I’m not going to disclose where or why, but I have been blessed for several years by some charming men, volunteers, old-fashioned gentlemen that just make you want to find your own higher self and respond in kind.
It’s hard to describe these gentlemen, courtesy and old-fashioned manners I suppose, charm from another day and time. You could not drop a piece of paper on the ground without one of them instantly being at your side to retrieve it. You never opened a door, not even a car door, and in today’s world it felt so surreal to park your car and before you could even shut your engine off, there would be a man standing there waiting to help you out.
All in good humor here, but nobody ever helps you out of your car these days except perhaps for a cop… or a carjacker.
I miss them. They’ve been getting older and we’ve been losing them one by one, our crowd of gentlemen shrinking every week. I am oddly bereft, like a golf widow left behind. That’s what my favorite gentlemen told me, he has to quit now so he can play more golf. His game is not as good as it once was and he just needs more time to practice. We both know the truth, but I cheered him on anyway and told him he looked like a famous golfer to me, one I’ve seen on television. In truth I wouldn’t know a famous golfer if I saw one, but I don’t think he minded.
They’re being replaced and in their wake comes the guy with rocker hair from the 1970’s. I know, I know, I’m being shallow and vain and you can’t judge a book by its cover, but he’s always just sitting on a pile of boxes and looking at his phone. If you pass by him too closely, he scowls and pulls out his comb as if you’ve mussed up his hair.
The other one, well, he totally ignores you until the last moment when he suddenly comes up close and gets rather friendly, uncomfortably friendly. Because I can be a total jerk myself sometimes, the last time his finger brushed my arm, I leaned way in and violated his space. He now has a personal space bubble of about 3o feet from me at all times.
The world is changing and I long for another time, another place. I know my old-fashioned gentlemen were rare treasures, even for their day and time, and I know how blessed we’ve been to have them all these years. I miss them all.
The rocker and the friendly one? Well, there are diamonds in the rough and then there are plain old lumps of coal. I thought perhaps I was being too harsh, but the old woman next to me apparently read my mind because she promptly declared, “No, they’re quite hopeless, what a shame.”