Skills

An oldish guy finally snaps.

I don’t know exactly how they chose me. They probably buy a list from the DMV and skim off my birthdate and go for there. The panGooGlicon is also watching me, always watching me. And then they pounce.

First it’s the envelope that looks handwritten. Inside, I learn that my declining hearing can result in diminished mental capacity. “Come in this week for a free hearing screening and special financing on our entire line of hearing enhancement products.”

Then it’s the AARP envelopes with free offers with my membership. The shoes you can slip on without tying them. The long pincher things so you don’t need to stoop to pick up things. There are discount coupons for cruises, senior meals, a weekend at Branson, Missouri. Retired people. Old people.

Eventually, things suddenly take a darker turn. “Save your loved ones from making difficult decisions in their time of grief. We offer prepaid funeral plans for every budget.” And, “Is cremation right for you.”

“Have you considered memory care options? Let us show you our wide range of plans,” again, “for every budget.”

“Our exclusive walk-in bathtubs with power jets to ease your pain and stiffness. Do not risk the hazards of falling. One day installation available. Easy financing plans for every budget, and if you act now, we will include a free senior height toilet.”

“StairMaster allows you to live in your home safely for years to come.”

“Is a reverse mortgage right for you?”

And now in the sidebar ads by Google, I keep seeing gifs of a guy standing next to a cardboard casket in front of a crematorium oven. “What they don’t tell you about cremation.”

“One dollar burial insurance with up to a $10,000 benefit. No medical examination required. No application rejected.”

I look up into the sky as I close the mailbox. I see vultures circling. I will use the grim letters and special offers this winter to start fires in my wood stove. If the vultures land, they will become dinner for my dog. I can feel my inner Liam Neeson waking up.

I have felt this inner Liam before. A crook called my old guy and told him his grandson was being held at a hospital by the police for treatment of injuries he sustained after committing an assault. The grandson needed $15,000 to avoid sitting injured in jail before his first hearing. My old guy told him that he doesn’t keep that much cash at home and that he needed to talk to his business manager, who would make the arrangements. “Be careful, though. He gets crazy if you cross him.” He gave the guy my phone number and then he called me to expect a call. The number was from Montreal, Quebec.

I was walking down the plumbing aisle at Home Depot when I got the call from Quebec. The guy starts his story by telling me my old guy said to call me to make a cash transfer. I listen, then I asked why he was calling from Montreal, when I just talked to the grandson in Caldwell, Idaho. A slight pause.

“By chance, I am speaking to you from Montreal today. I am watching you through a NIGHTFORCE ATACR 7-35x56mm F1 scope mounted on a Barrett M107AI .50 caliber sniper rifle. I am not pleased.”

Click.

I call my old guy and give him the go ahead. He calls the Montreal number and before the guy has a chance to hang up, my old guy says, “Was he crazy? I told you he can be crazy.”

Click.

So to you vultures out there, circling over my life, I have something to say to you.

"I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for money I can tell you I don't have money, but what I do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you leave me alone now that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you, but if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you and I will k. . .” - Liam Neeson, Taken.

Click.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas