My friends and I are in an on-again/off-again writing club where the rules are simple. Every two weeks you have to submit three short stories that it took you 20 minutes or less to write. These are the results.

Old People Tricks

Jay wasn’t nervous or even anxious, it was more of a fear of not knowing what to say. He’d agreed to meet his dad’s friend for lunch because…well, what the hell else did he have to do. Eat a sandwich in his cubicle? But when he found out at the last minute that the person he’d be meeting was 84 years old, what little exuberance he had transformed and grew into a list of concerns.

What would he talk to this guy about? It’s hard enough making conversation with a stranger, let alone one that’s 50 years older than you. To make matters worse, the restaurant they were meeting at was packed. Could this old guy stand long enough to eat here? It made him dread aging.

Suddenly the thick stench of a pipe being smoked hit him. He turned around to see an old guy wearing a white cowboy hat and a western shirt, puffing away. The hostess quickly rushed forward.

“Sir, you can’t smoke in this establishment,” she said apologetically.

He pulled the pipe out of his mouth slowly after having another draw, then asked, “Is that right?” Letting the smoke slowly escape his lips as he spoke.

“I’m afraid so. Smoking isn’t allowed in any restaurants in the city.”

“Well, they used to let you smoke wherever you wanted. Then they switched it so you could only smoke in part of the places. That was fine…” He paused, his eyes wandering off as if thinking of the past while he took another drag.

The young girl stood there confused for a moment, then interrupted his thoughts by saying with a big smile, “How about I take your pipe and put it out, then I’ll bring it back to you at your table.”

“I suppose that’d be alright,” he said handing her the still smoking pipe. “Just be sure not to lose any of the tobacco in there. I just loaded it.”

“I’ll be sure,” she replied with a smile before scurrying away with her confiscated goods into the kitchen.

“Are you Al?” Jay asked him .

“Yep, are you Ronnie’s son?” He asked back while smacking him on the shoulder.

“I am.” Al was already shaking his hand.

“Let’s go sit down.” Al told him as he made his way into the place.

“I already have our name on the list. Should be another 20 minutes or so.”

Al waved his hand dismissively at my comment, still continuing into the restaurant. “They always say that.”

Jay followed him to a booth where some people were just getting up. After making sure they were leaving, Al sat at the table still covered in dirty dishes. Moments later, the hostess brought him his pipe wrapped in a plastic bag to mask its scent, then called for a busboy to clean the table for us.

Al took the pipe out of the bag, and shook the leftover tobacco onto one of the plates, then put his pipe into the front pocket of his shirt. He looked at Jay and winked. “When you get as old as me, they don’t have the heart to stop ya.”

Suddenly, getting old wasn’t as frightening a prospect as it had been minutes ago.