I’m checking out a catalog of old folks’ classes at the community center, thinking my dad might like to get out of the house. Maybe learn a bit about jazz history, or take a creative writing class. And for those of you who know my dad, stop laughing. Ya, for sure, the history of NASCAR, or the art MacGyvering are both probably more on target. However, they don’t offer those. Yet. Perhaps he might like to teach a class….. helllloooooo, senior center, are you listening?
There’s always one lady who doesn’t fall asleep.
A few of the class offerings are actually pretty amusing. “Yoga for the rest of us” is a good one. I can totally see it. A dimly lit room with the heady bouquet of potpourri and Ben Gay, with an oaky fart-scented finish, complete with tinkly music and the calming tone of the instructor’s voice. Most participants walk in and throw their mats down, look around and say, “Ah, fuck it. I’m going take a nap.” And for the rest of the group, half way through the class, downward dog melts into side-slung pill bug. And the sound of snoring is so overwhelming, the instructor and the one lady who’s still awake pack up and cut out to Starbucks, before the rest of them know what’s happening. Ya, I really don’t see my dad fitting anywhere into that scenario. Well, perhaps the napping group.
Then there’s “Laugh and Learn – You’re Retired.” I imagine a bunch of old dudes sitting around telling inappropriate jokes, laughing at all of us non-retired dickweeds who still have to pull a paycheck. I think they take that class before going across the hall for “Longevity Stick Exercises.” I swear to God, people, that’s a real class. Remind me to audit that one when I’m old enough. Because the name alone is all the description I need. Maybe they should combine that with the video making class. Then they’d really have something. But I refuse to imagine my dad taking any part in that.
We’ve also got the old folks’ standards you’d expect: bridge, poetry, drawing, and “Critic’s Choice – The Movies.” Old people are fucking naturals at that critics thing. Why do they need a class in it? I have to imagine there’s no teacher. Only a moderator, who is fast on her feet and good at ducking flying objects. At any rate, I don’t see my dad signing on for any of those. Too many old people there. He doesn’t like old people.
They offer German 1, Spanish 1, French 1. But the Italian class is called, “Survival Italian.” This is actually hilarious, and quite accurate, given my Italian travel experiences. You get to learn phrases like:
“Grab my ass again, and I’ll kick your balls up into your throat,” along with my favorite,
“Give me back my wallet, you skanky tramp.”
And, “It’s behind that fake-ass arm you’ve got around that doll, that’s supposed to look like a baby.”
Also, “Get your eyes off my fanny pack. I’m not stupid enough to put valuables in there,”
and, “I’m sorry sir, my euros smell like ass sweat. They’ve been in my money belt”
Or the old favorite, “I heard you have a hooker in your government,”
along with the two optional follow-up phases, “You sick bastards,” or “Whoa, cool.”
I think I need to take that class. But for my dad, who is overtly critical and highly vocal, if not dangerously so, travel to any foreign country isn’t really a good idea. This should probably include New York, most of L.A., and anywhere that a large population of heavily tattooed or pierced folks tend to congregate. So… I don’t see foreign languages really working out for him.
There’s got to be something in the catalog to interest my dad. It’s hard to say. The guy stockpiles toilet paper like a squirrel hoards nuts for the winter. Maybe “Realistic Disaster Preparation” is right for him. After all, what’s more realistic than a fear of running out of toilet paper right before the zombie apocalypse? Yup, I’m thinking that could be the class. I’ll have to run it by him.
I wonder if they teach you how to say, “Excuse me. Can you pass some TP under the door? My stall seems to be out,” in Survival Italian.
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