Unintended Consequences

Unintended consequences are something I have experienced all my life. From a young age I have experienced them with the zeal of youthful indifference. While unintended might be a misnomer, some would claim just plain stupidity was at play, worrying about possible outcomes was never my forte.

I learned very early that skin was cheap and it would grow back. Yep, bones break and they heal. Get cut? Mom spent many hours with me at the doctor getting stitched up. Pain was just the price of admission for the adrenalin rush that I took from questionable stunts during childhood play. Simple things like riding a bike out in front of my mother’s friend’s car to see if she could stop. She couldn’t and I bled a little and experienced road rash. Me being me once wasn’t enough and three days later it was time for an encore. Damn it, she still hadn’t learned to stop. More blood and road rash and now neither my sister nor I had a bicycle. Those all were unintended consequences. I really did think she could stop the first time and KNEW she would the second. Nine year olds just don’t think things out clearly. Besides if I had I would have still done it because there was a chance she would have missed me. Looking back today I understand my folks not letting me get a motorcycle when they had to pay the doctor bills. There…more unintended consequences.

Fast forward to the calm, mature me of today. Life is pretty sweet and flowing along on a nice even keel. Four months out from being part of a Mr. and Mrs. again and then those pesky unintended consequences rear their ugly heads again. A simple little thing like a conversation about retirement plans goes and messes with me. Got me to thinking I should look into my plumbing pension that I haven’t bothered with in twenty-two years. Give the place a jingle and they say yep you got one coming. I ask when I can start drawing the thing and they say, “three years ago.” WHAT? Unintended consequences times two. On the one hand if I had kept up with the thing I could have been retired, officially, for three years. On the second hand now that I’m filing the paper work that means I’m in dire danger of becoming an old geezer. Wonder what I’ll look in plaid shorts and a striped shirt?

Officially, legally, a retiree in a few weeks? I was looking forward to being able to retire, but I was waiting until I was old. The unintended consequence of talking has brought me to the conclusion that despite my protests I am moving quickly into the Old Fart neighborhood.