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“Can I see your ID?”
asked the young girl behind the counter of the thrift shop where I was
purchasing some pieces of chipped china for John to use in creating
mosaic objets d’art (his latest middle-age passion).
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m paying cash.”
“Well, I can’t give
you a discount without some identification,” she said, a bit huffily.
“What discount?”
“Oh, you didn’t see
the signs? Today is seniors’ discount day. Everybody who comes in on
Wednesdays expects one.”
“You actually card
people to see if they’re old enough?”
“Yes, except when
it’s obvious. We’ve been getting a lot of people under 55 who say
they’re older just to get the cheaper price.”
“Oh, I see,” I
said. And indeed I did. John and I initially had chuckled when, a few
days earlier, an out-of-town visitor proudly displayed his new fake ID.
It was a realistic-looking driver’s license, a gift to him on his 49th
birthday; and it dated his arrival on the planet as 12 years earlier
than the sum of his life experience could account for. But our friend
got the last laugh when he flashed his senior pass at the ticket window
of a movie theater and was awarded admission for three bucks less than
we had to pay.
“I tell you, you’ve
got to get one of these things,” he declared. “You can save all
kinds of money.” He described piling up savings at any number of
discount department stores, not to mention amusement parks and resort
hotels.
“It won’t be long
before my ID card will qualify me for senior air fares, too. They’re
much cheaper and fully refundable.”
“But you don’t look
anywhere near 60,” I said.
“And you don’t look
55,” he snapped back regarding the age printed on my real driver’s
license. “Nobody looks their age anymore. That’s why you’ve got to
get the card. Don’t leave home without it.”
I am clearly at an
awkward age. Twice in recent weeks clerks at liquor stores have asked me
if I’m 21 before ringing up my purchase. Such inquisitions still make
me sweat, just as they did when I was 19 and had an illicit
identification card. Nowadays, however, I tend to gush in appreciation
of the asker’s shortsighted conclusion about my appearance. But, as
one of the clerks told me, shrugging her shoulders, “I’m no good at
guessing ages. Teenagers try to look older; old people try to look
young. I automatically question anyone with a baseball cap and a
goatee.”
It sounded like some
kind of age discrimination, but I couldn’t figure out whether the bias
against me was for being too young, or for being too old to look so
young. Like many a good gay American, I still try to dress stylishly
(yes, I mean in contemporary style), and I occasionally apply a glob of
color to my otherwise salt-and-pepper facial hair. I also continue to
resist the never-ending invitations to carry an AARP card. But, perhaps
I’m on the wrong track. Getting older can pay, if you work it right.
Maybe, my boomer
generation’s focus on staying young has reached a turning point as we
begin to covet the awards that await those who make it to modern
maturity: free banking, early-bird specials at Denny’s, cheap coffee
at McDonald’s. (Clearly, one factor in that restaurant’s decision to
pull out of downtown Rehoboth was the burgeoning older population and
the high cost of providing it hot caffeine.)
Despite so many
incentives, I still doubt that we have reached the point as a society
where aging is something to be suffered graciously. And we’ll not get
there as long as science keeps coming up with inflammatory stuff like
botox.
It seems that anyone
who is anyone (over 50) is currently making the botox party scene,
noshing on strawberries and sipping shiraz while shooting up with a
deadly toxin. (Why should kids have all the fun?) For the uninitiated,
botox comes from the same powerful neurotoxin that causes botulism
poisoning. But, when diluted substantially, it paralyzes muscle tissue
in such a way as to smooth out wrinkles caused by years of squinting,
scowling or laughing out loud, LOL.
Of course, by
paralyzing a facial muscle, you can no longer use it to express any
human emotion (at least until the shot wears off in several months).
But, its adherents say, that’s a small price to pay for a younger
(albeit sometimes de-animated) look. All of a sudden, botox injection
has become the nation’s favorite cosmetic procedure, and plastic
surgeons who host botox “happy-hours” and “bagels-and-botox
brunches” are touting it as a more important advance to the
maintenance of a youthful spirit than even Viagra. (Watch for this
headline to crawl across the screen of your favorite news-channel: “As
botox rises, Viagra falls” … Wait, isn’t that where straight
people used to go to get married?)
Even younger people are
getting in on the botox bandwagon, as many of Hollywood’s most
bankable names reportedly had their armpits done before this year’s
Oscars telecast. It seems a shot of the stuff stops those nasty
perspiration glands right in their tracks. (That can be helpful when
you’re presenting your fake ID.)
What with all the botox,
Viagra, laser eye-surgery and Hair Club for Men-jobs going around,
it’s no wonder a sales girl can’t guess anyone’s age anymore. On
the one hand, blue-hair kids are ruining their complexions by spending
too much time in the sun and indulging in party drugs that prematurely
suck hollow lines in their faces. On the other, blue-hair old ladies are
hiding from the light of day, applying mass quantities of Retin-A and
lining up for botox parties.
Whatever our age,
we’re all beginning to look much more alike. We have something else in
common, as well: We all want a discount. So don’t be surprised the
next time you’re waiting in line somewhere, and the person ahead of
you starts fumbling for an appropriate ID: “Oh, let’s see, will it
be cheaper if I show you my college identification or my AARP card?”
In a house of cards,
some people can swing both ways.
E-mail your correspondence, with appropriate
identification, to Bill Sievert at allforthecause@aol.com
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