I’m Getting Old

As 2008 draws to a close, I think it’s starting to just now hit me that time is flying. Quickly. I hear the music on some radio stations these days and don’t understand the hype. I see high school aged kids proudly walking about in their "Class of ‘11" sweatshirts and I’m taken back. I can still remember the rage that surrounded bringing in the new millennium in 2000, when everyone thought that computers would revert back to 1900 and crash. It’s hard to believe that that was about nine years ago. Then there’s my probe (I love that car- despite it’s appearance, it’s deeply loved). It’s a shock to see one running these days. I remember pointing at it, sitting pretty on some random used car lot on E 14th at saying "that one." I promptly wrote a check for 3.5K at the ripe age of seventeen and drove it home with my sister trailing me (since I didn’t exactly have my license at the time). That seems like ages ago.

Then, a few days ago when Eric and I were driving around Dublin searching for a RedBox to return our DVDs after visiting with Mom and Grandma Palshis, we found ourselves at Long’s in Pleasanton- the little store that brought us together back in 2000. It looked just the same as we got out of the car and headed for the entrance. Eric’s initials were still carved into what was fresh pavement in front of the Japanese restaurant next door. My old parking spot under the big shade tree was vacant. But upon entering, I would not have recognized the old store any day- in what is now a brightly colored, oddly organized, generic drugstore. The photo center? Gone. In it’s place, a series of HP digital computer systems instead of the old-fashioned laboratory where photographs were actually processed in house. The center blocks where I tirelessly set the weekly ads? Gone. The cosmetics counter where I neatly displayed the perfume, cologne, and silver jewelry? Gone too. And where was Joyce? The thoughtful, kind, and cheery cashier who happily greeted everyone? Nowhere to be found that evening. In fact, we only came across a single employee throughout the entire store, who quietly stocked the soap isle. And then there was the pharmacy where I also spent many, many hours- it was completely remodeled to accommodate private windows for customers and surprisingly, more than one register. I couldn’t believe it.

After our brief reminiscence of what used to be, Eric and I promptly returned our DVDs to the RedBox machine and made our way to the exit. As we drove away, I almost wished that I had not walked inside. I tried to remember the old store- the one I grew so fond of. The store where I first met Eric on the hardware isle in his cute green vest. The store where I tirelessly straightened each isle on most evenings. The store where Elaine picked me up late at night in the old Tempo so I didn’t have to walk home. The store where Eric and I rearranged our schedules so we could have lunch together in the break room. The store where a surprise Cal graduation cake waited for me in the break room along with all of my coworkers one afternoon. The store where our vests hung neatly, pockets awaiting love note exchanges. The store where Eric taught me how to drive his manual 1976 beetle in the parking lot after hours. The store where I lived my life for nearly seven years… Gone.