircled by a two jewellers, a women's clothier, and a Starbucks. The latter caught my attention when I saw the 25th anniversary banner. This happened to coincide with my own 25th birthday, and set me to thinking. Technically, I was an antique. A quarter century. That's fucking OLD.

I began what I called at the time my midlife crisis. It was hip and edgy at the time to be young and tell older adults you didn't think you would live very long, or wanted to. The whole gothic thing created an extended Junior-year death poetry phase the entire country got caught up in. If that sounds embarrassing, consider how much more hilarious it looks for X'ers like me to watch Milenials running around college campuses wearing a onesie. Sure, acting like a teenager when you're halfway through your twenties is pathetic. At least the time of life we pined for was one where all our adult teeth had been in place by.

I digress. The Boomers (whom I hated passionately) were not as freaked out by my complaints of relative old age. they thought it as funny as I perceive your Mighty Morphin Midlife Crisis. They all had that wry smile I now understand to be a knowing wink to the others of their cohort, as if to say, "No Matter how New Age you get, old age is gonna kick your ass."

It will. I had perfect eyesight until I reached my fourth decade, and went from that right to damn near blind as a fucking bat overnight. In my youth, I didnt have to work out to look good. Now, its an every morning struggle to maintain my six pack I am determined never to lose. The ever expanding bald spot atop my pate I cover with a newsboy hat, which thankfully passes as aging hipster-esque fashion with the right outfits. I used to be able to take in new information like a sponge. In school, I never studied or cracked a book. I just remembered every single world my professors said, and could reiterate all of it upon command. Now, I just can't remember what you call that... you know. That, umm... yeah, the thing. Over there.

In short Bri, enjoy this momentary realization that time is a relentless motherfucker while you still can do so ironically.

@1: <3 <3 <3