Driving my Jeep from Witter Springs to Lakeport, on my way to my monthly support group at the Pizza Palace on 11th Street, I had a crackerjack of an idea. First off, let me tell you the support group meets once a month every Thursday in the back room of the Pizza Palace. Naturally, everybody buys something for lunch. It may be any thing from a slice of good pizza to a veggie plate. I usually get the veggie plate and load up. It’s a good way to get my veggie vitamins and keeps me cranking full speed ahead. Once everyone has arrived, we talk.
About 1 percent of the time the discussion may touch on old memories and a few tears may fall. Everyone in the group has lost someone they loved. It is usually a spouse but sometimes a child or a parent. Talking with people that have the same experience helps get through the hard times. Mostly we cut up. We are happy as clams and tell good stories to one another. We talk about what we are doing and, most important, to get through any sad thoughts, we talk about our plans for our future; next week, next month and even years ahead. That’s plain good therapy for anyone too wrapped up in their own problems. Just like helping others is also great therapy because it forces grieving persons to quit thinking too much about themselves.
At most of the meetings George is there and so is Don. There are a dozen or more lovely women as well. Outside of Michi Brown, Linda Laing and Kathleen Bradley, who are the three social workers that alternate at meetings to lead the group, I hesitate to mention any of the women by name … in case I might miss one. However, I will tell you this. Every last one of them, in their heyday when they were in their 20s, were probably beautiful enough to grace the pages of a Playboy calendar or a kick up their heels in a Broadway chorus line … and they are still good looking.
There are fewer men in the group. Us males don’t seem to have the fortitude to survive quite as long as the females. This is probably because, as they do their best to help us males get though life, it has made them even better able to survive.
Anyway, as I was saying, I had an idea worthy of Albert Einstein or Steven Hawking on my way to the 11:30 a.m. meeting. It has to do with pizza. Almost all of us are “seniors.” That means we are all older folks and we get a discount for our pizza orders — which is nice. Why not carry that fine and thoughtful act a step farther?
Starting with a reasonable base line … say 60 … to define who qualifies as a senior for the discount, go on from there and improve the math. Every 10 years of added age give senior pizza eaters an added 20 percent discount on a purchase. At 70, a senior will receive 40 percent off. At 80, the lucky recipient will get 60 percent off his pizza (or veggie plate) purchase. At 90 (that’s where I shine), I will get my pizza free. From then on its all gravy.
He (or she) will run to tell the good news all over Lakeport. More customers, who wish to pay homage to the owner’s kindness, will buy the Pizza Palace owner’s pizza and sing his praises to the heavens for such beneficence. People will flock to his establishment like cattle on a stampede. I’m sure the proprietor of the Pizza Palace will agree. If he is not already feeling good about giving all the senior pizza buyers a discount, my idea will make him cry tears of joy for the opportunity of showing his respect for age.
When inspiration strikes, like a good rainstorm, it hits all at once and in many ways. Here is where my idea sprouted wings and came to full flower. As as I grew older, at age 100 I would receive 20 percent of my purchase in cold cash. And my pizza is free. By the time I am 130 (which I am planning) I will be a millionaire and probably own the Pizza Palace.
