What happens when we age?
Having missed my early morning walk, but eager to make sure I get enough exercise, I walked to the post office to mail my Christmas cards—about one mile each way. As I passed the library, I noticed a “pop-up” book sale interspersed with mostly masked buyers. I browsed for a while, but seeing nothing I couldn’t live without, I continued on to the post office, passing by the Farmer’s Market and wondering if I should stop in on the way back to buy something.
As I neared the post office, I saw booths and milling people that alerted me to a street fair!! Cool! After dropping off the mail I hurried back to the fair to see what was on offer. Artists galore lined the blocked off street on both sides. They offered paintings, clothing, jewelry, pottery, fabric art, leather work, and many other crafts along with several booths offering food. I walked slowly along by myself, fascinated with all the different wares for sale and wondering about the people who manned the booths and tried to make sales at street fairs like that. I found one Christmas gift to buy, and decided to pick it up on the return. At the end, I turned back and continued my stroll along the booths on the opposite side of the street, people-watching as I went.
After perusing the food and drink booths on a side street, (the most interesting of which was offering liquor-filled pops) I resumed my route along the main street. The first booth I encountered had something on display that I have completely forgotten. The reason my memory is blank will soon become clear.
As I glanced towards the items for sale, my attention was captured by a woman with two live parrots balanced on her shoulders. Her back was to me as she chattered with the owners of the booth telling them the names of her birds. She sounded friendly and happy. The birds were bright and beautiful—Orange? Green? I have no clear memory of that either, but I think orange. I wanted my husband to see what strange sights this fair offered, so took out my phone to take a picture. I had always been told that you are free to take photos of anyone in a public setting, which this was, so thought nothing of my impulse. However, as I tried to frame up, one of the parrots crossed to join the other on the opposite shoulder and both were obscured. I waited thinking perhaps I’d get a better shot when the woman turned around, and I could take a frontal picture of her with the birds.
She did turn around, but before I could even think, she started for me waving her arms and screaming, repeating over and over: “You’re taking pictures of me and my parrots without permission!! You can’t do that!” Startled, I stood silent for a split second as I processed what she was saying and what her objection was, while she continued to yell at me. I looked at the people in the booth hoping they could defuse her, but they seemed as startled as I was. I wondered in those split seconds what she expected when she walked around with two live birds on her shoulders, and whether or not this confrontation was a habit with her. Her diatribe did seem practiced. As calmly as I could, I tried to explain to the woman that I hadn’t actually taken a picture yet, but she continued to yell that I had, and she demanded my phone. I wanted to show her that she was not on the camera roll, so held my phone out but she tried to grab it from my hand. I backed off as she lunged at me reaching for the phone and still screaming. I blocked her from snatching it by turning away from her worried she’d try to smash it if she got her hands on it. She darted around me into the middle of the street. Of course, the crowds passing by stared at us both and moved aside to allow the tussle to continue. (Thanks guys!)
With my back to the booth as I tried to keep the phone away from her, I’d had enough. No more apologies or explanations as she was screaming too loudly to hear anything I was saying. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I summoned my Master Sergeant’s voice, loud enough for anyone within a hundred feet to hear. I spoke sternly and shook my finger at her: “DO NOT TOUCH MY PHONE!” I boomed at her while staring into her eyes. Unfortunately it didn’t stop her. She continued to yell about not asking her permission to take pictures. However, she slowly moved back to her position in front of the booth where the proprietors still sat with their jaws agape, obviously not coming to my aid.
Then she started screaming “Elder abuse!! I’ll call the police. You attacked me! Elder abuse!” I had only blocked her reaching arm by turning, so the charge was ridiculous. She had actually attacked me. Besides, I looked at her and realized she was at least ten years younger than me. The only thing I could think to respond was, “Well, I’m older than you, so that makes no sense.” She paused for a second then continued to yell, “Elder abuse!” but I think with a little less gusto. When she paused for a breath, I was tempted to try to defuse her by explaining again, but I instead I just made a dismissive motion with my hand and said, “You’re nuts!” then slowly walked off without looking back. She didn’t try to follow. Thank goodness.
I made my Christmas gift purchase and slowly walked home. Strangely enough, I wasn’t shaking and didn’t feel my heart racing,
which is weird since I am not in the habit of dealing with physical
altercations. My relaxed morning stroll was disrupted by an obviously disturbed person. Was it age, loneliness, or was it something else?
And that leads me back to my original question. What happens when we age? This is the second time in two years I have been challenged by an older person. Different reasons, but both in public, and both encounters have left me unsettled. Is it the stress of the pandemic? Is it part of the aging process that we feel entitled to challenge anyone we perceive as taking liberties? Or is it just the chance we all take when we enter public spaces? The chance that we will meet all kinds of people who may or may not be willing to get along with others, or may be looking for a fight, or may crave any interaction no matter how disruptive.
Whatever the reason, I hope I don’t get that way.
