If my husband has his way, in twenty years I’ll be sitting in the hot Arizona sun taking tickets from baseball fans.
“Look at that elderly woman working at the turnstiles,” he said last week when we were in Phoenix to watch an Oakland A’s spring training game. “You would look totally adorable sitting on a stool and wearing a white visor like hers. Adorable.”
“And where would you be?” I asked.
“Probably selling footlongs,” he answered. “Or greeting people up in the luxury boxes. Depends on if I have working hips at that point. You know how tricky stairs can be when you’re that age. Good thing you’ll have your stool!”
Yeah, good thing. Wouldn’t want to break a bone trying to dodge a foul ball or anything.
Unfortunately, this grand plan of his to be hourly employees at the Phoenix Municipal stadium when we’re 60+ didn’t come as any surprise. No, it was just the latest of his ideas for our retirement. Ideas that he seems to come up with every time we go on vacation. Like last summer when he suggested that we spend our Golden Years driving shuttle buses at the Grand Canyon. (“You could wear shorts and honk at people!”)
The summer before that, it was selling Native American trinkets on the roadside in New Mexico. “But we’re not even Native American,” I’d protested.
“Who cares?” he replied as we stood on hot desert dirt gobbling up the Navajo fry bread we’d just bought from a sweaty man named Moosey. “We’ll be so wrinkly by that time that nobody will even notice our ethnicity. Besides, you love turquoise.”
Which is true. If I didn’t restrict myself to one piece of turquoise jewelry at a time, I’d probably look like Santa Fe threw up on me.
But while I’m happy he obviously plans to grow old together, I’m not so sure about the “let’s get jobs” part. I mean, if we’re okay financially, can’t we just spend our senior years like his parents did? Playing nickel slots and drinking free casino whiskey at 8 a.m. before going home to yell, “Pull your pants up!” at the defendants on Judge Judy? They always seemed pretty content.
Or we could be like my parents who travel more frequently than a high-tech weenie trying to reach Platinum status. For example, right now they’re in Hawaii for three weeks spending all of their children’s inheritance at the Waikiki IHOP. (Uh-huh. Aloha OY.) But honestly, I’d be happy if we didn’t even leave town when we’re old. We could just sit at a library computer for three straight hours trying to send our kids an email attachment. We certainly don’t need jobs.
So that’s why I’ve told my husband that I don’t want to captain a boat on the San Antonio River Walk. Or braid tourists’ hair on the beaches of Kauai. Or be “der meatball shaper” in a Stockholm cafe. I’ve even said no to giving tours of Texas wineries with a pet cat named “AARP” on my shoulder, as tempting as that one sounds. But he still doesn’t stop with his plans.
The last time we were in Florida, he saw a white-haired woman riding a bike with a little pink basket and immediately poked me in the ribs. “Look!” he said excitedly. “If we moved here, you could get a bike like that! You’d look so cute!”
“Awww, thanks honey,” I said, flattered. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Yep,” he continued. “Then after I make the sandwiches at the deli, you can put them in your basket and deliver them to all of the office workers around here. It’ll be a blast! Think of the tips!”
I’m just going to go ahead and buy the white visor now. The sun’s going to be pretty bright on that Phoenix stool.
“If I didn’t restrict myself to one piece of turquoise jewelry at a time, I’d probably look like Santa Fe threw up on me.” Best line of the… ever.
Yeah, Shari, that was my favorite too…until I got to the part about her inlaws yelling “Pull your pants up!” to the Judge Judy defendants.
Just keep us in the loop about your retirement plans, because wherever you are slinging hash…I’m not eating there.
My husband has the same idea about working at minor league baseball games but has also added working at Disney world and living in a camper!!
I am with you to stay home in retirement but with my home under what seems like 100 inches of snow on the first day of spring I might take up the idea of minor league baseball ticket taker!!
Can I borrow your visor??
How about the cashier at Vulcan Video? You could advise the Austin hipsters a thing or two about film.
Love, love this, especially because Chris has your adorableness in mind when he dreams up work for you.
We talk about retirement, too, and Mark’s plans all involve living in an RV. His current favorite: seasonal workers for Amazon. We can take our RV wherever the warehouse is, spend our days fulfilling orders and our nights playing cards with the other RV-living workers.
Make a princess movie out of that happily ever after, Disney.
My husband thinks it would be interesting to be “carnies” when we retire. I tell him – Good luck with that.
My Husband wants us to live on a sailboat…parked on a trailer. He is very excited about using a ladder to go in and out. At night we can pull the ladder up, “just like a draw bridge”! We can go swimming in our clothes if we need to do laundry!
Guys!
Wait. I already yell that at the TV while watching Judge Judy. Maybe I should change my name to AARP?
I think it’s great that he’s planning for your future. And ours, since you’ll have plenty of blog fodder.
You can never wear too much turquoise.
And just tell Chris that you fully support HIM in HIS future career endeavors. At that point you’ll be resting on your laurels as a bestselling author – and laurels are pretty comfy from what I hear.
“We could just sit at a library computer for three straight hours trying to send our kids an email attachment.” Oh yeah, baby.
Do not go quietly into the night…..
Actually, the sparks off your polyester pants will see to that.
Wendi, Wendi, Wendi, as any 401(k) investment advisor will tell you, retirement planning is absolutely essential. Which translate “May the road rise up to meet you as well as my middle finger as I laugh all the way to the bank.” But, I digress.
I will turn 63 next month and my plan is fixed, on track and good to go. I shall don a red vest and proudly serve (part time) as a Helpful Hardware Man at my local Ace Hardware. I am already familiar with the store’s layout having been there at least once a day for the last 15 years thus my “training” period will be short lived. My personal record is four visits in one day but I don’t believe that to be a store record since I know a fellow who claims to have shopped there five times in one day. I think he is lying but have no definitive proof of his prevarication. Why quibble?
That said, one may ask why I long to wear a red vest. The answer is simple. When I wear red shirts, women flirt. I am not making that up and I am not sure why as I am equally cute in a pale blue oxford cloth, dark brown cavalry twill or Tattersall’s cotton. There seems to be something about red that makes babes hot under the collar.
So please, crown yourself with a white visor and affix yourself on a stool taking up tickets and you will no doubt be as alluring as me in my nice, red vest.
I love love love this post.
p.s. My granny rode a grown-up tricycle. You’d look really cute on one of those. But I’m going to ride in the basket.
I love you guys.
Will you be my grandparents?
xo L
I think you’d look adorable on a bike with a basket! You’d have to wear plastic pink sandals with the flower in the middle, a visor with a clear bill, and a white caftan to really fit in, though.
And if you’re that close to your golden years, Wendi, then I guess I’m not far behind you…
My father in law actually owns that hair visor.
“We could just sit at a library computer for three straight hours trying to send our kids an email attachment.” Laughing!!
As I sit here at my desk, wearing high heels which are killing me, trying with all my might to be polite to impolite strangers, fighting of the urge to maim someone with a pack of post-it notes a job where I would get to wear shorts and honk at people sounds pretty divine.
At least he’s creative in the ideas. The best we’ve come up with for our retirement is “travel.” Sounds good. But a bit generic.
Moosey totally makes the best Navajo fry bread.
Duh.
precious gems in this one. so hard to choose a favorite line. it seems like it’ll be hard to choose your retirement career, too.
I have a post in my drafts listing all the jobs my husband would like me to take on right now in addition to the jobs I currently have…so I could really relate to this. I would love to hire you to sit at my booth and sell my homemade hand warmers to parents at soccer tournaments!
My husband’s idea is that I get my CDL (18 wheeler license) and drive the country with him. I have 8 years to get him to change his mind…(was gonna put a mean girl comment, but didn’t want to offend anyone)
What’s up with the winter baseball? My dad is now into going to Arizona to watch the Giants in spring training.
I don’t want to think of all of that yet. I’m already feeling old.