Age matters

Things could be worse — what if your last name was Alzheimer and you had to deal with an obligatory joke every time you met someone?

An acquaintance, a middle-aged man, approached a college campus building at the same time as a young woman.  They got to the door at the same time and the man opened the door for the woman.  She stopped and said that he was committing a Micro-aggression by acting as if she couldn’t open the door for herself.  The man gave a little apology and that was the end of that.  

On the other hand, if the man had opened the door for an elderly woman, she probably would’ve appreciated it.  I should learn from this and try to calculate my etiquette based on an instant demographic analysis of strangers.  Age can make a difference. 

It’s like that billboard I kept seeing this month for a new TV show called Siren, about a mermaid.  Luckily for ratings sake, the mermaid happens to resemble a skinny 22-year-old supermodel.  If the mermaid had instead been 75 years old, in average physical shape for an American of that vintage, and suffering from osteoporosis, the show would probably attract a smaller audience.  The age thing.

The old man sat in front of me on the bus.  His head was shaved.  He had a bump located behind his right ear.  If I had pressed on the bump I believe it would’ve made a high-pitched squeak like a dog toy.  My left hand clamped down on my right hand.