Just delivered groceries to my first hearing-impaired senior.

I pulled into his driveway. His garage is open and he’s toodling around in there. He is wearing what is clearly a homemade outfit for the coming apocalypse. It’s a hodgepodge of all sorts of stuff.

I’m seeing some canvas, some denim, a cut up tie-dye shirt, some plastic wrap maybe, and the most gigantic pair of bright green goggles I’ve ever seen, topped off with a hooded face shield. He looks like the evil scientists from ET.

I drive a beat up loud car with squeaky brakes. He makes no indication that he heard me pull on. I open and close my door loudly. He sees something out of the corner of his eye and looks up.

“Are you Nick?”

Yep.

“WHAT?”

Yep, I’m Nick.

“Sorry, I’m half deaf!”

So we’re standing at a long distance from each other and we have a full blown shout-versation. Neighbors probably loved it.

He introduced me to all his backyard trees and the redwood-covered mountain in the distance.

Points out an old oak tree. “I CALL HER GRANDMA! SHE WILL BE HERE LONG AFTER US TWO FUCKERS!”

We shout-chat some more. I’m in the middle of a sentence he clearly couldn’t hear because he cuts me off and asks:

“NICK, DO YOU WANT SOME HOMEMADE LIP BALM?”

Sure.

“WHAT?”

Sure!

Long conversation about the homemade lip balm. There are disclaimers. First, he made this home batch of lip balm long before “ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE.” Assures me that his bare hands haven’t been all over it. It’s clear that he’s proud of this balm. We go over the ingredients.