LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMPTalk: House of Cards |
by Bill Sievert |
"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 |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 12, No. 04, May 3, 2002. |