You may have seen a recent article about the Dollar Tree manager in Indiana that was fired for posting a sign that said they wanted to hire only baby boomers.

Let’s back up a bit. Why is this store chain called Dollar Tree? Do dollars grow on trees? Does everything in the store cost only a dollar? Hah!

Okay. Back to the store manager. The sign explained that she was apologizing for closing the store and blamed the closure on the 2 cashiers that just quit. They quit because the manager would not allow them to be accompanied by their boyfriends during their shifts. She also suggested that you not hire Gen Z’s because they don’t know what work actually means. All of this information was posted publicly on the store window.

Much of the reaction to the news story blamed Dollar Tree for having such high-turnover jobs. So, it’s not really a Gen Z problem, it’s a crummy job problem.

Not to kick the Gen Z’ers while they are down, but like many other baby boomers, I had some really, really, crummy jobs. Starting with summer jobs and right on into a post college job, I withstood some awful work experiences. But I persevered and did so without the aid of a girlfriend joining me at work, though that might have been interesting.

I’m not going to defend the Dollar Tree manager’s actions, but I did find it bizarre that cashiers wanted their boyfriends to hang around with them for an entire shift. Don’t these boyfriends have their own jobs? Or are they (pardon the pun) shiftless?

Do baby boomers make better workers (hypothetically) because they are more compliant (read gutless) or tolerant of poor working conditions? That would suggest that we were push-overs and these Gen Z’ers are just standing up for their rights. Nah. Not buying that. I do think that attitudes about work have mutated as the generations have progressed. Young workers are more likely to expect greater satisfaction and stimulation now than boomers did in their early work experiences, or even with late-in-life part-time jobs. Back then and now, it’s conceivable that we were just happy to be earning a wage.

It’s not a very scientific assumption, but I’m going to posit that the seventy-five year old greeter at Walmart is happy to be making whatever he’s getting per hour. And if he’s lucky, his girlfriend is somewhere in the back of the store working the returns counter.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

I’m a wee bit obsessive about games and hold myself to a high standard. Fear of failure is a real affliction, and I’m not sure I have that, but I do dread losing at anything, and it seems to have gotten worse since I retired. Not getting those wins at work, so I work hard at my play time just to see if I measure up.

Seriously, it’s a curse. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I look at the light outside to see if I can guess what time it is. And yes, I feel good when I get it right.

I especially dread playing bad golf. More so since I retired. When I was working, I could explain it away by saying I don’t get to play enough. That excuse doesn’t fly anymore.

It’s not that I mind other people playing better or winning. But I’m mad at myself for not being as good and just want to go off alone to sulk. On the bright side, maybe I’m finally starting to reverse the trend. Last week our women’s league played on a muddy course saturated by rains, and it was tough. My partners and I agreed ahead of time we would laugh at bad shots.

Let’s just say we laughed a lot. I posted one of my worst scores since I learned to play the game more than 25 years ago. When we got to the parking lot, one of the women said, let’s have a drink for making it through that! She had a little flask and plastic glasses and poured us each a tiny shot of butterscotch liquor (which is delicious). We drank it right there by our cars.

Then I joined the group inside rather than exiting the scene with my head hung low, and we had a pretty good time laughing about how horribly we played. I have to say it was a much better way to end a bad round than my usual pity-fest.

The very next morning, as I was playing Wordle in bed, I lost a game and broke my 159-day streak. I thought I’d be devastated, but I surprised myself. I actually felt relieved. Perhaps the universe was sending me a message. Play for fun – not everything has to be a test.

I wouldn’t say I have a pathological diagnosis, and you probably don’t either, but for some of us, the fear of failure can be greater than the excitement of winning. And it holds us back.

Retirement is as good a time as any to try to recover at least a smidgeon of that wild abandon we had before life knocked us around. However, I don’t want it all back, because I seriously did some dumb shit when I wasn’t scared of anything.

After seeing the upside of losing, I feel kind of free. More relaxed. I’ve always dreaded a complete collapse of my golf game, and it happened. It wasn’t all that bad. The experience helped me understand it’s one thing to fear losing. The trick is to shrug it off and work harder at losing the fear.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

Kindle in hand, I scrolled for a book I had purchased recently, to share with my son’s girlfriend.

“I bought it on Amazon, so if it is not here, I can find it in my Amazon account,” I said.

“Did they not have it at the library?” she asked.

“I’m sure they did, but I wanted it on the Kindle for traveling.”

She hesitated, reluctant to speak.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s just that you can borrow the digital books from the public library, for free, through the Libby app.”

I stared at her. My reader universe suddenly tilted on its axis.

“It’s free?”

“Yeah. I mean you have to wait sometimes like a regular library loan hold, but you don’t have to go to the library or anything, you can just request it through the app, download it to your Kindle when it comes in and return it when you finish. I can’t believe you didn’t know. You read more than anyone I know!”

This technical tidbit stopped me in my tracks. Free digital book loans? A voracious reader, I was never without a book, and regularly dished out 12 or 14 or 15 dollars apiece to purchase books for my Kindle. I happily tucked the device in my bag for trips or waiting rooms or car service appointments.

I remained skeptical, and continued my cross-examination.

“And it’s free?”

“Yes!” Sydnie said, “I find all the bargains, even books,” referring to her bargain hunting prowess.

I hopped up and down. For years, cognizant of our budget, I had carefully regulated what I purchased for my Kindle, placed holds on new ones at the library, waiting weeks for copies to be available, and scoured second hand book stores for others. At a rate of several books a week, I could rack up huge bills if I was not careful. Suddenly, my book money was liberated.

“Show me. I want to put it on my phone right now!”

Within minutes I set up my Libby account and requested several books from my local library. I knew I would still invest in treasured reads.

Until then, I would embark on countless adventures, traveling back in history, around the world and into fantastical universes, on my Kindle. For free.

Carol O’Day lives in Los Angeles.

Saw this one the other day.

“People born in the 50’s have lived in 8 decades, 2 centuries and 2 millenniums. We had the best music, fastest cars, drive-in theaters, soda fountains, and happy days. And we are not even that old yet – we’re just that cool.”

Well now. Time to unpack this for just a bit. First, if like me you were born in the late 40s, then you can update it to 9 decades, 2 centuries and 2 millenniums. Just saying.

Whoever dreamed this up has bookended the amazing time span with some pure braggadocio. I might have quit after the centuries and millenniums bit, but to give credit where credit is due, we lived through an amazing stretch of musical virtuosity. From rock and roll and soul, to jazz and country. Aside: I get why Springsteen’s music rights catalog sold for $500 million, but how the hell can Justin Bieber’s music be worth $200 million. Answer me that!

I’m not really sure that boomers are all that cool. It’s only a quirk of the calendar that we’ve experienced 2 centuries and 2 millenniums. There are some Gen X, Y, and Z peeps who have crossed through 2 centuries and 2 millenniums. Maybe not with as much panache as boomers but who’s doing the ratings.

But back to the best music and fastest cars. Boomers are forever touting how great we are, which might account for all the inter-generational badmouthing we experience. Was our music better or are we just not listening to the current product (Bieber excluded)? Were the cars faster (Tesla shatters that myth and it runs on batteries for crying out loud)? As for drive-in movies, yes, that was fun unless you forgot to detach the speaker when you tried to leave at the end of the movie. Soda fountains? Meh. Brew pub bars are more entertaining.

Lastly, the whole cool thing. Hula hoops were cool. Tie-dye was cool. The summer of love was cool. The peace movement was cool. Bellbottoms were cool (the revival not so much). Woodstock was cool. Do later generations have things and times that were just as cool? Sin duda (without a doubt).

Let’s just say we’ve lived through extraordinary times and while we used to be cool, the cool factor has chilled a bit. I can live with that.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all. You can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

I was in fifth grade in a catholic school taught by Polish nuns in an Italian enclave in Detroit. Ages ago. Before Political Correctness was a thing. My teacher, Sister Anuncia, on what must have been a random impulse decided to ask our thirteen-year old classmate, who had been ‘held-back’ three times, a touchy diversity question. “Mario,” she asked, “do you mind if someone calls you a dago?” Mamo, (that’s what we called him), furled his brow in concentration for a long moment, then allowed, “It’s okay if another dago calls me a dago, sister. But if a dumb pollack calls me a dago, I get mad.”

Sister bit her lip and ducked her head into her wimple, grinning. She would get a good laugh over lunch in the convent.

Some years later, my sister had invited a new boyfriend to our family dinner. My four brothers watched in subdued anticipation as my mother placed the perfectly browned chicken in the middle of the table. My father, carving knife, in hand did the usual courtesy of offering a guest first choice of serving.

The swain, smiling broadly, pointed to the stub of the bird’s tail and announced, “I’ll have the Pope’s nose.” We all looked at each other, amazed. We Catholics had never heard of that smear…nor ever considered that particular appendage edible, for that matter. The silence lengthened. The soon-to-be-dumped boyfriend blushed. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong audience.

Politicians and salesmen know better than to step on sensitive cultural, religious, and ethnic toes—a skill hard earned for some of us. Others come by it naturally. In the end, our diverse society demands that we all dance carefully and nimbly like the green-grocer clerk who complained to his manager about a customer who wanted a half-head of lettuce. “There’s this jerk out there, who wants to buy a half-head of lettuce.” When he notices his manager looking past his shoulder, turns around to see the customer right behind him. “And this fine gentleman wants to buy the other half.”

Later, appreciating the clerk’s quick thinking, the boss suggested he might be management material for an opening in one of their stores in Canada.

“Canada?” the clerk, remarked. “all they got up there are whores and hockey players.”

The manager replied, “My wife is Canadian.”

“Oh. And what team does she play for?”

Retired trainer, and writing instructor, Joe Novara lives in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Writings include novels, short stories, a memoir and various poems, plays, anthologies and articles. In, Pinata Belly, and other tales of later love, Novara reminds of the limits and ultimate hope for online dating sites.

I will always remember the fall of 2017 because I had just retired and read all of Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch books in order. Such a simple pleasure but hunkering down at home to read after a lifetime of work felt like a precious gift.

That was before the pandemic, before we discovered the dark side of hunkering down. But this staying at home thing … I still sort of like it. To commemorate the miserable rain-soaked winter of 2023, I am burning through all 19 of John Lescroart’s Dismas Hardy books in order. I would describe them as legal suspense with family intrigue, hardboiled criminal investigations and some courtroom drama.

Oh, and the setting is San Francisco.

Early on, I tried to take breaks and read other books in between, but I finally gave up and committed to the blitz. I’ll start number 16 later today and have the rest on hand, courtesy of our local library. I should be done before the rain clears later this week. No one can stop me now.

I’ll be sad when it’s over, the book marathon not the rain, but at least I can diversify my reading material again. However, I do think my compulsive nature rather enjoys the singular focus of one good series at a time. I’ve become immersed in this fictional world, and it’s been a pleasurable escape from the real one. I may just do this again with a new series.

So, today marks 24 years since I was diagnosed with stage 3 primary peritoneal cancer, which is virtually the same as ovarian. I am in a small group of long-term survivors who have been free of disease since their initial treatment. I don’t know why I’ve been so lucky, but I share this information from time to time because somebody somewhere needs to know good outcomes are possible.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.