I See Old People
In the 1999 supernatural, horror film, The Sixth Sense, Cole Sear, portrayed by then 11-year-old Haley Joel Osment, spoke the near overnight viral line: “I see dead people.” For those who did not see this widely acclaimed movie, I will not spoil the plot twist that I honestly did not see coming. Check out The Sixth Sense on your favorite streaming service. I promise you will not be disappointed.
Upon release of this film, it seemed that everyone everywhere was repeating those words or some variation thereof. I often recall the T-shirt that the students presented their instructor on the final day of class when I was the manager of Service Training for Hobart Corporation. Apparently, throughout the class they had received all-in-fun ribbing for their “less than stellar” troubleshooting skills. So, as one might imagine, emblazoned across the front of their parting gift were the words: “I see dumb people.”
OK, now that you are reminded how my mind works, back to the title of this story. It is true, I do indeed see old people. Every day without exception, I see old people. Granted, in some respects, I have nobody but myself to blame for my current situation. After all, I did willingly, of my own free will, move into a gated 55+ senior community.
Perhaps that was a decision deserving of a tad more thoughtful consideration. That said, why must every day start out the same? Why must I live my own Groundhog Day moment, over and over and over, each and every day much like Bill Murray’s character did in the 1993 film of the same name?
Upon waking, with blurry eyes I stumble into the bathroom. As I stand in front of the sink there, starring back at me, at barely 6:15 AM, my first old people of the day encounter. I quickly standup a little taller. Just as quickly, I suck in my gut and run my hands down my ribs. Much to my chagrin, his blank look speaks volumes. Clearly, he is not impressed.
Without fail as I move about our new neighborhood, all day long, I continue to see old people. They walk their dogs, they play chicken foot dominos and other equally strange games, they get their mail, they move about much the same as I do. All the while smiling that special smile. You know the one you get when you have a piece of salad caught in your teeth. The one you get when your fly is undone.
Everywhere I go there they are. Smiling and waving. It is unnerving to say the least. I carefully run my tongue across my teeth and then as nonchalantly as possible brush my hand across my fly. Everything seems in order. With but a pinch of confidence, I smile and wave back. But I know. Deep down inside, I do indeed know. Yep, they are all privileged to an inside joke for which I have yet to learn the punchline.
Admittedly, I am on the low end of the bell curve when it comes to the median age of the members of our quiet, smiling, waving community. Perhaps in due time I too will know what they know. Perhaps in due time I too will smile and wave while some other unknowing newbie runs their tongue across their teeth and nonchalantly brushes their hand across their fly.
Until then, each and every day, I am doomed. Doomed in my own personal Groundhog Day hell. Upon waking, with blurry eyes I stumble into the bathroom. As I stand in front of the sink, once again I quickly standup a little taller, suck in my gut and run my hands down my ribs. Once again, the blank look staring back at me says that he is no more impressed than he was the day before.
For some time now, I have been thinking about painting over that damn mirror. But what to do about all those smiling and waving, dog walking, chicken foot dominos playing, mail getting neighbors? It seems all too reminiscent of a scene from The Stepford Wives. The 1975 version, not the 2004 remake.
Perhaps once again my imagination has run amuck. Perhaps I have simply been watching too many reruns of the 1960s freaks-me-out-every-time shows The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits. Perhaps not.