I still remember the first time someone called me sir. It was a high school student. I was only 19 at the time, but must have exuded an aura of maturity beyond my years.

Today I experienced the other end of the spectrum when an apparently down-and-out guy at a street corner called me old-timer. Ouch!

I’ve heard boss, chief, captain and various other sobriquets in these situations, none of which led me to reach into my pocket for cash I don’t carry, but what could he possibly have been thinking by using the OT moniker that is normally reserved for long-known contemporaries?

Nonetheless, it got me thinking. Should I call Wayne Newton for a referral; go to the dermatologist for a full range of treatments, including dermal fillers, chemical peels, laser resurfacing, microneedling and dermabrasion; and start shopping for clothes at Forever 21 (or perhaps Forever 50, if there is one, as a less startling change)?

Double knee replacement might increase my speed, though I should point out that I already outpace anyone who is simultaneously walking two dogs, pushing a baby cart and talking on the phone, which represents a surprisingly large number of people in my neighborhood.

In lieu of surgery I might opt for a t-shirt that says “My parachute didn’t open but I survived the fall,” which would not only be an excuse for any lack of speed, but also a great conversation starter.

One thing I know for sure, I’m not walking past that corner any more.