Once upon a time when I was about 23, I worked at the S'barros on Hilton Head Island. One day, a little old man came in and bought a few slices. I said he looked familiar, and he mumbled something under his breath. As soon as he walked away, it hit me.
"Enjoy your pizza, Mister Rickles," I said.
He turned around, walked back to me, and crooked his finger. I leaned in, and he leaned over the counter, his nose an inch from my face. He looked me up and down, and asked, "How the f**k old ARE you, kid?"
Rest in peace, sir.