Memoir: The Old Man Story
How a series of "unintentional insults" motivated me to retire from advertising at last and focus on my own characters and concepts. (And to launch this Substack site for their development!)
Have you ever been “unintentionally insulted?”
You know, when somebody says something insulting to you, but they didn’t realize they were insulting you (probably,) so it sort of doesn’t count?
I have. At least I think I have. Let me describe a few of the situations, and you tell me. After, I’ll explain how, intentional or not, these wacky interactions have prompted a retirement, a renewal, and a Substack.
Unintentional Insult #1.
Back when we could go into restaurants, I was inside one. By myself. It was an ethnic restaurant. I won’t say which ethnicity, ’cause it doesn’t matter. Visualize your favorite. Better yet, smell your favorite.
I had just taken my seat, when the 20something, male server approached with a notepad. I could tell from overheard moments seconds before that perhaps English wasn’t his first language. That’s okay, too, I’m not a “Speak American” guy. I speak no other languages; I admire people who speak at least two.
He smiled big at me and said:
“Yes, Old Man, can I take your order?”
I choked back a laugh and recovered. “My order. Yes.” (And then I ordered.)
It’s not that I disagree with his first-impression assessment. I’m a happily grey 66 with some mileage.
As a non-native speaker, he might have thought he was saying something else entirely, such as, “Yes, Distinguished Gentleman, may I take your order?” Or, “Yes, Ancient Wizard, may I take your order?”
But come on. There’s blunt and there’s blunt.
Sure enough, when my meal was done, he approached again, and said, “Old Man, may I bring you the check?”
This time I just smiled and nodded. I paid the check, tipped well. I’m sure he didn’t mean the insult. It was unintentional. Right?
I mean, I don’t know what “Distinguished Gentleman” would translate to in his language.
Unintentional Insult #2
A week or so later, I was checking out with some items at the local grocery. It was early morning and I was gathering a few items pre-breakfast. I had some black tea bags, a bottle of orange juice, and a Wall Street Journal.
The very tall, middle-aged clerk scanned the items, noting, “Wow, you have your coffee, you have juice, you have your paper, you are ready for the kitchen table.”
“Yes, I am,” I said, smiling.
“You are going to be a happy little man,” she said, handing me my receipt.
Happy little man?
I know she was tall, but come on, I’m five-foot-ten. I’m not that little. I’m average.
She breezily went about her business. The insult was unintentional. Right?
My wife heard this story and got a kick out of it. Every once in a while, when she sees me engaged by stuff I love – eating oatmeal with granola while reading a comic book and listening to movie scores – she’ll say, “Look at you. You’re a happy, little man.”
I’m sorry to say it’s caught on.
Unintentional Insult #3
Recently I was driving a winding country road, doing the speed limit, but being careful, because after all, I am an Old Man.
Tailgated by a black truck in a big hurry, a wrap-around-sunglass-clad 30something at the wheel was not enjoying my driving-the-speed-limit thing. He flashed his lights. Navigating those curves, I had no room to pull over for at least a quarter mile, when finally, some gravel on the side gave me room.
He showed me a scowl and a middle finger when he drove by.
Okay, okay, that was of course an intentional insult. Almost a relief in its lack of ambiguity!
Plus, I am getting immune to the flip-offs, horn-honkers, cut-offers, no-signallers and general impatient craziness of Drivers on the Road Today.
But it’s those unintentional insults that stick! And, I’ll admit, that can serve as comedy gold.
But there’s a bigger point here…
…and, honestly, believe it or not, it’s one of gratitude.
I am grateful for these intentional-or-not incidents. They’re content, baby! They mine comedy gold from otherwise mundane situations.
I mean, if you are looking at life seeking out material – as a “humorist,” I guess I always am – then these zingers, intentional or not, are like unexpected gifts from the Rickles and Dangerfields of the Great Beyond.
But these interactions have another thing in common.
A metaphoric ticking clock.
“We’re not getting any younger,” said a classmate when I posted an idea for a kids book on social media. “Get to it,” she was basically saying.
And I agree. We’re not getting any younger.
I have big ambitions yet to fulfill in the entertainment and publishing industries. I’m currently writing a screenplay. Plotting and drawing a kids book. And scripting graphic novel. (I need three projects going at once, usually one in each room, so that I can “pinball” between them. At least I get in steps.)
With this post, I am putting my previous career – advertising copywriting and business consulting – in my rear view mirror. Or it’s putting me in its rear view; there are less Greying Wizards in the biz these days. I’m retiring from it in another burst of gratitude: for the work, the clients, and the friends we made along the way. So long, ad biz, and to paraphrase a line from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: thanks for all the Cab.
I’m starting this Substack to specifically showcase my work in progress on the aforementioned creative projects, designed to finally put into motion new characters and stories I’ve been storing up. Want at least some of them out widely into the world by 2025. (Though sooner wouldn’t suck, either.)
So join me here along the way, if you will, as I post scripts, art, and the occasional background process post. When I get a chunk of new creative done, you’ll be the first to see. And you will, as part of the community, help influence the path of the properties.
For now, as I gratefully roll up my sleeves for the space to create this stuff, please know that I am…
A happy little man!