Frank Retires

At 73 years of age, Frank was tired. His muscles and joints ached daily, a testament to his 30 years of running a maintainer (road grader, for you non-equipment types) for the county . . . and an additional twenty working for the city.
He’d had enough. December 31st marked the completion of his twentieth year with the city, and he decided he’d retire. Again. So this morning found him not smoothing a rutted wasteland in some residential alley, but instead, shuffling into the business office down at City Hall.
“Morning” he greeted the business manager, “I wanna’ retire, so I need to start muh paperwork—and find out exactly what my monthly check will be.”
“Just a minute!” the terse lady barked at Frank, never looking up from her computer screen.
“Must’ve got coal in her stocking for Christmas.” Frank thought, ever the comedian. He stood there patiently, afraid to sit down without permission.
“I’d bring you a cup of coffee, maam, if you’d direct me to the coffee machine” Frank offered hopefully.
“I DON’T DRINK COFFEE” the terse lady replied through clenched teeth, this time averting her gaze from her computer screen, over her glasses, to burn proverbial holes right through Frank.
Frank looked down, wanting to avoid that stare, and quietly muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes, “No . . . of course you don’t.”
“Well . . . why are you still standing there?” she questioned sarcastically. “Was that an invitation to sit down?” Frank was wondering to himself when she barked, “SIT DOWN! Now, tell me your name and I’ll punch up your information.”
Frank told her his name and thought, “Not only is she emotionally harassing ME, now she wants to PUNCH my information—HA!”
The terse lady would look at the computer screen, scribble something on paper, punch something on the keyboard, stare at the screen, and scribble some more. Frank was getting board.
“Didja’ have a nice holiday?” he asked politely.
“I worked Christmas day until six o’clock.” She stated matter-of-factly.
“Well,” Frank thought to himself, “everyone else in your family must’ve had a Merry Christmas then!” Frank tried not to giggle to himself—that-there was FUNNY.
“I don’t have any family.” terse lady stated flatly.
“Can she read my mind?” Frank thought with horror!
“Here” terse lady was now shoving a paper at Frank, “this figure at the bottom will be your monthly amount after deductions.”
“THAT’S ALL?” Frank was genuinely shocked.
“Well, sir,” terse lady began her lecture, “the longer you work, the higher that amount will be. Might I suggest that you don’t consider retirement until you absolutely cannot work anymore?” she said with obvious pain-inflicting-superior-attitude-delight.
“That’s what I’m doin’, lady” Frank dished back a little perturbed-ness himself!
“Oh.” For the first time, terse lady seemed taken aback.
Frank decided he had her right where he wanted her, so he rose to leave. “Well, you can take that ‘Oh’ and put it at the end of my monthly dollar amount. And start my paperwork, lady, ‘cuz I’m retiring!”
With that, Frank shuffled out to his pickup, and wore that silly grin the entire rest of the day!


Dear Dewhicky,

Why do they put “re” in the term “retired”? Aren’t retirees just “tired”? I’m a little confused.
Sadie, in Shuffleboard, Florida

Dear Re-Shuffled Sadie,
That’s a good question that I’ve often pondered myself, so I think I can help you. You see, in the case of retirement, I think you must first work at a job (or jobs, plural, in my case!) day in and day out, for years and years and years, until you become REALLY “tired”. Yer tired of hearing that alarm go off in the morning, tired of getting’ dressed up for work, tired of commuting to and from in bumper-to-bumper traffic, tired of being nice to people that you wouldn’t normally give the time of day to on your day off, tired of acting interested in what sport the boss’s kids are supposedly excelling at, tired of buying the secretary’s kid’s latest money-raising project crap, tired of Christmas parties and 4th of July picnic’s where you socialize with people from work who you really just need an extended vacation from, tired of . . . well, you get the picture. And when you get to this point of “tired”, you wake up one morning and see an old, wrinkled, fat, white-haired person looking back at you in the mirror and say . . . I’m gonna’ retire! I can’t take it any more, it’s time to let my investments support me. Congratulations, you’re now “retired” my friend. You’re RE-tired, because after a few months of this new, leisurely, do-nothing life, you’re tired of not having anything to get up for in the morning except to organize your pills, tired of seeing your significant other 24/7 (why did I marry THAT, can anyone remind me?), tired of reading magazines older than you in your 4th doctor’s office this week, tired of waiting for the cable man while hiding from the Jehovah’s Witnesses (again!), tired of taking the spouse’s dog for a walk an hour earlier than you used to get up to go to work, tired of attending friend’s funerals, tired of cleaning out the motor home for your next excursion that you can’t afford to who-cares-where, tired of visiting old relatives with pot-bellied spouses who seem proud to display their wrinkled chests and varicosed, boney, black-socked legs, tired of going through a dozen golf balls in 9 holes, and tired of the price of everything going up EXCEPT your fixed income. You know, you’re now RE-tired! Get it? You’re welcome. Have a relaxing day!

Dewhicky



And let’s wrap this up with some . . .

. . . QUESTIONS FOR THE UNIVERSE TO PONDER. . .

***Do only teenaged boys and menopaused women have hot flashes?

***Does Viagra heighten old men’s expectations?

***Which old age malady hits first, boobs at the belt or pooped peckers?

***Did turkey neck invent the turtle neck?

***Why do old women get tired of cookin’, but old men never get tired of lookin’?