Privilege Card

It has become my norm to dine out alone to escape the dust and the grating sounds in our home. Since June, when the renovation of our 48-year-old house started, dust and sounds have been my daily associates. 

Without sounding schmaltzy, I look back to those days before Tony left us for his eternal home in January this year. I never had to dine alone—not at home or outside. 

Today, I had lunch in a resto that bears my name, Mary Grace. When I asked for my tab, the waiter asked, “Ma’am, do you have a privilege card?” 

I pondered that for a few seconds. “Sorry, no, I only have a senior citizen card.” 

He grinned. “That was what I meant, Ma’am. But others get offended with the word senior.” 

LOL. I have embraced the life of a senior from day one. With it comes so many privileges. I get escorted to the comfort room, sales people offer me a seat in a store, security guards open doors for me, traffic policemen help me cross a street, etc. I get preferential treatment in crowded or wide places wherever I go. 

Those are privileges (countless!) that came with my senior citizen card. 

I had written about this in one of books, "What, Me Retire?"  

The day I received my senior citizen card, I had it immediately laminated, and after caressing it, I kept it inside a special space in my cardholder. A week later, after dining in a resto with Tony, the waiter gave us the tab. Tony handed him his senior citizen card. And then . . . with dramatic flourish, I took my own new card and waved it in slomo to the waiter. I heard in my mind a background music swell into crescendo. 

It was a moment of rare privilege and grace.