The Uncle At Work

In general, I think I’m something of a sexist-ageist. I adore old ladies — ornery old hags, sweet hard-candy sharing grannies, sex-crazed cougars, gospel-singing jesus loving member of their church choir. It doesn’t matter. Old ladies SPEAK to me. I have yet to meet one that doesn’t interest me — intrigue me — make me want to sit and drink a cup of coffee in their kitchen.

But old men? I’m quite polarized. Sweet old grampa types are okay in my book, as long as they stay sweet and aren’t sexualized in any manner. I really don’t like cranky old men. At all. I think this is where I’m probably sexist. Mean old ladies are cunty broads that I can relate to… Mean old men are probably just dudes who have always been dicks and never really earned anyone’s adoring glance.

I also LOVE the swinging bachelor old dudes that call you “sweet cheeks” and have nice hair still — the kind of old men who, you just know, back in the day… they were the shit. Gaggles of bitches in clam-diggers and pointy bras just encircling them in the fifties. But if you’re an old dude and you don’t have that REAL mojo and you call me a pet name? You’re going to get a scowl and a half.

You guys remember Grandpa Dildo, right? <shudder> That’s the kind of old man I just can’t stand and I do NOT understand why. I’m a sexually liberated girl… I really hope that when my pubic hair turns into spun silver, I’m still getting my freak on and with a man! An old man — hopefully someone that I’ve been with forever. So, GOD! Why does he bother me so much??

We’ve got another mailbox customer here and everybody just calls him Uncle [his name]. For the purposes of this blog, we’ll call him Uncle Mailbox. He’s AWESOME. Rides motorcycles… Airplane mechanic… Veteran… He’s old and hobbly and has veins pushing up against his thin skin on the back of his knees, but you can just tell — back in the day, Uncle Mailbox was a ladies man.

He calls me “baby” and “sweetie” and “honey” all the time. It NEVER bothers me. Maybe it’s because I believe he used to be a bad boy…? This morning, however, when I opened up the shop, he was waiting outside to check his mailbox. He called me “sexy” and it nearly stopped in my tracks. Sexy? I mean, I’m not denying it (heh) but really…? That seems a bit much.

There was one time a few weeks ago when Uncle Mailbox got a new droid phone and couldn’t figure out how to make it work. He was able to take pictures and open and save pictures on his phone but he couldn’t figure out how to get them to open up from the thumbnail. He asked me if I could help him work it and, of course, I obliged.

Imagine all the many shades of red I turned when I realized all the pictures on his phone that he needed help with were of NAKED WOMEN! And not just your run of the mill porn stuff, but like… candid shots of women… older women.

Now I’m not sure how I feel about Uncle Mailbox. I mean, was that intentional? Surely he KNEW what pictures he had on his phone… Surely he knew I’d see them… Was this a thinly veiled attempt at coming on to me? Was he actually just a creepy old guy!?

Nooooooooooooooo! Don’t ruin my faith in old men, Uncle Mailbox. And don’t call me sexy.