On a recent trip to Columbus and left to my own devices at the motel while hubby tended to business matters elsewhere, I was thumbing through a recent issue of Newsweek magazine. In a section called My Turn the title of an article caught my eye: "I'm Old-And I'm Just Fine With That." The only problem was, after reading the article I discovered that the author was anything but fine with that. How do I know? Well, with apologies to Shakespeare, methinks she doth protest too much. Allow me to explain. The author, a woman I'll call Mrs. Windlemeyer, had gone shopping in what she called "one of those cavernous do-it-yourself home-improvement stores looking for a ball-cock replacement for my toilet tank" and was incensed when the thirty-something clerk looked at her, then made an announcement over the loudspeaker, "Will someone from plumbing please escort this young lady to aisle 14?" That's when the poop hit the fan, so to speak. I kid you not. This woman who, by the way, never did reveal her age in the article, actually took offense because some clerk referred to her as a young lady. Talk about sensitive. Clearly, Mrs. Windlemeyer needs an attitude adjustment. "I know that the phrase is not a compliment," she said. "It is a euphemism for 'old biddy,' the female counterpart of geezer." Well, I don't hear any geezers complaining, so what's this old bat crabbin' about? "I looked around to see who else was looking for the same thing," she said, "and then I realized that the clerk meant me when he [said that] and in that moment I became aware that it was I who was the object of his condescending description." Mrs. Windlemeyer went on to say that it must have been her white hair, sagging jowls, and liver spots that made the clerk (a young man) treat her as though she were teetering on the brink of extinction and "needed his encouragement to keep breathing." She said that she has been happily married for half a century and that she doesn't mind the passage of time "until someone [like the clerk], embarrassed or frightened by the thought of aging, tries to convince me that I am not old by calling me 'young lady.'" Mrs. Windlemeyer rants on and on about how capable she is of doing anything a man or woman half her age can do, thank you very much, like tie her own shoes (combat boots?), set the clock on her microwave and program her VCR to record one show while watching another. "I can use a computer and do research online and I understand enough of the rules of football and the intricacies of a baseball scorecard to be an enthusiastic fan of both sports," she said. "And I took an extension course last year and received my master gardener's certificate. When I do occasionally forget something, it never occurs to me to plead old age as a reason." No, I just bet it doesn't. What she ought to plead is chronic fanny-onthe shoulder disease. She kept insisting that the clerk, by referring to her as "young lady," was being "insensitive" and that he used "officious remarks." Her tirade continued over of a page and included most, if not all, of her lifelong achievements and her family history dating back to the cave men. "I was born...blah, blah, blah... I survived the McCarthy era, saw my president assassinated and watched Watergate unfold on TV," she whines, "and have lived through a progression of wars in Korea, Vietnam and Iraq, and protested against most of them." I just bet she did. She blathered on. "I do not need to be reminded of how old I am by someone who thinks life and its pleasures come to a screeching halt at 60 or 70 or even 80. I don't need the false comfort of those who blithely assure me that I am a young lady." Okay. Let me tell you what the problem is, dear hearts, and how I think it can be solved. First of all this over-the-hill do-it-yourselfer needs a course in good old-fashioned manners. The kind we southerners practice from the day we are born. She needs to learn to smile. She needs to knock her fanny off of her shoulder and she needs to learn the meaning of the word humility. She also needs to avail herself of some counseling for her paranoia and instead of attacking innocent store clerks who are working hard for minimum wage, maybe the next time she encounters a hardware problem she should enlist the help of her husband, let him take his rightful place on the throne...umm...toilet. She needs to know that in most civilized places, the south in particular; the terms "little lady, honey, granny, sweetie-pie, mama-dumpling, and Whitey" are all terms of endearment for the elderly. And she should be reminded that, with an attitude like hers, the clerk could have called her a lot worse. Okay. Bottom line. The truth of the matter is this. The very fact that Mrs. Windlemeyer even knows what a ballcock is means she's probably already passed into another realm of reality anyway (radical feminism) and is beyond any help I might otherwise be able to give her. So, and I say this in the nicest, kindest way I can... Self-sufficient or not, like all the rest of us, young lady, your days are numbered. So lighten up. And, next time your ballcock (or whatever you call it) is on the blink, do the right thing. Alert a plumber, you old biddy, not the media.
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Chamber Chatter
Put your positive attitude to work
Stella Crosby
      Be dependable. Go to work on time and ready to work while you're on the job. Be courteous. Everyone wants be treated with respect. A smile and friendly manner will go a long way, too.
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