So I was sitting at a funeral service for my great uncle. He was a good man and a fine husband to my aunt. Death is always a sad thing, but it was his time, and he knew it.
Anywho, I’m sitting there next to my grandfather, to whom a great credit for most of my wit must go to, and he leans over during the benediction to whisper in my ear.
“Jay Boy,” he said, “this is what happens when you get old. You die, and no one but other old people come to your funeral.”
He laughed a bit at himself then joined the rest of the congregation in prayer.
Leaving the service, we didn’t have to drive far to get to my aunt’s retirement apartment. As a matter of fact, it shared a parking lot with the funeral home.
“Pretty convenient,” my grandfather said.
“I wonder what came first, the retirement community or the funeral home?”
The question had me stumped.
So we drove across the lot to the row of garage doors that make up the exterior wall of the apartment complex.
Have you ever noticed that retirement communities don’t have any front doors – just garage doors?
It’s like they know they’re about to rush out of there.
The party didn’t last too long. Most of the guests left to make the 2 p.m. funeral service for another neighbor.
So out we went through the garage door and guessed which white Cadillac was my grandfather’s. We found it by using the keyless entry pad panic button.
We drove across the street to a pavilion owned by the retirement community. There we found my grandmother in a heated bridge tournament. I have no idea how this card game works. All I know is my grandmother called another old lady an idiot and said she was Busch league – whatever that means.
That was the first time I ever saw a man smoke while breathing through an oxygen tank and drink a Johnny Walker Red neat all at the same time.
Grandpa and I pulled up chairs and poured ourselves a high-ball and the next thing you know I was plastered and listening to stories about Korea.
This one guy sitting with us had 37 confirmed enemy kills and married a prostitute in the country. He said he survived the war with both legs but left the marriage with only one and a half.
He wasn’t kidding either. His left leg was nothing but a nub right above where his knee used to be.
I didn’t ask what happened.
About then my grandmother walked over with a bank roll the size of an Illegal Burrito. She had won $1,400 off those other old ladies.
She gave me half and kissed me on the cheek, and that’s when I decided that old people were pretty f***ing cool. Jay’s secret for long life: menthol lights.
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