Eighties

The club is dead on Wednesdays, so I picked a theme and bought a few ads.
One after the other, these old people started to wander into the club, using walkers and canes.
A few had powered scooters. I had to move the tables further apart to handle those.
One woman with an oxygen tank and a white beehive wig complains about the music.
“What’s with this rock and roll crap?” she says.
“It’s Eighties Music,” I say. “Duran Duran. Flock of Seagulls. Van Halen”
You know, Eighties Night.
Oh. Right.
I switch to Benny Goodman for the happy geezers.