Old, But Not Dead!

OLD, BUT NOT DEAD!

“ARE YOU SURE YOU DON’T NEED HELP WITH THAT, MA’AM?”

I looked at the woman across the counter. She was young, and — I really hate the term but — perky. Perky voice, perky hair, perky uniform, perky nose, perky eyes. I, on the other hand, was the antithesis of perky. I was sixty-three years old, and gravity was winning, or had actually won, the battle with perky. And, she seemed to think that grey hair meant hard of hearing.

“Please don’t yell. I’m old, not deaf.”

She blinked at me uncomprehendingly.  

“I’m sorry,” she said smiling, not really sorry. 

“I know how an iPhone works,” I said to her, using my calm voice. “I just need the battery changed. It’s not holding its charge. I made an appointment to come in and have the battery replaced.”

I opened my phone, and showed her the service notice, and the appointment information.

“I was told that it could be replaced, and it would take less than an hour.”

“Ohhh,” said Ms. Perkiness, looking at my phone screen, and the appointment information.

She smiled, perk-ily — not at me, but at my phone.  

“You ... know,” she said, slow talking at me, “We ... should ... be ... able ... to ... do ... this ... for ... you.”

I looked at her with a stunned expression. She was slow talking me! Like I needed extra time to comprehend what she was saying.

“I understand,” I said, handing over my phone.

“When we have finished the procedure—“

Procedure? I screamed in my own head. It’s a phone. They’re giving me a new battery, not a new heart!

The pretension was killing me.

“— we’ll call this number.” She pointed to a strip of paper with the number fifty-four written on it, then highlighted it with an orange highlighter. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I said, barely able to contain my frustration. “I understand numbers.”

“Good!” she said. “Why don’t you have a seat on one of our nice comfy chairs.”

She sounded like she was talking to a toddler. Again with that perky smile.

Fifty-three minutes later my phone was “healed,” and she (their gender assignation, not mine) had been delivered back to me. 

“IF YOU HAVE ANY MORE PROBLEMS, PLEASE DON’T HESITATE TO CALL US,” yelled the tech who returned my phone to me. 

I shook my head as I walked out of the store, my ears ringing.  

Why was it, I wondered, were people so willing to equate age and deficiency?

I headed down the stairs of the subway to catch a train back to the office. When I arrived on the platform, it was packed. When the train pulled into the station, the crowd surged forward to the doors. I was jolted from behind, almost losing my footing.

“Move it, Grannie!”

I swung my head. The “Move it Grannie” voice was a kid, no more than twelve years old. He and his thug friends snickered, and pushed past me. They spread into the car and plopped themselves down on the seats, taking up all the room, preventing me and others from sitting.

Now, normally, I would move along, and let the insult hang. But not today. After being the patronized at the Apple Store, I was already in a cranky mood.

I walked over and looked at the boys. The “Move it Grannie” kid was sprawled himself all over the bench, his backpack taking up a seat.

“Excuse me,” I said, addressing him. “I’d like to sit down.”

He smirked at his friends.

“So? Go sit down,” he said, with all the bravado of a kid showing off for his friends.  

“I want to sit there,” I said, pointing to the spot that his backpack occupied.

“No, my pack’s there. Sit somewhere else. You’re not sitting by me. Old people stink.”

Then he and his buddies burst out laughing. The “Move it Grannie” kid did not move his backpack.

I stepped forward, moved the backpack to the floor of the subway car, and sat down.

“Hey! Don’t touch my stuff!” 

I turned my head and looked at him.

“Hey! Don’t push me from behind. Hey! Don’t be rude!” I said, mimicking his whiney tone.

He picked up his bag and stood up. Ignoring me, and looking at his friends, he said, “Let’s go.”  

The five boys got up and headed for the door, but not before one of them “tripped” over my feet. They moved towards the doors, and got off the train.

“Hey Grannie,” yelled one of the other boys. They all shot me the middle finger as the door closed. I watched them laughing as the train pulled out of the station. 

I looked around the subway car. Not one person made eye contact with me.

I was back at work in time for the dreaded staff meeting. A necessary evil, reviled by many. We had tried to lessen the pain by providing snacks and drinks, and most importantly, by setting time limits.   

It was near the end of the meeting, and we were discussing the merits of a new app that we were going to be offering for sale. I was discussing how I felt it should be marketed.

“I think we should get the beta testers—“

“Excuse me, Maggie, but I’m not sure that you understand the true applications of this app.”

It was Bryce, one of our rising stars. I looked at the condescending smirk on his face.

“Really, Bryce. Why don’t you explain if to me.”

He smiled. “Okay. I’ll try to make it simple, you know, so it’s easy to understand.”

He tore into a twelve minute description of the app and its applications. When he finished, he looked around the table, proud of himself. Then he turned his gaze to me.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Maggie, about the app and its applications?” he said, smug painted all over his face.

“Yes, Bryce I do understand what you said. Do you understand that I developed the app? And that I created the applications? And that I have done all the legal work on it? And that I designed the beta tester protocol? And that this is the ninth app that I have created?”

His face falling, “Oh” was all he said.

I was exhausted by the time I got home that night. It had been a day of micro-aggressions, and blatant ageism. I kicked off my shoes, and flopped down on the couch.

I sighed, trying to remember when it had all begun -- when people stopped seeing Maggie, the super sharp, tough lawyer, Maggie, the person everyone came to for advice, Maggie the ruthless negotiator. Maggie the kick-ass app designer. When had I turned into “Grannie,” and some old person who you needed to talk slowly and loudly at? I realized, it didn’t really matter when because it was happening right now.  

I had spoken to Bryce after the meeting, in my office, with the door closed. He went with the expected “I didn’t know you were a designer.” When I pointed out that all the designers were named on the different app programs, he countered with “I didn’t know I was expected to memorize all the products in the company.” He then said that I had no right to embarrass him in front of his colleagues and peers. I pointed out that he had brought this on himself when he had tried to show me up in front of my staff. He then, very smugly, asked me when I was retiring. He actually said, “Shouldn’t you be thinking about retiring? Social media’s a young person’s game.” I pointed out that I owned half the company, and would retire when I felt that I was no longer a valuable member of the team. And I told him he could come and talk to me when he’d created nine successful apps, and maybe I’d consider retirement.

I was so angry at Bryce’s impudence, I was literally vibrating by the time he left my office. Who was he, a six month employee, to suggest that I retire? I couldn’t believe the cheek.  

I had spoken with Ben, the other partner about Bryce’s attitude. He had been a bit defensive because Bryce was his hire, but listened respectfully. When I was finished recounting the story, he had looked me in the eye, and asked if I was considering retirement. No solutions for how to deal with this lack of respect, no surprise at Bryce's bad behaviour. No constructive suggestions. Just “when do you think you’ll be retiring?”

Ben and I were the same age. We had been married a thousand years ago, and had started the company way back in the electronic dark ages, and had morphed our focus to keep up with the changing technology and developments in tech. Now we were heavily involved in creating apps. Along the way we had decided that we were better business partners than we were spouses. Getting divorced was the best thing that we had done for our business. But now he was talking about retirement — my retirement!

“When are you thinking about retiring?” I asked right back.

“Maggie, don’t get defensive. I just asked.”

I just stared. Ben had had a heart attack at fifty-nine. And he’d had a knee replacement, and a hip replacement. He had high cholesterol, high blood pressure, gout, and diverticulitis. He took a barrel full of pills every day. He’d also cut back to four days a week, because of the toll stress was taking on his mental health. But no one ever asked Ben if he was retiring.

I, on the other hand, only took a multi-vitamin every day, and had all my original joints. I managed to work a fifty hour week, and more if we were busy. And I was the one people saw as old and redundant?

As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, and wondering if I was truly becoming irrelevant, the front door opened, and Dee walked in.  

“Ah, daughter! What a nice surprise!”

She came in an kissed my cheek.

“No kids? No Denis?” I asked, looking behind her.

“No. Denis is playing warden tonight. I have a problem, and I was wondering if you could help me.”

I gave her side eye. “Did your Dad put you up to this?”

“What? No. Not at all. I haven’t spoken to Dad in a couple of weeks.” She settled in on the couch beside me. “It’s about the law.”

Dee was a tax lawyer. She proceeded to explain to me a very confusing and convoluted problem facing one of her big corporate clients.  

Over a couple of glasses of wine, and some back and forth that involved the drawing of flow charts and Venn diagrams, I presented a possible solution.  

“Mom! That’s fantastic! I would never have thought of that,”  said Dee, her excitement genuine.

She looked down at my scribblings and drawings.

“You know so much about the law -- so much more than me. You’ve probably forgotten more than I know.” She looked at me, smiling, admiration shining in her eyes. “You know, I think you’re the smartest person I know. I hope I’m as smart as you when I get to be your age. You’re amazing!”

Ahhh, music to my ears.