Occasionally, I have to get out there to watch the various generations do what people do. Generally speaking, I find that I am the sole representative of whatever my demographic may be. That demographic of mine is unclear, being that I effectively skipped adolescence by identifying with two generations ahead of me more than my own. However, in harsh terms, women my age (fifties) don’t get out there much except in pairs or groups. Men my age, are justifiably resistant to meeting women of their demographic unless they are fools. Perhaps I pass as a woman of forties or perhaps that’s just a diplomatic lie that men tell me. I’ll never know.
Security personnel intercept me in terms of interpreting whether I am some sort of an economic threat.
Back when I was a hot young thing prowling Las Vegas, casino goons would determine whether I was breaking the rule in terms of whether I was a “pro” or a grifter. (the former was a concern for legal and turf concerns, the latter less so). I wasted a lot of employed men’s time because I am neither. It is somewhat gratifying this Thanksgiving night to see that I indeed attracted a real live mobster to feel me out. Handsome too. I wasted a good twenty minutes of his time with conversational gambits and small talk. I hope it was fun for him. I passed. I’m not a threat. Merely an eccentric.
Had I been a twenty-something, this would not have occurred, but a healthy, vital woman of a certain age traveling alone is considered to be some sort of player. Am I the law? a spy? a rival? slumming? a cougar?
The nepotistic clan-in-charge wants to know.
I’m just a writer and a tourist with an esoteric agenda in terms of saving the world.
The young men look suspiciously weakened, even though the prevailing demographic is well-to-do. The women, by-and-large are vital, charismatic and well-nourished. But, who do they plan to marry? The slop-shouldered trust fund baby? The indeterminate sexuality trophy-car driver?
It makes me wonder whether the water is poisoned here in Southwest Florida albeit of course, the populace here has sophisticated water-filtration.
Even the Black cab drivers from elsewhere look like they would fall down in a stiff wind.
The women, however, are broad shouldered, work out, and speak loudly. Others wear skyscraper heels and are anorexic. The hookers took the holiday off.
I feel as if I am witnessing the end of Western Civilization. On the other hand, I don’t belong here. These people are not my people, whoever those are.
At least the weather is perfect and there are places where I can smoke my cigars without attracting undue notice.
The notion that “rape culture” is alive here is ludicrous. It would take ten of these meek stick figures to subdue me but that wouldn’t occur to them. They’d probably rather do each other.