The Good Old Days Revisited

Late on a dreary winter night, two strangers stood on the dimly-lit old subway platform waiting for the new, improved and retrofitted jet train, which was already ten minutes later than the old train had ever been. The one stranger slouched, nearly bent over; the other stranger stood as straight as the tunnel's rusted steel support posts. One's face was as wrinkled as a raisin; the other's face was smooth as a baby's behind (discounting the zits). The one stranger's hair was gray; the other's was dyed green. Both seemed to share a grumpiness.

The old man smoked a “Mary Jane” brand cigarette cupped in his hand, glancing side to side as if fearful of being caught, even though marijuana had been legal for 50 years. The teenage boy smoked a tobacco cigarette cupped in his hand, glancing side to side, furtively, as if fearful of being caught. Tobacco possession had been made illegal 10 years ago, but enforcement enthusiasm had quickly waned.

The old man approached the boy and attempted to casually start a conversation.

"These trains suck, don't they?" he grumbled. The boy looked at the old man and grunted in affirmation.

"Heck, I can remember when people used to be able to travel in privacy,” the old man said. “Everybody had their own traveling containers, self-propelled private rooms on wheels. They called them cars. Yeah, those were the days. I can remember spending hours sitting in them, listening to music, just cruising my way to work every day, like riding a magic carpet. They had things call 'jams' where the cars would all slow down so you could have time to think and relax. Yeah, I loved my car. Loved those jams. Those were the days. "

"You mean the things that created smog, acid rain, ozone depletion, carbon monoxide, greenhouse gases,” the teenager said, in more of a statement than a question. “You mean automobiles, the things the killed 100,000 people a year in highway accidents?”

"Yeah, cars. That's what I'm talking about, and don't you go believing all that revisionist propaganda either, son. Those cars had their faults, but so do today’s so-called jet trains. Hah, lots of problems with those damn things. Case in point, look how late this son-of-a-gun is. Heck, these jet trains probably generate problems we won't even know about till years down the road. Probably emitting some kinds of invisible gases or radiation we don't even know about. Probably killing us all right now and we don't even know it."

The boy just continued smoking his cigarette.

“Yeah, this so-called modern world sucks,” the old man continued. “I'll tell you what else I remember; I remember when you could buy a soft drink for under $20. Really, I'm serious. And it had real sugar too. Remember that? No shit, real sugar, the stuff that came from plants down south somewhere. Real sugar, great stuff. Tasted so damn good. Incredible.”

“You mean the stuff the rotted people's teeth, made kids hyperactive, gave people diabetes and made them fat as pigs?”

“Ah, pigs. Yeah, I remember pigs too. Nowadays every meal is some sort of soy/fish puree or something. Crap, pure crap masquerading as food. Yeah, pig meat, pork. I remember pork, delicious stuff, stuff you could sink your teeth into. Ah, those were the good old days.”

“Meat-producing grazing animals are a waste of land resources,” said the boy. “Besides fish and soy and vegetables are better for your health.”

“They really got you brainwashed, don’t they,” said the old man. “You just recited that back to me verbatim from your propaganda text books. You ever taste pork, son? Melted in your mouth it was so delicious.”

“What good is something that melts away in your mouth? If I want something to melt in my mouth, I’ll get some ice-soymilk. And if you like pork so much, why not just add some artificial pork flavor to ice-soymilk?”

“You don’t get it, do ya kid?”

The old man shook his head and flicked his spent marijuana butt down onto the train tracks.

“Hey, that’s littering,” said the boy.

“Don’t be silly; that stuff’s biodegradable. Some rat will come by an eat it and get so high that he’ll escape for a while the misable modern rat life that he leads.”

“So you want to poison poor helpless animals. Nice.”

“If I wanted to poison rats I’d feed them tobacco,” said the old man, as he gave the boy a “gotcha” grin. The boy reflexively cupped his cigarette tighter and he averted the old man’s gaze.

“Hey, I wonder if you mixed pork-flavored soy with rat meat if you could get it to taste like pork. You ever eat rat meat?

The boy shook his head no.

“Nowadays it’s just about the only meat you can get; except once and a while some roast dog or cat on the black market. Yeah, I remember eating all kinds of meat and even being able to buy meat in a grocery store. Hey, did you know people used to keep dogs and cats around just for the hell of it? They called them pets. Did you know that?”

The boy spent about 30 seconds just looking at the old man before he answered.

"Yeah, I know a few things. I wasn't born yesterday."

“And plants. Did you know that people kept plants around just for fun? Even had trees on the streets. Bushes around buildings, and grass in vacant lots called parks. Parks overgrown with wild roses. Wow, parks! How things have changed. And I remember drinking water. I remember when if you had bad water, you'd just throw it away on the ground and go get some good water. You could buy pure water in bottles, nice light plastic bottles. Those were the good old days. The days of water and wild roses. Ah, I miss those good old days.”

“The good old days. The good old days. If I hear one more stupid story about the good old days I'm going to barf.”

“Barf? Heck, today you’re lucky if you’re able to get enough food to be able to barf. I used to eat like a pig until I barfed. I used to eat pig like a pig (pork that is) until I barfed. I used to drink beer and wolf down pork rinds till I barfed. Barfed all the time. Ah, those were the days.”

Smoke from his cigarette swirled around the boy’s face, making it look like the smoke was coming from his hot head.

“You kids nowadays don’t know squat about the good old days. I pity you, son.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you boring old bastard,” the boy said. He stormed off down the platform, putting distance between himself and the old man.

“Hhm? A surly, know-it-all, foul-mouthed teenage punk,” the old man said to himself. “Just like me at that age.” He smiled the first smile that had crossed his face all day. “Nice to know that at least some things never change.”