Alvin Twinch, Retiree
Guy in the neighborhood I lived in once always gave me a wave as I was on my way to work and I didn't know him any better than that but by gum there he was at the breakfast joint I sometimes went to one day so I thought I'd swing by the table he was sitting at alone to get to know him better.
I was invited to sit down but maybe, in retrospect, I shouldn't have, for Alvin was, well, an arse.
His response to any conversational gambits I posed was the same: "I don't care. I don't have to. I'm retired"
I thought this pretty selfish but it was his right to feel that way. He'd done his time and the clock was ticking on what little he had left. The World had done a number on him but he'd survived it and for the rest of his days it was play time.
Cornucopian amounts of time for chess.
Vlad Sargu- Unsplash.com
I envied Mr. Twinch somewhat, especially on those days after our meeting when I'd be drivin' to work all grumbly and he, now knowing me, would give me a smug little wink as if to say "I know where you’re going!" (and I know you don't like it and thank God it's not me and all that that little gesture entails).
But I'd encountered 'the attitude' before, oh yes, many times. And over time, I'd only come to expect more of the same from the gray haireds, as I called them. Many times, when I was in a place of being troubled or despairing I wished one of 'em would have stepped up and helped me out but no, that would have been asking too much. I learned to expect nothing, absolutely nothing at all from them and came to the harsh realization that I was, like many, many others, burdened with having to earn my own pass, one that would gain me entrance into what seemed to be the very halls of heaven- The Land Where Nobody Has To Work.
It had to be quite the club, once you got in it, I imagined. For one thing, the pressure would be off to support one's self, and what an utter relief that had to be. Secondly, you'd have time, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, to do whatever you wanted. Whatever you could afford. Whatever you were still physically able to do.
Geez, that sounded like a lot but no retiree I ever met said no to it. They treasured every single drop.
I still always thought though, since they had it so good, and working people had it so bad, that maybe, just maybe, they could in some way help us out some but that would be like asking for a raise from Ebeneezer Scrooge before Marley's ghost came to visit. Fat chance.
So the retirees and I lived in the same world, but in parallel universes within that world.
To add insult to injury, the guvment deducted Social Security money out of my check and handed it over to them, the ones permanently on the dole, but there was nothing I could do about that 'cept wait for the day to come when young workers supported me.
"But don't you wish for that day to come!" the retirees ironically admonished me, time and again. "Enjoy life while you're young! You don't want to get old!" and to that spiced-up dose of wisdom I replied "That's easy for you to say, you’re not enjoying pulling a shift today!"
And that's when they always gave me that irritating little wink.
I knew I'd put my workin' days behind me in a minute to join Alvin Twinch and all his retired pals in the club if'n I could but I heard that the biggest danger once you got there came from trying to fill up all that free time. Some folks actually get so bored that they went back to work! I don't think that is going to be the case for me, though. I've already been through retirement. Way back when I was a kid, nearly two decades passed before I had to get a job and I was just fine with that. When the time comes, I know I'll be ready for it. My second childhood will commence.
Lazy Acres Retirement Community
Our sedan pulled up to the security gate. The guard examined our credentials, then raised the red and white striped wooden bar to let us pass.
Ahh... back inside. I'd had to make a run to the local grocery store, which was out in The World, where the others dwelled. But here, within the walls of the Lazy Acres Community, my safety and security level was near 100%. In fact, on the way to our abode, a roving security patrol passed us by.
Golfers were enjoying yet another day on the links that weaved through Lazy Acres, one of several courses within the sprawling complex. We passed the clubhouse, and then the pool area, which contained a smattering of people, as usual. Not too many, not too few, just right. That's the way we at Lazy Acres liked it.
Upon reaching our house, the garage door opened and we drove inside. No cars were to be parked on the street- ever. And none were, for they would be ticketed by security.
Inside the house, all was of course well. Golfers could be seen driving in their carts down a fairway that lay right outside our house's living room windows, and from the patio outside where we took up comfy chairs later to take in the sunset.
Life here was grand, albeit a little on the quiet side. Noise restrictions were in place, and there was a nightly curfew after sunset. You could still go out and take a walk if you wanted to, but you could expect to be eyeballed by security or even questioned if you looked at all under 50.
Many residents left their houses at sundown for drinks and dinner over at the clubhouse, where a little bit of noise was acceptable. But outside the houses that lined the fairways, you coulda heard a pin drop.
What day of the week was it? What month? What year? People knew these things, but none of them seemed to care.
Caring was what the people outside the walls did. They kept The World running for us so that we could play. They kept the electricity flowing, the stores outside the walls stocked, the gas pumping at the station, the shows playing on TV, and the absolutely incredible amount of content appearing that drove that newfangled internet engine.
For decades, perhaps, most of the residents would dwell here, occasionally taking trips 'abroad', until one day an ambulance would quietly roll up to the house and the EMT's would not be in a rush to enter and then would come the hurried arrival of people associated with the family, who would see to it that possessions were disposed of so the house could be put up for sale.
The neighbors would see all this, of course, and secretly think "Not me, not today!" as they went on their daily walks on the many walking trails that threaded through the community.
The World with all its hubbub was kept outside as much as possible, and over time The World became an abstract concept. No longer impinging upon the people on a daily basis, it became sort of a dream, and that was okay for the residents of Lazy Acres, who had spent time in The World and had created this one to live in instead, one that was clean, quiet, safe, crime free, affluent, and overall non-bothersome in every conceivable way.
Even though abandoning the walking paths was discouraged, security could overlook this if news came that the Great British Bake Off was on the telly.
Dylan Nolte- Unsplash.com
But (and there's always a but, isn't there?) Lazy Acres as a result was vanilla. Dreadfully so. Every day seemed the same. There were no lows, those had been taken out of the equation, but there were also no highs. The residents had brought conditioning voluntarily upon themselves- there were rules and agreements, covenants and restrictions- which severely limited expression and so the place had a confining feel to it, as if the residents had created a sort of prison and volunteered to be the inmates. A white collar prison, to be sure, a haven, an oasis, an imaginary land, the precursor to heaven, all of the above. A social experiment, a circling of the wagons one last time.
The amount of alcohol consumed nightly was prodigious. At the time, pot was still illegal but by now portions of the residents are probably partaking. With nothing to lose of course they are.
Some people were fine with life at Lazy Acres. I heard others went running for the hills, for somewhere that had kids and life and a greater degree of unpredictability. You woulda thought everyone would want to stay, upon first arriving, but there's something about everybody being the same age and of the same social class that stifles things. It's nice to have that similarity occasionally, but every day? That's what drove the disenchanted out, and what I as a visitor witnessed.