Years ago, someone wrote a book with the above title. I never read it and have no idea what it was about. But the phrase stuck in my head. The older I grow, the more it applies.
Case in point. My password to my banking account no longer listens to me, in spite of the fact that I have not tried to use it since it functioned perfectly. So I get on the phone in fear and trembling, noticing that I’m breaking into a light sweat. I take a deep breath and soldier on. Working my way through a set of verbal directions with a plethora of number choices, making a couple of false starts, I finally get a person who helps people like me reset their passwords.
So our relationship begins. He talks on high speed. He has a deep accent, which in other circumstances I would probably find charming and lyrical. His voice has an impatient edge. I can almost see his eyes rolling. Should I pretend to be male? Would it help?
The next few minutes involve both my computer and my phone, with various notifications and numbers to be entered in specific sequences, in order to validate my identity. I appreciate this protection but I miss a couple of steps due to his speed and accent, and have to start over. After a good 20 minutes of failure, I’m on the verge of tears. “I’m getting old,” I tell him. “Can you please slow down and speak more clearly?” He does. We get through it. Afterwards, I feel like I’ve given birth. To something, not sure what.
It’s a challenging world for me at my age. So many changes, such a high learning curve. Trying to stay relevant. Watching my grandchildren practically turning cartwheels with their phones. “How did you do that?” I ask. Zip zip zip. “It’s easy!” Easy for you, maybe.
Last week I mistakenly ordered five of the wrong size carpet pads on my phone. They are still arriving as we speak. Anyone need an 8 X 6 foot carpet pad?