Society Needs More 50 yo Experts To Explain To Oldies What Old Age Is All About.


A few years back (yes dear, I really do understand that I am now that much older) while shopping at Beaudesert Coles, a deep-sea NZ product, Pink Ling was selling for $12 a kilo. Ascertaining that a carton held 5 kg, I knew I’d be up for $60 and requested the item. The serving woman Keri, removed and weighed the product confirming its stamped content. “Oh dear,” she forlornly announced giving me a troubled look, “That comes to $60, you know.”

I should have fallen to the ground in shock horror disbelief, that the ability to multiply 5 x 12 disappeared the day I turned 65 and here was another person ten or more years her senior automatically slotted into the Alzheimer’s zone because they prefer to buy the nonsense of do-good Nanny-staters like Buttrose and Kennett.

Former spokesperson for Ageing in the previous Labor Government, now Opposition Climate Change expert, Twitted often that another committee of  middle-aged experts had been gathered to inform oldies what ageing was all about.

At the Coles checkout at about the same as the deli experience, as was my wont, I pulled out a handful of coins to even the change, a lifelong habit, but is as odious to checkout staff as trying to use your own save-the-environment bags. “Give us a look dear and we’ll see what you’ve got.” The interfering do-good woman wasn’t much younger than the writer, and yes, she was trying to ‘help’ and was predicated by her own good nature and not by a bureaucratic, feel-good, ‘take my help or you’ll suffer’ style of thinking. But it was too late, the addled supposition was rapidly growing roots, reasoning suspended.

Shopping early to avoid the migraine-inducing nicotine stench at the shop front has become my norm, so impinging on checkout traffic wasn’t the need for haste. People greater than ten years their senior are automatically put into the irritating, fumbling oldie bag and that’s that it seems, and the practice of bringing one’s own bags is degrading in any case. Delving for edible foods from a waste bin carries much less stigma apparently, than both old age and own bags.

Consuming a good kilo of salmon a week, I gave Woolworths a go, asking for the ‘skinned’ product. The deli attendant, not unlike her Coles counter-part asked, “You know what you asked for?” Assuring her I had a fair idea, she added, “Well it’s $2 more.” While we are out and about without a carer, these unctuous interfering nanny bastards can get well and truly knotted.

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