My 11-year-old grandson is always asking me which superpower I would choose. Usually, it comes in the form of a choice between two, neither of which being anything one would want. Like many of his questions they are just his way of telling you what he thinks because he never gives me time to ponder my response before telling me the correct choice. Often one of the choices is invisibility.
Recently I noticed that I’ve been getting more invisible than usual. Yes, there are gradients to invisibility from moderately opaque to outright gone. One’s level of invisibility is often determined by various characteristics of an individual. For example, being short and overweight is always a good start to attaining transparency, while being tall and gorgeous will make one stick out like a sore thumb. If you can add a politely quiet personality to short and, er, chubby you are on your way see-through.
Regardless of your appearance and demeanor, aging will enhance the process of being invisible to bar tenders, cashiers, or wait staff. Being borderline antisocial, I have never been troubled with fading away a bit. Of course, there have been times when being cut in front of or ignored for an inordinately long time has been irritating. Fortunately, my proclivity of being obnoxious about it generally snaps me into focus. As I age my patience has become almost nonexistent and I am employing loud, snide comments almost constantly. If you live long enough people start to be humored by that behavior. WIN!
A story may help conjure up a picture of what I mean. At one time our older daughter was living in Queens, NY and hosted us for Thanksgiving. Of course, when in NYC at Thanksgiving time one must visit Manhattan to see the Holiday windows at Macy’s. While shuffling along the very busy street in front of the iconic department store, we stopped at one of the displays. A woman was standing tight to my left side with a deployed umbrella and a spoke from said umbrella kept poking me in my ear. Not being a huge fan of crowds, my mood was already sour, so it only took about three pokes before I said to my wife more loudly than needed, “If she pokes me one more time with that umbrella I’m going to shove it up her ass.” Mary Poppins’ umbrella never move as fast as that one did down the street. Needless to say, my wife was not amused by my tactic, but mission accomplished.
Anyway, consider this little rant as a PSA to all you pretty folk out there used to getting attention when you walk into a room. You too will become hard to see as the wrinkles start to appear, so you might want to learn how to take advantage of your cloak of invisibility.
Landing In The PNW 