As one ages, if one is lucky enough to have retained a somewhat youthful appearance, one gets the occasional rare gift of being mistaken for a younger person. I am somewhat lucky in that sense. I can’t say that I still have all my hair, but I do have most of it and for reasons unknown to me, its hue has only been tinged gray rather than turned gray. Not so with my beard. The combination apparently gives me an indeterminate age appearance, and I am sometimes treated to being mistaken for a much younger man. That happened to me twice this past week!

My partner and I had gone to book ground transportation to Toronto’s Lester Pearson Airport for a trip abroad. My girlfriend spoke first and made arrangements for her own booking. The booking agent was unaware of our exact relationship with each other. She then turned to me, looked me over with a discerning eye and said, “No. You don’t get the senior’s rate. You’re not 55 yet.”

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“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” we laughed. I assured her that I did indeed qualify for the senior’s rate. She didn’t question me further nor ask me to prove my age when I told her that I was 68.  So as I described myself earlier, I have “…indeterminate age appearance.” Okay. That was a laugh. But only a few days later, I went to my billiards club to play a game or two of snooker with the boys (only one of whom appears to be younger than I). Having finished my games, I was walking out of the building when I noticed that the computer room was unoccupied. I had earlier thought I’d show some of my snooker friends what Google Streetview was like, but needed a place to show it to them, so I thought I’d check out how the Seniors Centre computers performed (dismally, it turned out).

I didn’t know whether the computer room was open to everyone at all times or if it was used for classes only, so I stuck my head into the room next door where a younger woman sat attending to administrative matters concerning the centre as a whole. I asked her, “Can anyone use the computers in this room when they are available?” Her hasty response was, “Oh no, sir! Those computers are for members of this facility only and you have to be over 55 to join this facility!” Again, I laughed and showed her my membership tag before going in to use the computers.

I know it won’t last, but I’m enjoying it when it happens. Might as well, eh?


Addendum:  The day after I posted the above article, I received the following note in my personal e-mail.  I felt the note helped put everything into its proper perspective.  “Get over yourself Jake!  So you met two vision-impaired women in one week.  So what?”