Gravy Boat

Gravy Boat
copyright 2010 Linda Ellis

“Paper or plastic, ma’am?”  I glanced around in back of me to my left.  I glanced around in back of me to my right.  I was searching for the older woman to whom this young gentleman bagging my groceries was referring.  I shrugged my shoulders and swiped my ATM card and he repeated, “Paper or plastic, ma’am?”  Obviously, the poor woman he was trying to catch the attention of had a hearing impairment.  Since the only other female within a six foot circumference of the checkout area was the cashier, I discretely scanned her attributes to ascertain her level of maturity and decide if she was indeed worthy of the label, ”ma’am.”  But, then the thought occurred to me, “why would he be asking her about her preference in grocery bags?”

Like a boulder falling from a cliff, it hit me.  This young gentleman, whom I had considered a polite and respectful youth from previously frequenting this store (herein referred to as “the “twerp”) was speaking to me!!  “Paper!” I replied indignantly.  (I usually choose plastic, but suddenly I wanted to display my defiance.)  THAT will show him!

The many “milestones” such as this that occur during life’s journey serve as unintentional awakenings.  We may coast through our 30’s and 40’s with the same youthful mindset, while the shell which hosts and houses that mindset moves on with time.  Those with whom we cross paths infrequently, (and those who apparently don’t seem to care if they receive a sizeable tip) have only a brief opportunity to view our outward appearance.  I’ve often wished therefore, that there was a way to turn myself inside out.  (Though, a visualization of the metaphor in this instance is rather grotesque, the analogy is definitely worthy of contemplation.) 

Recently I’d met up with a friend of mine for an adult beverage, who might I add is a few years my elder.  After taking our orders, the server requested to see proof of age. Although it was a bit of an inconvenience to dig for my wallet and remove my identification, I understood it to be a regulation in this establishment, and was happy to oblige.  My friend showed her ID and I held mine patiently awaiting my turn to display it and subsequently watch the flabbergasted expression on our server’s face as she “did the math” in her mind and realized the vast difference between the legal drinking age, and mine.  She returned the ID to my friend and then to my astonishment…she turned and walked away!  My eyes widened.  My heart began to palpitate.  “WAIT!” I shouted to her back.  “You forgot to check mine!  Here!  Here!”  (After all, I had gone through great lengths to excavate it out of the black hole, which is my purse.)  She hung her head in embarrassment and walked back slowly to our table like a golden retriever who had just chewed a favorite pair of shoes.  With an undeniable aura, derived from a combination of sympathy and faux compassion, she reached out her hand for my ID.  Out of sheer respect or simply to placate me, her eyes quickly scanned the document and handed it back with an accompanying, condescending smile.  I called her sadistic smile and raised the bet with a sarcastic nod, which if miscellaneous gestures could be translated, would have read:  “I wish I could come back and be your waitress in 40 years…” 

But, the most memorable age epiphany for me had been sitting still, patiently waiting to strike, on a shelf in my pantry.  I was busy moving items around to put clean dishes away when I spotted it and stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity.  It was a gravy boat.  I stood there staring up at it intently.  It was as though it was staring back.  I asked myself, when…when did I become a gravy boat owner?  When did this happen?  Grandmas own gravy boats.  Do I even know how to make gravy?  While I was reevaluating my life, my existence and all that was me, I tried to contemplate where the time had gone.  At what point did the responsibility of gravy boat ownership become mine?  When did I grow up?

There are much more significant, obvious indications of maturity, such as marriage, buying a home, having children, etc.  But these small rites of passage that occur as we proceed from decade to decade, though small in stature, can have a similar, substantial impact on our psyche.  For some, it’s the sudden realization that they now top off the gas tank in their vehicle each time they visit a station instead of filling it in increments of $6.75.  For some, it’s the discouraging awareness that silliness and frivolity have been slowly, surreptitiously replaced by responsibilities and commitments.  But, for me…it was the gravy boat.