Feeling At Home In The Ninety-Nine Cent Store

Being a former teacher, I still love to go on fieldtrips every chance I get. Of course, being retired means I no longer travel there with ninety or so hyped up youngsters and their “glad to get out of the house and play teacher” parents. Neither is my present conveyance of choice a noisy, unair-conditioned bus whose diesel fumes waft through its half-opened windows and stun the senses like a cloud of vaporized Ritalin.

And these days I don’t need adult chaperones on my fieldtrips, either. I’m talking about the type who, in the first ten minutes of bus confinement with the kids, eagerly disavow they ever commented that a teacher’s job is so simple it can be done by anyone… especially them. And their identifying trait? They’re the ones asking, “Are we there yet?” every five or so minutes from the time we pulled out of the school parking lot.

Yes, these days I go on field trips alone, and always in my private automobile that neither runs on diesel, nor can accommodate more than four other passengers besides myself. And these latest trips are usually to nearby places, so that even if I can’t stand being alone with myself, I only have to endure it for ten minutes at the most .

Currently, one of my favorite fieldtrip destinations is the 99 Cent Store. And, while some of the people around me will say that’s only because I’m a downright cheapskate, my going there is about more than just saving money. In truth, it’s because I feel so absolutely comfortable and at home among the items on the shelves there.

Let me try to explain. In my mind, the 99 Cent Store is a sales outlet of last resort. It’s like a compound for all things passé, where an item’s place on the shelf is secured, in large part, by having an expiration date that is fast approaching. And everything in the 99 Cent Store shares this basic commonality. It has been declared “excess,” or “outdated,” or of “limited appeal or usefulness” by those it served so well in the past. It’s there because it has been devalued and passed on for pennies on the dollar, to make room on the shelves for something newer and more cost effective.

It seems to me that’s a lot like many older people are viewed and treated by those around them of a newer vintage. And whether it’s true or imagined, to feel perceived as basically obsolete and irrelevant quickly erodes one’s feeling of value and self-worth. So in this sense, it shouldn’t be surprising that many Seniors feel like discounted items in the “human” 99 Cent Store… granted one last dignity by being giving room on the display shelf, but one last indignity by being valued far below their actual worth.

Now, it’s not my intent to make this post a tract on how terrible it is to get old, or how mistreated Seniors are in our society. It’s more a reminder to the “young” out there, that old people were once shiny, new products of value and purpose to those around them, just like YOU are now. Their packaging was once attractive and vibrant like yours, and had no trouble catching the eye of those around them. And they were the past's “go to” folks, who commanded respect and dignity because they were at the forefront of life in their role as loving parents, steadfast bread winners, and leaders of the community.

Even more important, is the fact that being “young” makes one oblivious to how quickly the years go by. That’s something we Seniors are forced to recognize each and every day. When I write a post, for example, I glance down at the weathered hands that are working the keyboard and wonder how they came to look so foreign to me. And while they are attached to my arms, my brain can’t help but struggle to admit they’re a part of me. After all, it seems like only yesterday they looked strong and steady… wrinkle-free and fully capable of overcoming any challenge they might encounter. And these same degraded hands belonged to a person who, blinded by the invincibility of youth, never gave it much thought he would ever fall victim to the erosive effects of time. And even if that were possible, it certainly would never happen without him noticing. Wrong…!

So, despite the battle scars I bear from skirmishes with Father Time, I continue to enjoy my frequent fieldtrips to the 99 Cent Store. For it’s there I find a gentle kinship with those mercantile comrades that smile at me from their places on the shelves, as they recognize me as one of them. And in my mind I smile back… purchasing a few with the hope my simple gesture will let them know that someone still thinks they’re not only useful and needed, but of immediate value and relevance. And that's the most genuine and appreciated a thing one could do for them. For soon their expiration date will come due, and they’ll disappear from the shelf forever.