My Retirement Plan

Don't judge.

I never gave retiring much thought until that Saturday. (I mean, aside from the grim realization that I probably wouldn’t.) I glanced up as the door opened, and two very short (though that could have been the osteoporosis), kind of homely women with dyed hair and bright lipstick came limping in, one with a cane, and one with a walker. My heart sank when I saw them, to be honest. It was very busy, I was in a crabby mood, and these elderly ladies are sometimes a lot of work, for not much money. (They tend to bring their own tea bags, and ask for hot water, lemon, and sugar for example.)

They laboriously made their way through the crowded bar and I held my breath as they painstakingly navigated the boisterous gang playing Golden Tee, as those guys were tall and these ladies were not. Golden Tee is not quite as active as actual golf, but it’s close. If I’m carrying plates of food to the tables up front past the Golden Tee you’ll hear me yelling “Behind you! Behind you! Coming through!” What with the music blaring from the jukebox and the player’s oblivious exuberance, many chicken wings have taken flight.

But back to Dorothy and Nancy (I found out their names later), who had now, to my relief, safely reached the phone booths— halfway there.

Dorothy deposited her walker into the phone booth to keep it out of the way, and gamely took the arm of her companion, Nancy, for the rest of the journey to the back dining room. They still had to pass by the bathrooms, with the swinging doors, but they were almost there. My colleague Mary had just started working Saturdays a few weeks before, so I asked her to take the dynamic duo. Mary is also far more convivial than I am. (A customer looking at us both once commented, “Wow—you two really are sweet and sour, aren’t you?”) In my defense, I am a card-carrying crank. This is according to my boss who gave me the designation, then took it a step further with a business card.

Mary cheerfully took their order, and asked me to make two martinis for the women. Well! I was impressed as it was just shy of 3pm. What, no hot water? Mary told me they also ordered steak because it was Dorothy’s birthday, and she and Nancy were celebrating. They had finished their salads and were just sticking into their steak when I went back to ask if everything was ok. They were having a great old time, laughing and stuffing their faces, and I suddenly felt slightly less crabby. I brought them a couple of martinis on the house. Mary and the porter cleared their plates, and then we brought Dorothy a piece of cake with a candle, as we all trooped out of the kitchen, singing Happy Birthday. (Turns out Raul, the cook, has an excellent singing voice…!) The whole dining room joined in; Dorothy and Nancy’s joy seeming to infect everyone. They paid their bill, leaving a very generous tip, and, upon leaving Dorothy hugged Mary and me with tears in her eyes and thanked us for making the day so special.

A couple of weeks later, I was not working but got a call from the bartender on duty, asking me which lady’s birthday was celebrated a few weeks ago. “Was it Dorothy or Nancy?”Apparently they were back, celebrating another birthday, and the porter wondered if they were trying to scam. I told her that it had been Dorothy’s birthday, and she said, “Oh good—it’s Nancy’s birthday they are celebrating today.” I told her I was sure they were on the level, that they’d just had a nice time previously and had probably decided on another big blowout at McManus.

As I hung up, I hoped those two sweet old ladies didn’t get the fisheye from the staff. (Especially since I was the original fisheye giver…)

And then I kind of hoped that it WAS a scam, cause isn’t that the sweetest scam, ever? What verve! What moxie! I decided then and there to make that my retirement plan. If I’m still kicking in 20 years, you might see me rolling my walker into various restaurants in NYC on the odd Saturday afternoon, dressed to the nines and claiming it’s my birthday.

Who’s with me?