Rock of Ages-ism
Gunter gleiben glauchen globen
Right now our country seems to be focused on aging more than ever before. I’m of course talking about our upcoming election, and the debate about President Biden being the oldest presidential candidate in history. But he wisely saw the issue, dropped out, and now Trump is the oldest presidential candidate in history.
We may not have ancient buildings in America, but we more than make up for it with our politicians.
This attention to age and ability has been on my mind this summer because it’s also trickled down to me. I’m in my mid-50’s, but based on a few recent interactions, I’m apparently reading more like someone that used to listen to Little Orphan Annie serials on the old RCA in the living room. Jeepers, mom, get me another glass of Ovaltine, will ya?
A few weeks ago when I was in a hospital bed, prepped for my colonoscopy, a nice nurse took my vitals, then said, “And you’re no longer getting a menstrual cycle.” Didn’t ask. Said. Of course I’m no longer getting my period at my age, but it would be nice if she’d kept the mystery alive and instead gone with something like, “What’s the date of your last period?” Or maybe even, “Question: What’s your favorite tampon brand these days, girlfriend?”
I mean, I’m about to have my colon looked at by strangers with a camera; at least give me the pleasure of yelling, “I’M FRESH OUT OF EGGS, FUCKER.” It’s the least they can do.
Then to add insult to injury, another nurse came in to ask even more questions, and one of them was, “Are you active? Do you do any physical activity?” A strange and somewhat weird query considering I have a clean bill of health, and again, I’m in my mid-50’s, not a former silent film star.
“Yes,” I muttered, with narrowed eyes, “I’m on a professional rugby team.” Then when she stared back at me, I added, “And sometimes I go to Orange Theory.” She didn’t need to know that my actual main form of cardio is typing.
As miffed as I was at those two meanies, I chalked it up to them being in the medical field. But then I went to HEB, our grocery store in Texas, and it happened again. After putting my stuff into 3 to 4 large bags, the young, male checker said, “Are you okay getting these into your car, ma’am? Do you need me to help you?”
Now, he may have thought I don’t have any strength because I was A) mostly buying cat food and Pringles or B) wearing a novelty t-shirt someone gave me that said I’m Not As Think As You Drunk I Am because I had been doing yard work in it. But I don’t think so. It felt more like “Are you too old to lift this into your car, Norma Desmond?” Never mind that the kid was 100 lbs. soaking wet and I could have bench pressed him if I knew what bench pressing was.
These sly insults about my age weren’t meant to be harmful, and I know I’m extra sensitive, but they hurt. And they also confused me because I’m many years away from needing to be helped onto an airplane. I can still touch my toes and probably tell you who SZA is with some hints. But the unwanted comments show me that there’s a big discrepancy in how I see myself vs. how the rest of the world apparently sees me.
I suspect that one reason for this may be that my hair is a blend of blonde and white, and it’s long. All of which makes me look like a cast member of House of Dragons. If that’s the case, then you’d think they’d have more respect for a Targaryen. Nobody would ever ask Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of The Andals, The Rhoynar and The First Men, Lady of The Seven Kingdoms and Protector of The Realm if she needs help LOADING HER GROCERIES ONTO HER DRAGON. She’d burn their ass.
So what can I do? Dye my hair black? Or red? Wear a crop top and ankle socks? Not give a shit? That last one is the hardest option, but probably the best choice. Especially since I was bluffing about knowing who SZA is.
Thanks for reading!
—Wendi
My friend Johanna and I wrote this piece for The New Yorker when things seemed a little more bleak, and some day I’ll tell you the story about the shitstorm it nearly caused with an unstable, volatile cartoonist, but for now, please enjoy Worried About the Election, Apply for Citizenship Now.
“loading her groceries onto her dragon” 😁😁
I’m just proud that I understood your subhead immediately.