The Electric Toothbrush

By the time you start reading this, I’ll be off somewhere in the middle of the desert.

For full effect, download “1985” by Bowling For Soup, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

For the second Sunday in a row I am on a road trip. A 13-hour, 36-minute, 827-mile, longest-time-I-will-ever-spend-behind-a-steering-wheel road trip to be more specific. As you’re reading this I am probably in Las Vegas, or Barstow, or Pasadena or even Victorville. I can’t really tell you where I’m at exactly just as you clicked on this link. However, I can tell you that I’m chauffeuring a 15-passenger van to Long Beach, California and back. Sitting next to a kid named George.

George is actually one of my customers this morning. He’s a 17-year old goober whose closest doppelganger would be Manny off of Modern Family. He’s a sweet young buck who is desperately trying to grow sideburns just to look a little bit more mature, yet at the same time starts snickering when his buddy sitting behind us says the word “fart”.

For the 12 hours I’ve spent with this kid, I think we’ve been the best of pals.

George is young. George is naïve. George is immune to the tragedy of having to wear big-boy pants in the modern world. And he’s okay with that. So don’t bother him while he plays Candy Crush as we chug along through the Southern California desert.

Flash back 24 hours from where you’re sitting right now, to find me standing in the personal hygiene aisle of the Bloomington Hills Wal-Mart, holding an electric toothbrush in my hand. I’ve been standing here for over six minutes now. Comparing prices. Tossing ideas back and forth in my head. Reading consumer reviews and customer satisfaction reports.

About an electric toothbrush.

Fast forward two hours to find me wearing basketball shorts, a Calvin and Hobbes T-shirt and double-XL yellow cleaning gloves, down on my hands and knees. Scrubbing my toilet in a rhythm as smooth as an infant’s ass. I don’t care what’s going on around me. I smell like 409 and Clorox Bleach, listening to a Podcast about the Munchausen Syndrome, and haven’t a care in the world. I am on cloud nine. Don’t bother me please. I’ve got germs to kill.

I’m telling you about these two odd moments because they give you the best perspective as to who and what I am at this point in my life. I am aging. I am stiffing up. I am getting personal gratification by mulling over the purchase of a new electric toothbrush and scrubbing away my own piss. Essentially, this means I am now a grown-up.

I’ve blogged plenty of times about maturing and sooner or later turning into a grumpy old man. Most of the time they are comical pokes at a generation of creatures who need vitamin supplements just to stay coherent. But this time, things are different. This time, I think I’m okay with getting older. I am okay with turning down a friend’s invitation to an afternoon of Guitar Hero just so I can sterilize my bathroom. I am okay with being a grown-up. I am okay with getting old.

George is still seated next to me in this van, off in his own bubble. His headphones are blaring, his fingers are in a flurry of texting, and he just downed his third straight Dr. Pepper and it isn’t even noon yet. He’s got his entire life ahead of him. And at this point in time, he doesn’t have a care in the world as the desert passes us by.

Now someone just turning 40 could read this blog and laugh to themselves about how I am such a young fool who has no idea what real life is like. And you know what? They’re probably right. Life is all about perspective. We all have our own take on this thing we wake up to every morning. Whether it’s a Hispanic kid in the middle of puberty, a cocky college recruiter who deliberates over toothbrushes, or some balding fat man with wrinkles who just had his fifth child. We are all playing different roles.  

At one point in my life I was George. I lived for the latest release of Madden for my Play Station. I would go on South Park binges until 4 in the morning. I could drink a 2-liter of Mt. Dew under ten minutes without blinking. I was a boss.

But the thing is, that’s not me anymore. The man I am now is in the driver’s seat of a van looking to get home early enough so I can watch a documentary about Auschwitz I have saved on my DVR. I’m a man who will get a rush of chills when my life insurance policy shows up in the mail. I’m a man who craves a solid bathroom cleaning session and a brand new electric toothbrush.

And you know what?

I’m okay with that.