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It's a Small World
Jan. 18th, 2013 07:48 pmWe get quite a few elderly patrons at the library, who come on a very regular schedule. I always enjoy talking to them. One married couple came in, and the husband was paying his wife's fines (aw) while bitching good-naturedly at her about it (hee). He handed me a $10 bill and said, "Hope this is okay."
"Well, of course it is," I answered, a bit confused.
"I mean, I hope it doesn't set off the alarms. I made that."
I laughed. "My grandpa does the same thing," I said.
"What?"
"Makes jokes like that. When we go shopping, he's always pulling out money and saying, 'Here you go, fresh off the press this morning.'"
The elderly man stares at me, and I'm wondering if I've misinterpreted something. "Who's your grandpa?" he barks. "What's his name?"
"Um. George P----."
He slaps his hand down on the counter. "WELL GODDAMN, I WENT TO SCHOOL WITH HIM. QUINDARO ELEMENTARY, GEORGE AND FRANK AND EDDIE. GODDAMN." (Frank and Eddie are my Grandpa's brothers, older and younger respectively.) And then he and his wife go on to talk to me for a solid five minutes about growing up, and losing touch with people they'd gone to school with when WWII started, and how is George by the way, and so on.
And it was just so neat, that here once a week for two years I've been helping someone who went to elementary school with my Grandpa way back in the early 1930s.
Of course, I told my Grandpa about it, and told him the guy's name, and he was like, "Hmm... I guess that sounds familiar..." And then he told me a story about the time he was throwing rocks at some kid after school and got paddled, lol.
"Well, of course it is," I answered, a bit confused.
"I mean, I hope it doesn't set off the alarms. I made that."
I laughed. "My grandpa does the same thing," I said.
"What?"
"Makes jokes like that. When we go shopping, he's always pulling out money and saying, 'Here you go, fresh off the press this morning.'"
The elderly man stares at me, and I'm wondering if I've misinterpreted something. "Who's your grandpa?" he barks. "What's his name?"
"Um. George P----."
He slaps his hand down on the counter. "WELL GODDAMN, I WENT TO SCHOOL WITH HIM. QUINDARO ELEMENTARY, GEORGE AND FRANK AND EDDIE. GODDAMN." (Frank and Eddie are my Grandpa's brothers, older and younger respectively.) And then he and his wife go on to talk to me for a solid five minutes about growing up, and losing touch with people they'd gone to school with when WWII started, and how is George by the way, and so on.
And it was just so neat, that here once a week for two years I've been helping someone who went to elementary school with my Grandpa way back in the early 1930s.
Of course, I told my Grandpa about it, and told him the guy's name, and he was like, "Hmm... I guess that sounds familiar..." And then he told me a story about the time he was throwing rocks at some kid after school and got paddled, lol.
