Frank Holland strolled into the bar. He rubbed his bald head, then his gray, neatly trimmed beard while surveying the empty seats. He sat down next to a young brunette who chatted with the girl next to her.
“Excuse me, gorgeous, can I buy you and your friend a drink?”
The young woman turned to Frank and said curtly, “Not tonight, Gramps.”
Far louder than the woman expected Frank said, “Did you just misage me? Unbelievable. In this day and age without even inquiring, you misage me.”
Very quickly the woman said, “I’m so sorry, sir…”
“Sir? Sir! Why would you call me ‘Sir’? How old do you think I am? Are you insinuating I’m old enough to be your father?”
“No, no. I’m really sorry. I should have asked your preferred age to begin with.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“What is your preferred age, your age identity?”
“26. Please remember that. I’m 26 and I’d like to buy you and your friend a drink.”“No thanks,” she said. Then she and her friend got up and left the bar.
Frank sat quietly after he ordered a beer. At the end of the bar a woman, using a walker, shuffled, with much effort, toward Frank. When she got to the seat next to him, she asked if he would help her into the barstool. Her thin, gray hair hung down just to her shoulders and her frail, wrinkled body struggled, even with help from Frank, to get comfortable in the stool.
“Hey handsome,” she said, “Buy me a drink?”
“Not tonight, Gr…..what’s your preferred age?”
“23.”
“Well, hello, Miss 23,” Frank said flirtatiously.
“My name’s Margo,” she said in sultry voice.
“Well, hel….loooo, Margo, 23. I’m Frank, 26.”
2023 The Inmate, The Asylum
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