HYPOCRISY
An Old Fart in a Red Convertible Taught Me Something
That’s not a good look
Jumping in, I know how hypocritical the following will sound as I am a pistol when it comes to age discrimination and certain presumptions the narrow-minded have about more seasoned folks like me. A loaded pistol.
The other day, while packing groceries into my husband’s bright yellow Toyota FJ Cruiser, I couldn’t help but notice the hot car parked behind me, nose to ass you might say. A flashy-looking convertible. Because the day was sunny and warm, with no rain in the forecast, the car’s top was down, exposing the sleek, leather interior.
I didn’t know the car’s make but the vivid hue caught my attention immediately. Fire-engine red. My color, babies. I have about 250 lipsticks in that particular shade of crimson and when I finally purchase a new (used) car, that’s the color I’m going for.
As I’m an inquisitive sort, I wondered who the owner was. Partly because I’m always bemused by the choices many people make regarding their vehicles.
For example, in my neighborhood, whenever some moron in a hurry puts the pedal to the metal and I’m able to get a glimpse of the driver, frequently, it’s a tiny guy wearing a baseball cap, front to back. “Little Peepees” as I refer to these guys.
And the cars are always the same. Black or dark blue sedans with black hubcaps, or none, and ear-splitting, souped-up engines. Tough guy cars.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long to see who was going to hop into that crimson chariot. An older dude, late seventies, maybe, with longish, slicked-back, gray hair. He was dressed in crisp shorts and a striped T-shirt. I didn’t get a good look at his footwear but he wasn’t wearing flip-flops or sandals as I glimpsed a flash of white sock.
Of course, some older men do wear stockings with sandals so what the hell do I know? (By the way, that. too, is not a good look.)
I noted that the guy walked hunched over, much like Ebenezer Scrooge. He was stooped, but fast. Maybe he had a sense that he was about to encounter a TALKER.
As he futzed around with his packages, I did what I always do: Schmoozed. I said, “Nice ride. What is it?”
“Toyota,” he barked.
So. A bit of a prick.
Of course, that wasn’t enough for me. “What’s the model?” was my snappy rejoinder.
His lips moved but I didn’t understand his response so I let it, and him, go.
As the crusty coot slunk into his hot wheels and took off, I couldn’t help but think that he looked ridiculous. And, even as I thought that I chided myself for the rather ageist judgment. Or even, sexist, because if the owner of the convertible had been an older, Ridiculously Good-Looking Broad, I don’t believe I would have had such a knee-jerk reaction.
We’ve all heard about “mid-life crisis” cars but his struck me as a “late-life crisis” car.
I know. I sound like a hypocritical asshole and I feel like one. I mean, did I expect the guy to be navigating a horse and buggy? What, exactly, would be an “appropriate” car for an older guy who doesn’t want to appear old?
When I bought my beloved Fiat, now forever parked in that junkyard in the sky, I was torn between that and a Ford Mustang, and I was in my early sixties so who am I to judge?
This conundrum has been niggling away at my brain and finally, it’s occurred to me that perhaps the natty old dude in the flashy convertible appeared to be trying too hard.
Perhaps if he wasn’t so smartly done up and looked more like a schlep, my observation would have differed, you know? An “alte kaker“ in a sexy machine. That, at least could have conjured up an interesting paradox.
Oh, hell. Whatever gets us through this life, right? Even though he didn’t schmooze me back, I salute that older dude and his “late life crisis” ride. May his ticker hold out and long may he roll.
© Sherry McGuinn, 2023. All Rights Reserved.
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Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.
