Of course running
into that kind of patronizing, condescending chauvinism is fairly
rare these days, but it demands serious notice. As I told Ginny,
my next move was to write a letter to the car salesman's boss.
That brought me a nice letter of apology from the dealer. Without
naming the guilty party, I was able to point out that the lost
sale was probably only one among many. I like to think that
at the next sales meeting the matter was discussed, and the
guilty party made aware of the need to step into the modern
world.
"Yeah, right," Ginny
said glumly. "And can the leopard change its spots?"
It wasn't long before
the subject had both of us so depressed that we began fighting
back with an attack of the sillies.
"I'm going to write
a book," she said. "I'll call it: The Opacity Index.
It'll list things that older women can do to boost their substance
and credibility. Like getting cranky and being a little loud
when ignored or insulted."
"Or writing angry
letters to bosses," I added.
"Or wearing bright
colors, so you can't be overlooked.
"Overkill with good
manners works for me sometimes," I said. "I find that exaggerated
patience and kindly insistence get good results."
"Hunh," she snorted.
"Show me a teenager who recognizes good manners. They'll think
you're a wimp. It'd be better to try good eye contact. My grandmother
could command obedience from a stone with just a flash of her
blue eyes."
"No thanks," I said.
"You know what they say about challenging stray dogs or criminals
by meeting their eyes. Staring someone down can be dangerous."
"How about encouraging
natural tendencies to eccentricity? People would respond just
to avoid embarrassment and get you out of their lives quickly."
There was a guilty pause. I think we both realized we might
really enjoy that ploy.
"Too easy," I said
at last. "It's important not to look stupid," Ginny said. "Only
talk about things you know lots about."
"In some cases,"
I said, "that would amount to a very short conversation."
"You're not trying,"
she said severely. "Give me some help, here."
"Well," I said,
"I suppose you could ask for advice. It's amazing how much younger
people love to feel superior."
"That sounds like
those awful 'How To Talk To Boys' articles that girls' magazines
used to publish," she said. "You know, the ones that wanted
you to ask for help for everything from math homework to changing
a flat tire, or talk only about subjects that interest him."
"I have a teenage
granddaughter," I reminded her, "and I hate to tell you, but
they're still giving that kind of advice."
Ginny looked at me.
"I remember those days," she said. "I hated being young. No
one took you seriously, and strange grownups treated you like
you didn't exist."
I thought for a moment.
"And remember how it was when you were in your twenties and
thirties, dragging your little children everywhere with you?
Hardly anybody offered any sympathy as you struggled to open
doors and get the stroller collapsed so you could lever it into
the trunk."
"Right," she said.
"And nobody made any allowance for all those sleepless nights
taking care of children with chicken pox, that time I forgot
two parent conferences and a potluck supper for which I had
promised to bring homemade bread."
"What about when
I went back to work?" I added. "Starting in on the ground level
all over again after those years spent mothering at home meant
that I didn't get any respect from my so-called peers, all of
whom were younger than I."
"Perhaps every age
has its moments when you feel transparent," Ginny said.
"I guess so," I said.
"But these days there seem to be a lot more of them." Ginny
nodded.
"Face it," she said.
"What's doing us in is life itself."
"But not always,"
I said. "Not all the time. There are moments when I feel positively
opaque. Solid. Definitely not transparent."
"Right," said Ginny
with a smile. "Like right now."
These days there's
lots of talk about the Baby Boomers' arrival at the age of 50+.
Perhaps they will bring a shift in the public's attitude to
older women. After all, look what their large numbers did for
the youth culture of the '60's. There's a part of me that resents
needing their help in this matter, but a larger part that will
be grateful for it. I just hope that they remember who was here
first. If they do, we may finally get some respect!
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