Tales from 2020: Definitely Older Than 22

Late-night. January 22, 2020. Pre-pandemic.

Travis was a good kid, but untravelled. He hadn’t seen Raiders or Lebowski or GI Joe Retaliation. And he certainly hadn’t seen Tombstone.

“The one with Angelina Jolie?” He corrected himself: “No, that’s Tomb Raider.”

I sighed, my amusement turning quickly to annoyance. “It’s about Wyatt Earp and the OK Corral.”

“Who?”

Oh ffs, Travis.

Daniel, the middle-aged redneck who knew everything about everything and once spent 15 minutes extolling to me the virtues of full-figured women, overheard the conversation and limped over. He turned down the 90s British technopop blaring out of his walkman and tipped his indoor cowboy hat. With his high-pitched drawl the interrogation began.

“That’s ‘cuz Travis don’t know the classics — how old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-two,” Travis trembled, clearly uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation.

“Well, hell, I got t-shirts ol’er than you!”

I chimed in. “Kids these days.” They both looked at me. I immediately regretted it.

Daniel didn’t skip a beat. “An’ how ol’er you?”

Panic. What had I told them? I can’t remember. My mind raced between lies I’d told and lies I thought I might have told. Past words of wisdom whispered: “never tell the same lie twice.” It was enough; the deed was done.