Where’s My Senior Citizen Discount? - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

Where’s My Senior Citizen Discount? - Dr. Ed Iannuccilli

The first time I was asked if I wanted a senior citizen discount was when I visited the Churchill War Rooms in London some years ago. Rather annoyed and indignant, I blurted “What ... do ... you ... mean?” I almost asked if she wanted an ID.

“Why, Sir,” she replied, unflustered and in a most polite Queen’s English, “You are entitled to it.”

Entitled. I liked it. I was entitled in England, not to royalty, but to the royal discount of 15 percent! I was feeling a connection to the Queen.

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“Why, uh, sure. OK,” I replied. From that point on, I was hooked, a consummate crafty consumer, a seeker of THE discount.

Not long ago, Diane and I went to a movie matinee. “Two tickets please.”

“That will be $12,” the young lady answered.

“I am a senior citizen, you know. Is there a discount?”

“I know, Sir.” (There’s that unflustered Sir thing again). “But the discount starts two hours from now.”

’Well,” I replied, indignant again for the opposite reason. “I am a senior now, and I will be in two hours.”

“You are right, Sir,” the young lady replied. “So, your ticket is five dollars, hers is seven. That will be 12 dollars please.”

We laughed. A clever young lady. Diane wished she owned a company, so she could offer her a job.

My discount story did not end there. I went from senior indignant to older embarrassed the day I took my grandson golfing. I approached the gentleman in the pro shop. “Two of us, 18 holes with a cart. How much?” I asked.

“Thirty-two dollars.”

“Harrumph,” I muttered under my breath. With cocksure certainty, I asked, “Is there a senior citizen discount?” I was no longer indignant, shy, nor embarrassed, just a bona fide senior.

He glanced over his glasses, an annoyed look on his bored face. Brusquely, he stammered, “Whoa, whoa Buddy. Gimme a break here. Thirty-two dollars for two people with a cart! Are you kiddin’ me? I need to make a coupla bucks, ya know.”

I was grateful that he did not raise his voice. I somewhat sheepishly looked around as I shuffled for my billfold. “Sorry,” I replied. “Here you go.”

I leave it alone now, taking what I get with appreciation, never asking, never indignant. I’ll take the freebie when I can and appreciate it. I know, I know, I should ask. But I don’t have to. My white hair gives me the privilege.

How ironic. Much more mellow, I have moved on from the indignity and the embarrassment of the senior citizen discounts. Now I have a billfold bursting with point cards for every restaurant, every grocery store, gas pumps and everything in between. I collect points for future discounts like the days of the Green Stamps but without the books.

I can hardly keep track of my cards and my points. I hate it when I forget a card. After all, I need my points. And my discounts.

Dr. Ed Iannuccilli is the author of three popular memoirs, “Growing up Italian; Grandfather’s Fig Tree and Other Stories”, “What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner” and “My Story Continues: From Neighborhood to Junior High.”  Learn more HERE.