"Taken Aback"

By Jerry Zezima

No matter what I do, whether it’s good, bad or just plain stupid, my wife, Sue, has my back. And I have hers.

But lately, neither one of us has wanted to make the exchange. That’s because we both threw our backs out.

I injured mine while cleaning the bathroom, which is what I get for trying to be helpful around the house.

The irony was not lost on Sue, who appreciated my effort (“you’re so delicate,” she said, “but you did a nice job”) and told me that the best thing for a bad back is exercise.

The irony was not lost on me because a week later, she hurt her back at the gym.

“You’re so delicate,” I said. “And exercise will only make it worse.”

The worst thing about having a bad back, aside from feeling like someone inserted a hot fireplace poker directly into your spine, is getting contradictory and generally useless advice from people who are a pain in the area south of your back.

They will tell you that the best way to feel better is (pick one) heat, cold, rest or, heaven help us, exercise.

I can say from personal experience that the best thing for a bad back is sitting in a comfortable chair with a heating pad and a beer. Just don’t spill the beer on the heating pad or you will get electrocuted. Then a bad back will be the least of your problems.

But for expert advice, I spoke with my mother, Rosina, a retired nurse who is 100 years old and still going strong.

“I’ve never had a bad back and I used to clean the bathroom all the time,” she said. “It was my daily exercise.”

Mom agreed with my theory about rest and beer but added, “If you rest too much, you become stiff. And if you have too much beer, you get fuzzy. Use the heating pad because heat is better than cold. I use a heating pad on my knees. If you have pain, it relaxes that area. But as you get older, your bones get a little brittle. If you’re going to clean the bathroom, you should get one of those long-handled brushes so you don’t have to bend down.”

As for Sue’s injury, Mom said, “Exercise can be good — to a point. Please tell Sue not to overdo it.”

When I hurt my back, I had a hard time getting dressed, putting on my socks and shoes or doing anything that involved movement. Fortunately, that didn’t include walking to the refrigerator for a beer.

After a week, the pain had worked itself out and my back felt better.

Then it was Sue’s turn. She felt so bad that she asked me to help her with her socks and shoes. She also used the heating pad. And she took me food shopping so I could push the cart, fill it with groceries and bag them at the register.

In the frozen-food aisle, where Sue was looking for ice cream, she said, “Turn around.”

I turned around and left the cart stationary.

A woman who was in the same aisle laughed.

“Now you know why I don’t take him shopping,” Sue told her.

At the register, the cashier, a young man, asked if I needed help bagging the groceries.

“Thanks, but I can do it myself,” I replied while holding a bag upside down.

Sue sighed. The kid smiled.

“My wife pulled a muscle,” I told him. “I have her back.”

After a week, her back felt better. Now she’s going to the gym again and, taking my mother’s advice, she’s not overdoing it.

Sue also bought some beer for the next time I clean the bathroom. It’s nice to know she’s still got my back.

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima

"The Eyes Have It"

By Jerry Zezima

I have always believed that if you have an appointment with an eye doctor, you should show up late. When the doctor asks why you weren’t on time, you can say, “I couldn’t find you.”

This will let him or her see — with the aid of prescription glasses, because eye doctors invariably wear them — that you are in the right place and will probably need a pair of specs yourself.

That’s why I was late for my first appointment with Dr. Brian Cho, an optometrist who is nice, funny and, of course, bespectacled.

“Welcome,” said Dr. Cho. “Did you have trouble finding the office?”

“No,” I replied. “I live right around the corner.”

“Why were you late?” he wondered.

“Because,” I answered, “I took the red eye.”

Then I showed him my red eye.

“This is why I made an appointment,” I said, adding that I woke up that morning and was stunned to see in the bathroom mirror that the left lower portion of my right eye was the color of a fire engine.

Dr. Cho took a peek.

“You have a subconjunctival hemorrhage,” he told me. “It’s a bruise of the eye. How did you get it?”

“I must have poked myself while I was sleeping,” I said. “I was probably dreaming about the Three Stooges. I’m a big fan.”

“I used to watch them when I was a kid,” said Dr. Cho.

“Nyuk, nyuk, nyuk!” I noted.

“By the way,” he added, “do you snore at night?”

“That’s what my wife claims,” I replied.

“Maybe she poked you,” the doctor suggested.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “She’s too nice. Besides, she doesn’t like the Three Stooges.”

“Most women don’t,” he said.

“There’s no accounting for taste,” I stated. “At least I don’t have pinkeye.”

“That’s contagious,” Dr. Cho said. “This isn’t.”

He looked at my eye again and said, “It should be gone in a week or two.”

“The whole eye?” I yelped. “Then you’d have to call me Wink.”

“Do you have glasses?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “They’re in the liquor cabinet.”

“No, I mean do you have eyeglasses?” the doctor wanted to know.

“I have a pair I’m supposed to wear if I’m driving at night,” I responded. “But I don’t need them unless it’s raining and I can’t read road signs.”

When Dr. Cho saw that I had brought them with me, he said, “Let’s see if you’re a man of vision.”

He gave me a series of tests that did not, unfortunately, include the standard eye chart, which begins with a big E at the top, followed by increasingly smaller letters, with FP on the second line, TOZ on the third, and so on.

“I had it memorized,” I said.

“Not anymore,” said Dr. Cho, who had me look at a new chart through different lenses.

The verdict: I don’t have glaucoma or macular degeneration.

“Not bad for a guy my age,” I said.

“How old are you?” the doctor inquired.

“I’m 71,” I told him.

“You look 61,” he said.

“Thanks!” I chirped. “I guess your glasses help. All eye doctors wear them, don’t they?”

“I don’t know about that,” he said.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I’m 49,” Dr. Cho answered.

“You look 39,” I said.

“Thanks!” he chirped. “And you’re not even wearing glasses.”

“How is my vision?” I inquired.

“You have 20/30 vision without your glasses and 20/20 with them,” the doctor replied.

“My previous optometrist said I had 20/40 vision, so I must be getting better,” I said. “Maybe I’ll end up with X-ray vision like Superman.”

“You never know,” Dr. Cho said. “But I do know this: If you want to avoid getting poked in the eye again, don’t dream about the Three Stooges.”

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima

"Check This Out"

By Jerry Zezima

If you want something done, goes an old saying, do it yourself. Unless you’re me, in which case you not only have a lot to worry about but couldn’t finish a do-it-yourself project or write a self-help book without asking someone else (not me) for help.

This is especially true when it comes to self-checkouts.

“Are you ready to check out?” a nice store employee named Flora asked me recently.

“Not for many more years,” I answered nervously. “Maybe I should ask my doctor.”

“I mean,” she said, “do you want to ring up your purchases?”

“Yes,” I answered as I pushed my shopping cart to the register.

“It’s closed,” I was told. “But you could go to the self-checkout.”

“I can’t check myself out without a mirror,” I joked.

Flora smiled and said, “Have you ever used the self-checkout?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I couldn’t get the hang of it. I needed help.”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Flora.

“If you need to help people at the self-checkout, why doesn’t the store just let them check out at the regular checkout?” I wondered.

“I don’t know,” said Flora, adding very politely that older people such as yours truly are the ones who often need help checking out because they can’t check out themselves.

“You should check that out,” I said after Flora helped me scan my purchases and pay for them with a debit card. “It’s a good thing I didn’t pay by check,” I said.

Then I went to another store and met Nick, whose job is to stand at the self-checkout and help people who can’t help themselves.

“It’s usually the older ones who have trouble,” he said.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“I’m 19,” Nick replied. “I’ve been working here for two months.”

“Did you have trouble learning the self-checkout?” I wanted to know.

“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t familiar with it. When I was a kid, I started with an iPod. This is the way it’s going to be when I get older. I’ll be asking my kids, ‘How does this work?’ They’ll think I don’t know anything.”

Just then, a middle-age customer named Jay had trouble with his purchase, a clamp connector.

“Can you scan it for me?” he pleaded.

“There’s no scan code,” Nick said.

“Does that mean it’s free?” I wondered.

“I wish,” said Jay.

Nick found the price, $34.62, and helped Jay put it on a store credit card.

Next up was John, a guy in his 30s who couldn’t scan the molding he wanted to buy.

“A customer needs assistance in self-checkout,” a disembodied woman’s voice said.

Nick came to the rescue. The price: $12.97.

“Thanks,” said John. “These machines stink.”

A customer named Joe couldn’t ring up a cordless vacuum cleaner that cost $169.

“This side takes cash, the other side doesn’t,” Nick told him.

“Whatever gets me out of here quickly,” said Joe, who paid with a card and left.

An older married couple named Robin and Brian pulled up to the self-checkout.

“I’ve been here a hundred times and there’s never been a problem,” Brian said as he tried to ring up his purchase of household items. “Now it’s not working!”

Nick helped Brian with his four-digit PIN.

“Some people would give it one digit,” I suggested.

That’s what Paul, a 71-year-old grandfather, wanted to do after it took him about 15 minutes and visits to three different self-checkouts to pay, with Nick’s patient help, $458.06 for home improvement supplies.

The only people who didn’t have trouble at the self-checkout were a young couple with a toddler who was sitting in the shopping cart while sucking on a lollipop.

“There’s the future,” said Nick. “When he grows up, maybe he’ll learn how to check himself out.”

Copyright 2025 by Jerry Zezima