With Arms Outstretched

Ladies Who Lunch

Two old ladies ruined my lunch today. Well, ruined is a strong word, but it was definitely an unpleasant experience. After a serious of annoying events and building frustration with life, I ended up at Legal Sea Foods for lunch and I realize this has become an accidental pattern. For whatever reason, when I am having a bad day I always find myself at Legal for lunch. I do not plan this, nor is Legal some sort of comfort for me. It just always works out that when I reach a certain level of frustration, one that is quite high and seldom breached, I am always near a Legal and it always seems like the best, no, the logical place to go when all other options and plans have failed.

The one time I can remember most specifically was last summer on my first day at the Smithsonian. I didn’t have a badge, which in DC makes it damn near impossible to get to wherever you need to be, so I had to “borrow” someone’s to do anything and everything. I also didn’t have a boss because she was out for a few days, which I’d soon learn was a very regular thing for her, how she manages to keep that job and miss as many days as she does is beyond me. I also didn’t bring lunch because, well, I don’t even know why. I suppose I didn’t know what sort of facilities I would have, i.e. Fridge, microwave, etc, and I also struggled the entire summer with getting what I needed from the shit Trader Joes near me and then dealing with it in our less than clean kitchen. Regardless, I had no lunch.

I also had no schedule or projects to work on and spent much of my first few days reading blogs for 8 hours straight, but on this first day I actually had something to attend to: Focus on Art at 1 pm. We did it every Monday, and it became one of my favorite things, but on this particular Monday I was so out of sorts and I didn’t eat beforehand, so by the time it was finished I left the museum building completely exasperated; if there’s one thing I hate, it’s not knowing what’s going on, and I did not know what was going on with my internship. Starving and dramatically on the verge of tears, I walked across the street to Legal (How is it that I came all the way from Boston only to work across the street from the one Legal in DC?) and ordered some sort of cheesy shrimp and broccoli plate. It was the last thing I needed to do, seeing that not only was I not getting paid for this job, I hadn’t been getting paid in the weeks leading up to my time in DC due to being rudely dropped from the schedule at my former job. I was broke, but I needed that $20 shrimp and broccoli plate coupled with a Diet Coke.

Today has not been nearly as frustrating as that day in June, but it’s only one o’clock as I write this, so give it some more time and perhaps it can surpass it on the irritation scale. These two old ladies must have known deep down that I was in a bad mood, hence their decision to sit right next to me despite multiple open tables down the length of the wall. How very kind of the hostess to offer guests, including myself, the ability to choose where one feels the most “comfortable,” but I would have preferred her to assume what makes me comfortable and placed these ladies several tables away, especially seeing that they would be a handful as soon as they walked in. I got the feeling they were mother and daughter, but who knows. One was truly old, 75+, while the other was only sorta old, late fifties I’d say. Actually, in thinking about how old they looked and whether they were a mother/daughter combo, either the younger one has aged horribly, or this old woman must have had her at 16 at the absolute oldest.

The way in which they were annoying is so commonplace it would be boring to repeat here, but their ridiculous behavior struck me in a new way and I wasn’t sure why. As I watched this old woman demand chowder before she’d even taken a seat, she then popped back up and went to the hostess desk, where she stood like an idiot for what seemed liked forever, and I thought, “My God, is this woman drunk?” Then I had a eureka moment. I’ve always thought that old people were like children, especially after taking a vacation to France with my grandfather and his awful girlfriend. But at this moment I realized that dealing with old people is more like dealing with a friend who is drunk and stoned while you are very sober, only old people never sober up!

It was all starting to make sense. These women were seriously lacking in motor skills, manners, and regard for anyone other than themselves. They both seemed a little ADD and couldn’t remember who their waiter was despite very obvious physical differences between the few men that shuffled around in our area. What’s even more annoying is that after a different man said, “I’ll let your waiter know” in response to their further demands for food, these women could not comprehend that this man was not going to fulfill their request in ten seconds flat. I think the old woman was trying to arrange for a car, and I think they had approximately seven minutes to eat lunch, yet they still thought it a good idea to have a sit down meal at a nice restaurant. I don’t know where their decision making skills had disappeared to and I’m tempted to believe they were half retarded. And just as I’m formulating all of these ideas in my head, the old lady returns and summons a new waiter to bring her some wine only to be stopped by the younger who says, “I don’t think a drink is a good idea.” The old lady does not protest, nor does she agree; she simply tells the waiter, “Nevermind,” as if in a stoned stupor.

Just like drunk people, old people are unreasonable, rude, and a pain in the ass. Just like someone who is high as a kite, old people move slowly yet truly believe it is a normal pace, and they live in their own little world, dazed and confused. But while I can see this as a) mean toward old people (and I admit I’m quite the ageist) and b) an overstatement, I think the implications of making such a generalization are even more interesting. You see, if old people are like drunk/stoned idiots, then drunk/stoned idiots are very much like old people. But unlike old people, the drunk/stoned idiot has chosen to alter his or her mental state, thus they have chosen to regress, they have chosen to be more like an old person. Of course, this is not what one says when picking up a beverage or a joint; most everyone who is engaging in recreational drug and alcohol use does not think, “Let’s get wasted in order to be more like old people,” but it does not change the fact that the effect does, in fact, make you more like your annoying, crazy grandparents.

But the effects of alcohol and marijuana are pleasing, (usually) relaxing , and enjoyable, so could I assume that growing old might be similar? I know that I see old age as this scary yet unavoidable evil -- Seriously, who really wants to grow old? -- but perhaps what I see as depressing is actually quite liberating. Perhaps to grow old is to lose the annoying part of your consciousness that we currently seek to temporarily shut down with drugs and alcohol, and enables one to live a carefree, “no worries” life. But then again, part of the appeal of alcohol and drugs, at least for me, is the temporality of the effect; it is the 8 hour (or so) duration of an acid trip that, above all, freaks me out the most and is the reason that I will (probably) never drop acid. To think that being old might resemble being in a constant state of a drunk/high hybrid now actually makes me think that being old is even scarier than I thought.

But aging is a process; one does not normally fall into this intoxicated oldness overnight but, rather, over many, many years. So perhaps you continually adjust to the buzz and fall into this inebriated state of old without even thinking about it. Is that it? Is growing old really just losing brain cells and, consequently, losing consciousness? Is this how some old people die so peacefully, their minds being so gone that they just slip away into death with a stoned-like smile on their face? Now my mind is flooded with questions about motivation and mental capacity and what, exactly. constitutes life, I’ve opened up a can of worms in my head and am thinking I might need to go dull it with a glass of wine.

posted by Alison @ 3:40 PM