Did you ever notice that we in Red Hook are blessed with an abundance of elderly folk?
As a former president might say, “now that I are one of them,” I belong to a very large club indeed. The club holds informal daily meetings between 6am and 6pm at Hannaford supermarket. We aren’t required to talk to one another, but those of us in electric buggies are expected not to run over members of the fairer sex, while young males acting rude are fair game. I’ve contacted NASCAR with a request to supercharge an electric buggy solely for our club’s enjoyment. People under 60, please don’t touch it, unless you arrive on crutches or in a wheelchair.
If you’re not a member of our club, you have probably never noticed that, no matter what daylight hour (we avoid driving in the dark), all the handicap parking spaces are taken. Dear Hannaford: 50 more handicap parking spots, please. That huge thing hanging on my rear view mirror burns with shame when I can’t use it. And while you’re at it — and since you would be out of business in the blink of an eye without us — you should consider providing valet service for our club. We should have assistants to reach the higher shelves for those of us who are unable. I’m sick to death of having to struggle out of my buggy to help a fellow club member because they can’t reach the cup of noodles they want from the top shelf.
And what about senior discounts? Couldn’t you throw us a bone and at least discount bananas and prunes? If you did, we would be able to greet our fellow club members with Allen Ginsberg’s line, “What price bananas?”