Yesterday Bill and I (along with an enormous number of other seniors who have newly arrived in Arizona) went to Costco. I’ve learned the hard way that going at 10 a.m., when they open — which is what I would do in Denver — is a bad idea. Instead, it is better to go in the afternoon. Lunch is over, so there are no more throngs of Baby Boomers eating samples instead of buying lunch. Of course, there is also a line at the Costco Food Court because $1.50 HOT DOGS. By 3:00, the seniors are well into pickle ball and/or cocktails.
Anyhoo, we were driving down one of Mesa’s main thoroughfares on the way to Costco when I noticed something quite odd. There was a man who appeared to be of Baby Boomer age, perhaps on the young side. Maybe in his early 60s. He was cheerfully walking down the street. What was odd was that he was wearing flannel pajamas. I’m not talking those flannel pajama bottoms that young people call grocery store and airline flight clothing. I’m talking red and black plaid pajama bottoms and a matching pajama top. In fact, in order to give you an idea of how odd it was, I’m going to share a photo of my son Court’s family a few Christmases ago. This photo isn’t odd, because, see above: It was Christmas…..
Yes, my friends. It was those pajama bottoms but with a matching button-down flannel top. And while it’s not odd to wearing plaid pajamas when Santa Claus is coming to town and you’re about to open presents, it is odd to be wearing plaid flannel pajamas when it’s 90 degrees out and you are walking down a public street.
Bill speculated that perhaps he was homeless and was wearing the only thing he owned. I don’t believe that to be true. The pajamas weren’t ragged like he had been wearing them for days. In fact, they looked freshly laundered. Nor did he seem to be wandering aimlessly like a man with dementia who had snuck out of his house when his daughter wasn’t looking. In fact, he looked to be walking purposefully to well, someplace. A sleepover?
One time when we were traveling somewhere, we were staying at one of those chain hotels that offer a free breakfast. Bill and I had just finished eating and were drinking the last unpleasant dregs of the hotel-that-offers-free-breakfast coffee. Around the corner comes a young man, maybe around 25 years old. He is wearing his pajamas and slippers and his hair was dramatically unkempt. By all appearances, he had rolled out of bed and immediately remembered that the hotel offered breakfast. It apparently didn’t occur to him that the breakfast room would require street clothes. I always wondered if he was as surprised to see all of the fully-clothed people as we were to see him. The manager promptly sent him back to his room to put on appropriate attire.
These two stories are obviously unrelated. Still, I am always one to try to figure out a story when I observe something unusual. I haven’t been able to come up with one for our pj-clad friend.
One thought on “Pajama Party”
I can’t guess what the story is but I have a feeling it’s a sad one.
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