A couple of weeks ago an alternative universe must have been created, and by some combination of supernatural forces I met up with my two college roommates at a nondescript diner somewhere in rural (very rural) Maine. We hadn’t seen each other in 50-plus years.

We had tried to pull this encounter off several times during the previous decades, but some little event always seemed to get in the way, like work, illness, kids, stuff like that. You know how it is. But this time it was going to happen. I felt like we were characters in a new broadcast of Rod Serling’s famous TV series “The Twilight Zone.” Perhaps this was a Russian AI scheme.

As the curtain lifted and the episode began, I entered the diner and the waitress behind the counter began laughing hysterically. While doing so, she pointed to the rear of the establishment saying, “They’re over there.” Two very old-looking guys were sitting at a table looking at me and cackling. I took a seat opposite them and began laughing too, but I didn’t recognize them. They looked so ancient. Could they possibly be Paul and Charlie?

The conversation began, and somehow these two old codgers knew a lot about me and my former roommates, but they looked so long in the tooth. After five minutes, I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I had to make the visit due to prostate/urinary problems. Then I returned to these poor old souls. I took a bite of a breadstick, which was already on the table, and one of my crowns dislodged. Surely these two very senior citizens could carry on while I took another short excursion to the loo.

My roomies and I were wise guys in college. These two looked way too tame, and have I mentioned old? Paul is a retired dentist who started a very successful practice. In freshman biology, his answer to the question, “Identify the great trochanter” was, “He was an escape artist in the 1920s.” (It’s part of a bone in the leg.)

Charlie is a retired international businessman, who answered the question on an Introduction to Sociology test, “What is a more?” by replying, “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.”

I cited the starting lineup of the 1955 World Series champs Brooklyn Dodgers in an oral presentation in a Russian Literature class.

When I returned from the restroom, those two elder statesmen were sitting there and waited until I swallowed two Advil to control my arthritis pain, which had begun to act up. The waitress came by and asked if we needed anything. They ordered some food, and I asked for some juice to take my blood pressure pill. I figured that the two prehistoric primates wouldn’t even notice.

The two elderly chaps began bringing up incidents that seemed vaguely familiar to me. How did these geezers know this stuff? They looked so old, like fossils. I didn’t feel comfortable sitting with such old, infirm men. I thought, “Gee, I’m glad I don’t look, move, and act like that.” Once again I excused myself to relieve my bladder.

The two ancient ones on the other side of the table held up a photo of what seemed like three young “wise guys.” They were laughing uncontrollably, but I couldn’t hear them or see the picture clearly. In fact, it was already 7 p.m., well past my bedtime, and I began to doze off. I told them that it was great meeting them, shook hands, and left the diner. It seemed like I had wandered into an AARP meeting. I certainly don’t belong in that company, do I?

Now where the heck did I park my car?

Jonathan Kahane lives in Westhampton.