Saturday, March 20, 2010

White hair chronicles XXIII

Today is the 3rd death anniversary of my father. He would have just turned 71 if he were still alive. When he was my age today he already had two grandchildren. In contrast, my eldest is just turned 13 last year. My father dyed his hair regularly, I do not. An elementary school classmate of my father thought I was his brother. He was profusely apologetic when I told him I am a son not a brother. It's ok with me though. I just don't know if he thought I was the elder brother.

At SM grocery stores, they have a special lane for senior citizens (60 years old and above). SM personnel routinely tell me I can use that lane. I amuses me because it's still more than a decade away before I can use that lane. What amuses me more is they offer me a seat while waiting for my groceries to be checked out. It will worry me if they start to offer me a wheelchair.

Indeed I seem to excel in looking old. Maybe it's not just the hair. Maybe that's why pickpockets think they can easily pick things off my bag. Which they did successfully the other day when they took off with my cellphone, leaving my earphone literally hanging. On Monday, I want to look and walk the way I did last Thursday so they can pick my bag's pocket again. In the spirit of Jose Rizal's throwing of his remaining slipper when he lost one in the water, I'll let them take the phone charger and extra battery and earphone. I'll have no use for them now.

I recall that my father, being a lawyer, used to have connections with the police. I remember that he can ask his connections' connections to recover items snatched or taken through stick ups. Those were the times when a Seiko 5 was really a Seiko 5 and not just some cool knock off. I wonder if such connections still exist and whether people still want to go through the trouble of recovering stolen items. After all, replacing lost items seem to be the easier route than asking the police who'll just mulct you twice over. But I want my SIM back. It has been my number for the past 8 or 9 years. Maybe I would want to ask my father to assist me in recovering my phone and maybe sneak in a punch or two on the perpetrator. Never mind my brittle fists.

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