The Search for Freedom

Getting older sucks.

And anyone who tells you differently is full of shit.

Such were my thoughts as I drove home from the store. My cheeks burned with frustration as I replayed this afternoon’s humiliating events in my head.

“Hello, can I help you?” bellowed an anorexic bearded kid behind the Health Food store counter. His loud tone indicated he thought I was hard of hearing.

“I’m looking to buy some Freedom.”

“I beg your pardon?” said the kid.

“Freedom. I know you used to have it stocked on the back wall here.”

“Here? This is something you bought here?” he said.

“Yeah. I’m in a lot of pain. And I need to get some as soon as possible. 

“Well, you are certainly “free” to purchase whatever you’d like. We have a non-discriminatory policy on all purchases.”

“I don’t follow you,” I said.

“CBD or hemp products can be purchased provided you have proper ID…although judging by your age I don’t think you have anything to worry about, SIRRR.”

“‘I’m not looking to buy that kind of stuff. I just want to buy some dang Freedom and get the heck out of here,” I said starting to bristle about the age comment.

“Is this a product, state of mind, or an inherent right?”

Clearly, I was dealing with an idiot.

“It’s a product,” I said with an exasperated sigh.

“Okaaay,  what does it do?” he said.

I looked around the crowded shop, hoping no one was listening.

“It provides pain relief.”

“From what? We have a whole section of natural pain relievers.”

Before I could answer a pear shaped woman wearing a loud floral mumu behind me in line spoke up.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Is this going to take long? My blood sugar is crashing. And if I don’t get these carob seaweed bites into my system…I’m gonna pass out right here in the store.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Please, go on ahead. I’ll wait, lady” I said stepping aside politely.

The woman barrelled ahead of me and dumped what appeared to be a small mountain of energy bars and tofu snacks on to the counter.

While the store clerk was ringing up her items several other people got in line behind her. Abruptly the queue of people got substantially longer.

Now normally I would have squawked about being next in line but I figured the fewer customers around to hear me the better.

So to kill some time I went to the magazine rack in the front of the store and looked at the latest issues of Tree Hugger International and Natural Dude. Hirsute men and women with copious amounts of facial and armpit hair were posed coyly on the covers of these rags. The unread magazines pleaded for my attention  – so I picked one that had the least amount of hair plastered on its cover.

Geez louise, whatever happened to all the good magazines like the Rolling Stone, Sports Illustrated, or even Playboy I grumbled as I  flipped through the pages of a Get High journal. At least the articles were good in those publications.

Lifting my gaze from the paper stand I observed the people in line ahead of me. Based on their age I surmised my taste in reading material had gone the way of the dodo.

The world had moved on alright. Leaving me stranded at the bottom of a rabbit hole, where anyone over fifty was regarded as invisible or inconsequential. It seemed that Life maintained the cruel paradox of  allowing one to have a young mind and a body that was falling apart at the same time.

As I continued to wait for the line to clear – I was serenaded by the bleep-bleep scanning noise of the register. The bloops and bleeps and the stink of wheat grass grated on my nerves further exacerbating my growing impatience.

Finally, as the last customer left the counter I hustled back to the counter only to find myself facing an attractive young woman at the register.

“Can I help you, sir?” said the blonde buxom woman behind the counter. Her spoken emphasis on the word “sir” felt like an additional twenty years were being heaped upon my birth date.

“What happened to the young guy who was just here?” I said.

“He’s on lunch break.”

Goddamit. Now I was back to square one and most Health Food stores that carried Freedom would be closing in an hour.

“Is there anything I can help you find?”

Now if the woman behind the counter at the register had been my age – I would have explained to  her what I wanted pronto.

But, as I gazed into the green eyes of this New Age Mama, I felt myself tongue tied, mesmerized by her lineless face, her intoxicating scent of patchouli, her expansive bosom straining the Cat Power t-shirt she wore that hinted at forbidden fruits underneath a thin layer material.

I wanted to tell her what I needed, but my tongue lay inert  like a useless flap of wet cardboard in my mouth. All I could do was make a gurgling noise in the back of my throat.

“Hellooo?” she said.

“Uh…Magazine me buy,” I said, my face turning scarlet.

“I’m sorry I don’t understand,” she said.

“Heh…heh…forget it. I just spaced out there for a second. I want to buy this and…get some other stuff.” I said handing her the Get High magazine I had clutched in my sweaty palm.

“Are you okay? You are all flushed and sweating?”

“I’m just feeling a bit warm. It’s sure hot in this store, huh? How about I take a couple of boxes of those CBD Gummie Bears, a bottle of Willow Bark, and anything else you can think of for pain,” I babbled pointing to items positioned on the shelf behind her.

The bill came to over a hundred and nine dollars by the time I fled the store. Laden with a bunch of crap I didn’t need – and still no Freedom.

*

I was able to hit two more health food stores before they closed – before finally giving up. None of them had even heard of Freedom.

“What did you buy at the store, honey?” asked my wife catching me tiptoeing  through the front door as attempted to sneak into the house.

“Oh, just a few essentials, Sweetheart,” I lied spectacularly shoving my I unopened bag into the cupboard.

“How much did you spend?”

“Cough! Cough! Not much Amore.”

“Uhuh. Okay, we’re out of a few things…I wish you had  told me you were going to the market.”

“Really? Okay gimme a list and I’ll run over to Whole Foods.”

Moments later I was standing in line at our local Market getting my frozen peas and carrots bagged.

“Did you find everything you needed?” asked the store clerk bagging my groceries.

“Yeah, mostly…I wish I had found some Freedom though. I can’t find it anywhere.”

“Freedom? Oh, yeah… we have that stocked…you can find it on aisle five,” said the cashier.

I threw my arms around the startled clerk with a loud whoop, before dashing over to aisle five. 

There it was, lined up on the bottom shelf were seven beautiful boxes of FReedHEm listed under hemorrhoid treatments and natural laxatives.

I bought all seven.

My ass was saved.