Old People: What They Say and Do And What They Really Mean (2.0)

At 66 and a half, I figure I’m an old person now. I haven’t completely gotten used to it; people ask me if I’m due a senior rate, and, surprised, I agree, as vigorously as I am able given my reduced condition. But I’ve become disturbed by what people who are, quite honestly, probably ten years older than I am say and do, as the meaning isn’t as obvious as it seems and the usually hearty and jovial manner masks a different intent and meaning entirely. I will try to explicate some of these:

“Did ya bring the sun with ya?” Of course one would hear this a lot in the Pacific Northwest, where it rains maliciously. This question, overheard at Bainbridge Island’s Senior Center and coronavirus epicenter, is fair and usually relevant, a jocular but meaningful way to greet a friend. Most reasonable older citizens would throw their wizened, wrinkled heads back, but not too far in case one were to fall over backwards, and laugh in appreciable mirth.

What he really means: “Why did we retire here? No one mentioned the rain. Or at least that it started in October and didn’t end till July. Did you know that they call it Junuary here? And we sold our house in Iowa at the bottom of the market. I’m stuck here, doomed to live out my life in a place where the cold, biting rain makes every fucking joint hurt. And there are antifa on every corner! When’s lunch?”

Gestures in the grocery: A woman in the grocery passes a stand of fruit and turns to her friend, raises her eyebrows, purses her lips, and wordlessly points at it. She’s conveying a deeply-felt despairing outrage at the rise in prices for commodities, though, in truth, inflation has been in a shallow grave for a few years. Nevertheless, seniors on a fixed income are inevitably stretched by and furious at the vicissitudes of a free market, even though they habitually vote Republican; their parents remember when Lincoln was still in office, after all.

What she really means: “Why me? Why fucking me? Not only are my eyes crashing on me and my brain turning to something resembling shaving cream, I can’t even afford that fresh fruit at this point. I may as well head straight to the cat food aisle. Or is dog food tastier? Never mind picking up a prescription. At least my husband is dead and I don’t have to listen to his whining.”

Man turning away from ATM with his cash and noticing someone waiting: “I think I left enough in there for ya!” Haha, yes, playing on the improbability of an ATM actually running out of bills. I wonder if the banks have some sort of electronic monitor that ensures that someone fills it up when it gets low. His jocular comment deserves a chuckle and a pat on the arm if we were allowed to touch each other these days, which we’re not, not now or ever again.

What he really means: “Are you as bad off as me? And I thought our kids were going to do better than us? My son went against my advice and is an adjunct instructor of English at some community college. He makes less than my Social Security payments. What happened to all of the autoworkers’ jobs? What’s going on in this country? At least if I died, my wife could get the life insurance. Or did I change the beneficiary to that 18 year old cashier who smiled at me once?”

A Social Event: Two women walk together into a social gathering and stand and smile broadly, gazing around at everyone benevolently. Oh, these poor dears, you see them at places like movie theatres, restaurants, and charity events. They are widows, and their smiles are signalling that they expect nothing more out of this occasion than is reasonable for women of their diminished status. They want to fit in but, in a really heart-breaking sense, they only have each wretched other, their children never call, finding their optimism hateful, they hate their reduced social status, but are truly, bravely, looking to make the best of a hideous situation. They are only asking to be accepted. What’s wrong with that? And no, Karen, they’re not after your husband, so don’t call the manager.

What they really mean: They’re just there. Isn’t it enough that we consign women to second-class status as it is without reducing it even more when their husbands, who were no doubt mean-spirited, unfaithful, viciously competitive, and hateful when they were alive and not missed one jot when they’ve gone, finally die and leave these nice women in peace?

Another social event: “John, you really outdid yourself,” a man at a picnic table in my condo complex’ back courtyard says to another man, evidently the cook. “Wow, thank you, John! You prepared so much food, presented it gracefully, and you did all the work yourself. This was a really lovely and memorable occasion, and you deserve all the credit!”

What he really means: “What am I supposed to say? I’m practically in a wheelchair here, and, even if I weren’t my wife used to do all this kind of thing. Boiled hot dogs are getting old. Can you think of any good reason why she should leave me in my 70’s? Right after my hip replacement? This isn’t fair, is it? Or is it? I thought I would be at peace when I got old.”

Gardening: The oldsters in my condo complex gather on occasion to discuss the landscaping, indicating this or that plant, pointing firmly at something farther down the parking lot. One of them frequently holds a clipboard. “This is really a lovely condo complex. The plants, yards, and trees are gorgeous, and it truly takes a village of all of us together to make this work. It’s superb: we send out a community newsletter announcing a work-day, and everyone gathers, discusses what needs to be done over a cup of coffee and pastries that Joanne has graciously provided, and then we get to work. A brisk morning’s spading, weeding, planting, and watering, that’s what’s called for!”

What they really mean: “I retired too fucking early and have no life of the mind” (one guy spends his days out on the corner pulling weeds) “so have to do something, and gardening is easy enough, save for the arthritis. And my clipboard tells you that I’m in charge here, no screwing around when I have the biggest frown, the deepest voice, and most imperious pointing, and, yes, my clipboard. And don’t ask me to wear a goddamn mask. You think dying of the virus is the worst thing that can happen to me? If I’d have known that I was going to be in this much pain, I’d have driven into a bridge abutment. Like that guy who stole the Sonics for Oklahoma City.”

Walking the dog: “Are you walking the dog or is the dog walking you?” This is a truly hilarious and well-intentioned joke about how strong dogs are and how they have their own agenda on walks. One laughs and gives a thumbs-up or something to indicate assent to their observation.

What she really means: “Thank Jesus you have that beast on a leash. Otherwise she’d be attacking me. Why do you even own a dog? What does that animal add to the well-being of the neighborhood, except copious poop that you’d sure as fuck better scoop up? Maybe you should have her put down? Christ, I wish I could have a dog but my landlord forbids it. What kind is she? Who’s a good dog? Yes, who’s a good dog?”

A Mother’s Loving Observation: “You’re getting fat, aren’t you?” My mother said this to me when I was visiting her. I may have put on a few pounds, so perhaps she was making a gentle point? Maybe I needed to work out more? Cut down on my caloric intake?

What she really meant: “You’re getting fat, aren’t you?”

Power Outage: “Are we having fun yet?” An older fellow said this to my friend Ed while both were out walking; the power had gone out, as it does on Bainbridge when a stray cloud flies over. “A fun irony! We’re always not having fun on Bainbridge when the power goes out. Haha! At least we’re all in this together”, as the joke reveals.

What he really means: As there’s usually no reason why it happened, there’s no reason to believe the power will ever come back, at least not till a couple of snowstorms come through. Puget Sound Energy may even be slapping its thighs at our despair, given that as a monopoly they have no reason to fix anything anytime soon. This is yet one more reason for the despair, loneliness, and feeling of infinite loss in old age: “We can’t even count on being warm. No, we are not having fun yet, and only when we die is there any chance of peace. Ah, eternal peace. Meanwhile there’s another frozen pizza or can of beanie-weenies.”

A footnote: Have you seen the work of the comedian Lewis Black? If not, and if you’re old enough to realize that you no longer have to give zero fucks about anything, you should look for him on YouTube. One night, he was talking about how Vermont was offering $10K to people who would move there as apparently they were looking for citizens. Mr. Black turned toward the camera, adopted his fiercely angry and aggressive glare, all bared teeth, pointed and said, “If I wanted to go somewhere cold and empty, I’d look in the mirror!” Oh, how right.

Gardener contemplating his mortality while watering young, live plant.