Your hands are full of goodies when you exit the bodega, so a nice young fella holds the door open and says, “Have a great day, young fella.”
Whoa. Who’s calling who a young fella? He’s in his 20’s and you’re a 70-something who just happens to know the definition of sarcasm: the use of irony to mock or convey contempt; and the definition of irony too: stating the opposite of the truth for humor or emphasis.
If I were morbidly obese, would he have said, “Have a great day, Skinny?” If I were a little person, would he have said, “Have a great day, Beanpole?”
No way. So you want to say something to the young fella, but anything you’d say would surely sound like “Get off my water-wasting boujee lawn!” so you say nothing. And carry on. And think: even though you have a song in your heart and a pretty good hop to your step, that young fella saw nothing more than tired crow’s feet encroaching on an unironic white mustache perched above a yellowish smile. If he wanted to make a friendly, if passing, connection, he could have cracked wise about the useless epaulets on your jacket or your ancient encrusted Eagles cap. (Yeh, that’s right, I’m from Philly and Phillufians are a particularly sensitive and testy lot, especially when veiled insults, or icy snowballs, are hurled at our heads.)
If snarky, ageist comments were a rare occurrence, one could let this one slide, but this sort of innocent mockery is heard more and more; young strangers seeing senescence and nothing else. Maybe they are showing respect, or disrespect. Maybe you remind them of their parents or grandparents. Or maybe they are reminding you that the grim reaper lurks in shadows nearby. (As if you needed a reminder.)
Last week, a young woman saw me strap-hanging in the subway and generously offered me her seat. When she stood up, I saw she was pregnant. I reassured her that I could not only manage to remain upright for the next five or ten minutes, but I was on my way uptown to run a marathon. (I lied.) She smiled sheepishly. Fact is, had our positions been reversed, I would have offered her my seat.
I am fortunate enough to be mature and withered and yet still sorta bop about town. To all well-meaning millennials, either standing at the door or sitting on the subway, this “young fella” would love to share all the wondrous and worrisome ways one knows one is on the back nine without your random retorts, and how obits have become more meaningful and tears more accessible and sunsets more beautiful and loved ones more cherished and how this current identity crisis seems to be the only thing that is not passing away, but I understand a young person’s preference for snappy lists over protracted, emotional essays, so we offer a Baker’s Dozen on how one knows one is getting long in the tooth sans your snark.
1. Using terms like “baker’s dozen” and “long in the tooth.”
2. Brushing abovementioned teeth (and crowns and implants) with very warm water.
3. Being asked “Are you retired?” when introduced to anyone.
4. Beating “Jeopardy” champions when questions concern the 1950’s and ‘60s.
5. Staying at the dinner table because standing up is more challenging than downing another drink.
6. When texting OK, using both upper case letters.
7. Not knowing a single Taylor Swift lyric or melody or if Billboard a still ascribes a bullet to a song in ascension. (Hoping no.)
8. Getting glazed looks when mentioning Tony Curtis or Norman Mailer or Germaine Greer or Buffalo Springfield.
9. Getting the senior citizen discount at the movies without asking.
10. Taking a nap when you have no intention of taking a nap.
11. Talking to more doctors than bartenders any given week.
12. Getting the actual news from actual newspapers.
Baker’s Bonus:
13. I am younger than Ringo and always will be.
When they refer to your wife as your daughter.