Laughing Matters: Turning 50

By Ryan G. Van Cleave |  Illustrations by Darcy Kelly-Laviolette | July/August 2021

Between the last issue of Scene Sarasota and this one, I turned 50. Yep. The Big Five Oh. Needless to say, I was totally…STOKED! It was a total, “Yeah, baby!” moment for me. I’ve been waiting my entire life to be a cranky old man, and now it was here. Wahoo! Happy happy times! Like dancing-in-my-underwear-to-“Old Time Rock ‘n Roll”-happy. The-kids-finally-remembered-to-turn-off-their-bedroom-lights-when-they-left-the-room happy. There’s-an-open-booth-for-the-early-bird-special-at-my-favorite-restaurant happy.

Best of all, I was going to get carded again! Between us, this was the thing I was most excited about. I could see it so clearly. Me sauntering up to the Hertz car rental place and demanding my discount via their 50+ program.

Kid behind the counter: Ummm…may I see some ID, sir?

Me: BOOM! There you go, young’ un—stick that driver’s license on your clipboard and park it! Gimme 10% off a hatchback rental. With a cassette player. And manual windows, too!

Or this scenario.

Kid behind the counter of the Brandon, Florida Krispy Kreme: Ummm…may I see some ID, sir?

Me: BOOM! Stick that driver’s license on your doughnut and glaze it! Gimme my 10% off a single chocolate iced with kreme filling, plus a small coffee.

Or this doozy.

Kid behind the counter of the Sarasota Steak & Shake: Ummm…may I see some ID, sir?

Me: BOOM! Stick that driver’s license in your paper hat and shake it! Gimme my 10% off a cup of vegetable soup, and a side of cottage cheese!

Poor Kid: Would you like a drink with that?

Me: Water.

Poor Kid: Gotcha. One Pure Life bottled water coming up.

Me: Bottled water? BWAAA HA HA! Why would I pay for water when you’ve got a perfectly good faucet right there?

Yeah, I’m making the most of being a senior citizen. I figured it’s part of the job description that’s in the Cranky Old Man manual I was still waiting to receive. 

In short, things were going swimmingly. 

Then my wife saw me combing through more senior discount program lists online and she said the Worst Thing Ever! 

She told me I was 49. 

We debated. We argued. We asked our high school kid to explain how math works. 

The results? I’m 49. Apparently.

What this means is that I’m not yet authorized to officially say things like “Get off my lawn before I hit you with this rake!” Or even “I printed the directions off Mapquest.”

Since I’m still stuck in my 40s—which is the minor leagues of old age, if we’re being honest here—I guess I’m obligated to roll with the standard low-grade complaints of 40-somethings. Whining about “the Twitter.” Groaning when bending over. Skipping out on a music concert if it involves standing. Getting loopy after a single glass of chardonnay. Obsessing over The Weather Channel. Spending way too much money on lotion. Singing along with elevator music. Getting excited about the purchase of a new pill organizer.

Sigh.

The way I see it, I have three options before me. 

Option One—Ride out this last awkward late-40s year by walking into a room and forgetting why I went in there.

Option Two—Start a “Ryan’s totally-for-sure 50!” campaign so I can enjoy the blissful crankiness I fully deserve.

Option Three—Go all Tom Cruise Mission Impossible style and break into the US Hall of Records to officially knock back my birthday year by, oh, a couple of spins around the sun. 

While I’m most taken by Option Three—it’s possible I might’ve already mail ordered a black military commando suit and some heavy-duty climbing gear—my kids assure me that not only is the US Hall of Records NOT a real thing, that if it even existed, it wouldn’t have everything in big metal filing cabinets the way I imagined because it’d all be digital. DIGITAL!

“Maybe I can bust into those files on the interwebs,” I mumbled. 

“Yeah, no,” they told me back.

“Go to your rooms!” I roared, then added, “Because I said so!”

Cranky Old Man in Training 1.

Dang-blasted kids 0.

Maybe my cranky 40s aren’t so bad after all.

If you’ve had a run-in with math or old age that’s left you the worse for wear, I want to know about it. FAX the details to me ASAP at 555-555-5555. Or make me a mixtape that will perfectly recreate the emotional response you had to your mishaps. 

Of course, if you’re NOT yet a Cranky Old Person or the victim of a mathing mishap, I still welcome your complaints. Just get on the Google and rant about it there. I’ll notice. Promise.