As a freelancer sequestered in my basement for the past 12 years, the outside work world has been looking increasingly attractive. The lure of paid vacations, workplace gossip and seeing what other people are eating for lunch is strong.
Until last night, I envisioned returning to a job where people my age would be joking about downsizing and vacations. I’m not sure where those people are — retirement homes, dead or golfing —but guess what? Their babies, who wouldn’t sleep through the night, are running the show.
At a work-related event earlier this week, I stumbled upon the horrifying fact I was the oldest person in the room. Scanning for some sign of oldness — grey hair, no hair, wrinkles, clothes that don’t show cleavage, I encountered only flawless skin and full heads of hair.
Figuring these kids were with their parents or on a break from the coat check room, I soon discovered not only did they have jobs, they’d landed the good ones —ones I’d envisioned myself lolling about in with my newly acquired health benefits.
Initially I asked them about their work, vacations, condos (that’s where cool, young managers live) but quickly slid into my Mike Wallace grilling mode. “How old are you? I bet I’m your Mom’s age, right?”
Not quite. Two fabulous-looking women, an editor and a business manager, informed me their moms were 49 and 52. Oops — I’m even older.
When I buttonhole an arts editor about writing a story about a punk band making a comeback after 30 years, he doesn’t recall their name. “How old were you 30 years ago?” I snap.
“Two.” He looks sheepish.
I may still get the ‘You guys are sisters, right’ sales pitch from young clerks when I’m with my daughter and yes, young men take a second look, but the big question is, will they take a second look at my resumé when they notice they were born the same year I started my sixth job?
I call my old friends, and I mean old. “Is it all kids at your workplace, now?”
One, a manager, sighs, “I try to hire old people.”
Another admits, “I feel like I’m their Mom.”
It feels like the new Melrose Place, with all those young kids. Thank God, Heather Locklear’s coming back to run the show.
I pray life will imitate art.
