Vintage Whine

What to wear computer shopping??

This blog will only be distantly related to my writing.  It is more of a WHINE, really.  Here we go:

Last year I bought a new Mac desktop computer.  At the Apple store, I was waited on by one of their young "Genius" types.

I couldn't decide what capacity hard drive I should buy, so I explained to the sales Genius what I needed this computer for: writing novels and poetry, editing videos, and so forth.

I told him I thought I needed the largest capacity drive.

I am certain he looked at me and saw someone far too old to be computer-savvy. If he saw me at all.

"That would be like driving a Maserati to the grocery store," he said in what I believe would best be called a condescending manner.

I am an faithful Apple buyer.  I have been using Macs since the 1980s. Before this kid was born, I am sure.

But there is something about technology that can be daunting. Especially for us Baby Boomers. Female Baby Boomers in particular.

So I believed the "expert" and bought the smaller capacity computer.

Today this computer told me that it is completely full.

That means I am going to have to spend valuable time pruning files from it.

I am annoyed that I didn't trust my own instincts and I went with the whippersnapper's opinion instead.

Something about this reminded me of an experience I had when I was in my forties. I remember going to a grocery store (NOT in a Maserati) one day, my kids in tow. For some reason, when I was checking out it suddenly occurred to me that the young man who was working the cash register and the young man who was bagging my groceries treated me as if I were invisible. No big deal (rather amusing, really) but I did take note of the fact that as a woman accumulates years, she loses visibility.  Sort of like gradually donning that invisibility cloak in The The Twelve Dancing Princesses.

That very night, I played Phoebe Merrill in the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, "The Yeomen of the Guard". I wore stage makeup, false eyelashes, a wig, and a fairly low cut costume. At one point, when I was not required on stage, I was thirsty and slipped into the hallway during the performance.

When I arrived at the drinking fountain, a young man was using it.  He looked up and saw me. "Hi," he said in a kind of breathy way. He stepped away from the drinking fountain, but kept one hand on the lever to keep it running for me.

It was quite obvious that I was visible to him.

Or at least my makeup, false eyelashes, wig and low cut costume were.

Which is what I should probably wear next time I buy a computer.