After a pointless bout of self-flagellation related to my perceived failure to attend an early morning networking event last week, I decided to only network after noon. Today's event began with a workshop at 4:30 p.m., a very civilized hour especially if one is headed downtown against traffic. Driving was not a problem, but parking was. I cruised the streets in northwest Portland for about 15 minutes, loathe to pay a dime to a city meter. Finally I found a 2-hour meter-free spot, only six blocks away from my destination. I parked and hustled along the flooded sidewalks in the pouring rain. I knew I was almost late. Too much time spent trolling for parking! Darn. I spotted the restaurant and threw myself through the door ahead of a stylish young couple who clearly had not been there before, and thus had no idea that seating was limited. Breathing heavily and covered in rain spots, I found a chair at the last open table, in the very back of the Kontiki Room and sank onto the seat. (Yes, the Kontiki Room: It was the monthly meeting of PDXMindshare at Trader Vics.)
The couple I had barged in front of only minutes before sat down to my right. I welcomed them. (I detected no hint of resentment.) The young lady had a wide infectious smile. She said she was looking for work. The young man was thin, somewhat swarthy, and very stylishly dressed (pointy shoes). I felt like a wrecking ball, with my scarf, hat, mittens, giant messenger bag. I didn't care. I got out my notebook, ready to take notes, as the place filled up with people. This time I was on the inside of the fishbowl, not one of the hapless losers milling around outside in the lobby. Yes!
The workshop began. The topic was Building Confidence for your Job Search, led by an older gentleman (older than me, I think, although one never knows for sure). He was nattily dressed in an earth-toned striped shirt, khaki jacket, and beige silk tie. His brown pants were belted unashamedly across the middle of his girth. He looked like a well-dressed old man, except for his crowning glory: a ponytail of frizzy gray hair. How can you not love an old guy with a ponytail? Somehow ponytails make men look young, no matter how high-waisted they belt their pants, am I right?
I won't bore you with all the details of his talk. The audience seemed rapt, but there was nothing new there for me. (I'm not really sure why I went, honestly, except that it's possible if I keep showing up—I mean that metaphorically, too—something will happen. For sure, nothing will happen if I stay alone at home.) I drew pictures in my journal while the speaker showed a few uninspired PowerPoint slides and gave a shout-out for Toastmasters, which inspired me to consider becoming willing to think about looking up a local chapter. (Don't want to rush into anything, especially not when it comes to public speaking.)
While the presentation was in progress, a young waitress in black made the rounds, taking drink orders. She approached our table and spread out little drink napkins for everyone except me. The blonde ordered something. They talked a bit. Then the waitress skipped past me as if I weren't there, and took an order for two beers from the young couple to my right. I was there. I'm sure I was there. But the waitress didn't even look at me. Was I invisible?
I would have said something if the circumstances had made conversation easier. I didn't want to order anything, that's not the issue. I'm on a budget, after all. But to be blatantly passed over, as if I were invisible... such an odd feeling, to not exist.
It's happened before, usually at Best Buy kind of places. Salespeople tend to ignore me. I think it's partly how I dress. I don't look like I have money. And I usually look slightly odd, I guess you could say off, in some way. But I'm pretty sure it also has to do with age. It's my belief that young people don't pay attention to old people (unless the old people happen to be their grandparents, and only then to get birthday presents.)
Here's how I see it. At a table of four, three of the guests were stylish and young. The fourth guest (me) was clearly no longer young. Stylish, maybe, in a weird geeky hyperthyroidish way, except for the polyester knit slacks (which she couldn't see!). Three in plain view, one invisible.
I'm sure there are things I can do to be more visible. I can change my appearance in some way. Grow my own version of a ponytail, maybe. Add a green streak, perhaps. How about a lip ring, something really flashy. And then throw on whatever clothes happen to be fashionable at Forever 21 (I have no idea what that might be, I've never been in that store. I think my wheels lock up when I get near the entrance, like an old KMart shopping cart.) But you get my drift. I could change my appearance in some way. Or I could start singing random songs or reciting Beat poetry when I find myself in crowds.
I could also change my setting. Instead of hanging out with young people, I could make sure I only hang out with old people. I mean, older than me. I mean, really old, like 80. I could join the Elks. Or I could just give up and join AARP. Then I'd be the youngest one in the group and they could all cackle and talk about how much the world has changed. Why, I remember when... Or hell, as long as we are brainstorming, let's get creative. Forget the age thing. Let's think big. Let's think color! How about if I seek out events for African Americans or Hispanics? I wouldn't be invisible then, would I! Let's hear it for the sore thumbs, the square pegs, the misfits. Ha! Take that, you young uninteresting conformist whippersnapper waitress, you.
