That Wasted Old Man

An old man struggles to get out of the airport. It's been a tough week, first with his son refusing to heed his advice about his plans for marriage. After all of his Dad's coaxing, the boy simply will not accept that his crutch-leaning mannequin of a father's counsel is at all pertaining to his life. "Fuck it." the old man thinks. He's tried hard enough his whole life with that boy. "Let him ruin his life. He has never cared about me anyways."

Then, there was the fiasco of a business meeting that morning. Not only did he fail to persuade his potential clients into doing business with his company, but was subtly patronized by these new-school, youthful sprites of his field; jotting down notes on iPads and concerning themselves more with technological advancement than the old man's suggestions of building better customer relations. "Back when my Dad ran the company," one of these new-schoolers commented, "that would have sold him. But today is a different world, one that has no use for paper and pencils." Consequently, this was the last straw for the old man's boss. He was sent there with distinct instructions; get the sale or get the shaft. He would have to be let go. "Fuck it."

So, the old man is getting onto a plane with no job, no discernible children, and no one to share all of his feelings with. Ahh, but he does have someTHING to share it with. Maybe he's never had good luck with keeping the women in his life around, but he's never had any problems emptying a bottle of booze. During his long, lonely, and dejected flight home, he shared all of his problems with the one confidant he has had for his entire adult life.

After a six hour flight, the old man arrives at the airport of his hometown. His legs are wobbly, his head is heavy, his mind is numb, and his heart is missing; left behind somewhere that he can not remember. After somehow managing to reclaim his baggage, he heads for the door, heads towards the light, heads reluctantly back towards reality. The commotion of his surroundings is startling and unsettling to the old man. He starts to lost his balance and tries to make it to a handrail while trying to juggle his luggage, his cane, and his lack of sobriety. He can not do all of these things. He winds up face down on the concrete, surrounded by a small, shattered wine glass from the airplane that was in his suit jacket, and a mixture of mildly startled, but mostly amused people that are all jeering at "that wasted old man." Some people feel obligated to help him to his feet, but it's pointless. He can't get up, and he's not sure if he ever wants to.