I'll Have an Old-Fashioned

So I was at WalMart last week, and brought my spiffy new turquoise daytimer for 2011 along because I thought I might be getting a call back on an appointment and would need to check my schedule.  I don't know how it happened, but somewhere between the checkout line and my car I lost it.  I ransacked my brain and retraced all of my steps mentally and came to the conclusion I'd simply forgotten to take it out of the cart.  Must have been a spacy day. 

Anyway, I go back that night to WalMart's Customer Service, and I ask the guy at the counter if anyone has turned in a daytimer.  He stares at me blankly, and slowly sounds out "day-ti-mer", like he's just learned Hooked on Phonics.  I emphatically repeat--"daytimer".  I glance at his name tag to see if he's foreign, but his name is Paul.  He wanders off with an "I have no clue" expression in his eyes, and asks his manager, who reports that nothing has been turned in.  So I try the checkout line I went through, and there's a new shift cashier.  I ask her if she's seen a turquoise daytimer around her counter, and she says, "What?", like I'm speaking gibberish.  I say, it's like a book that you can write in.  She smiles blankly.  I tell her thanks anyway, and determine to check back in the morning.

Come morning, I decide to try a new tactic.  I go back to Customer Service and ask the girl behind the counter if I could check the lost and found for a...planner.  "It's turquoise, and it--" "I have it right here", she interrupts, with a knowing smirk.  There it is!  I thank her profusely, and thank the Lord for its safe return. 

Fastforward to today.  I'm at work doing the crazy Saturday run-like-a-chicken-with-your-head-cut-off routine where my feet and mouth are going one way and my brain is sprinting to keep up.  It's prom season, so I'm helping little girls with moms and girls with dads and girls with girls try on dresses meant for someone 6'3''.  In the midst of restringing delicate chiffon on shaky hangers, a girl comes up to me out of the blue and asks, "Do you have a Droid?"  I blink and say, "Excuse me?"  In my head I think, "no, I don't even have a clap-on lamp, and could hardly afford C3PO..." She then wiggles her phone at me and bemoans the fact that she doesn't even know how to use her new droid and is asking everyone she can for help.  I do the best I can, and direct her to the Apple store in the mall, and she says they probably wouldn't appreciate it if she brought in her Motorola.  Well, what do I know?

So--no one uses the word daytimer anymore.  They all have a Blackberry.  I always thought that was a good flavor pairing with white chocolate in a latte.  As for droids, I wouldn't know one if it beeped morse code and bit me.  Have I become relegated to the stone age?  Am I a relic at the ripe old age of 32?  I always thought it was old people who cling to how they were brought up and what they knew in their prime.  I can't be one of those--or can I?? 

I'll tell you what:  I'm going to keep on watching Philadelphia Story with Katharine Hepburn, Carey Grant and Jimmy Stewart and wearing red lipstick like a 40's starlet and playing my acoustic guitar that's twice the size of my torso.  And I'm only going to eat good donuts (not Krispy Kremes), and when I come up to the counter I'm going to ask for my favorite--an old-fashioned.