A romantic pilot and a grumpy old man

This made me smile. A pilot lives on the third floor. I only ever see him in uniform, coming home trailing his roller bag behind him. We have a superficial "Hi! How are you?" "Fine! Welcome home!" kinda relationship. Which is why today surprised and delighted me.

As I passed the laundry room on my way to the dumpster, I saw a massive, empty clothes hamper and noticed all the machines were in use. Someone was doing a shit ton of laundry. Then I went out the back door and saw who it was. 

The pilot, in casual clothes that revealed a bit of tummy that his uniform conceals, was dancing -- ballroom style -- to music only he could hear. In his arms was a woman in shorts and sandals who looked a little embarrassed when I caught her eye. As I watched them spin and sway amid the dumpsters and parked cars while they waited for their clothes, I thought it was one of the most romantic things I've seen in real life in a long time. May the lovebirds have a lovely Memorial Day weekend!

This made me sad. I met John and Gregory for lunch. It was the first time the three of us have been together in months. I was really looking forward to it because last week I was still swollen and filled to the gills with ibuprofen after having my tooth pulled. I was bored and eager to get out and have fun.

It's not that I didn't have fun. I did! But my old friend John was so ... old. Grumpy and old. Retired from advertising since 2019, he got a freelance writing job and he hates it. He doesn't like this newfangled way of working, with Zoom calls and editing Powerpoint documents from home. He wants to walk into a person's office and hash everything out.

Post-covid, those days are gone. Besides, he's a freelancer and he doesn't get to make the rules. And there's this: with ChatGPT infiltrating the workplace, freelance writing jobs are going to dry up soon. He should take the money when he can. 

When I pointed this out, he grumbled at me. He grumbled at me a lot. (I talk too fast and then, when he asks me to repeat myself, I talk too loud and it really annoys him.) A friend at the bar he frequents is annoying him, too. The guy texted him during our lunch, wanting to take John to Chinatown for lunch over Memorial Day weekend. Does he really feel like doing that? Oh, hell, maybe he doesn't. His friend can be really annoying.

John says he doesn't want to be "that guy." The old man who doesn't go anywhere. Maybe he goes out, but nothing seems to make him happy. 

Since he cut the cord and no longer gets cable, he doesn't watch the Cubs regularly. Because he needs his cane now more days than he doesn't he really can't go to Wrigley Field. He never goes to the movies anymore because it costs too much. We talked about my trip to the TCM Film Festival in Hollywood, but he's no longer going to visit his brother in Florida. First of all, because it's Florida, which seems bent on becoming the anti-gay book-banning capital of the country. I get that. But I don't believe that's why he's not going. I suspect it's his mobility and cash flow issues.

John has become "that guy." His life is a few quarts low of joy and too full of beer. 

John and I have been besties for 40 years and I love him. I'm not going anywhere. I just have to get my mind around this: one of my oldest friends is getting old.