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April 16, 1999/30 Nisan 5759, Vol. 51, No. 29
'All I'm asking for is just a little respect'
MICHELLE ACKERMAN
Staff Writer
Show me this column 10 years from now and I'll probably deny having written it. But yes, right now, I'll admit it - I want to look older.
It's not that I have an affinity for wrinkles or age spots or anything. I'm not looking to push the clock ahead, to hurry up and live my life. I'd just like to look a little older - at least my age - so that I can get some respect.
About a month ago, I went into a drug store to pick up a roll of film. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the store was empty. I grabbed the box I wanted and headed to the checkout counter, where I handed the 40-something woman my purchase and my credit card. She took the card, looked at it and then looked back at me.
"You're so lucky to have a credit card at such a young age," she said.
Excuse me? Might I mention that, besides the fact that I'm a working person in my mid-20s, 12-year-olds receive in-the-mail applications for credit cards? Do I really still look like a teenager? Or was that woman just trying to be funny?
Fast forward a couple of weeks.
Recently, I've been having dreams of owning a new, shiny, white convertible. So my boyfriend, Dan, being the indulgent boyfriend he is, took me car shopping.
After shlepping from place to place, I finally found a car that piqued my interest, a cute Pontiac Sunfire convertible. I had just slipped behind the wheel to check out the inside of the car when a salesman approached and asked me if I needed help. I began to ask him questions, and he invited me to follow him inside the dealership.
We chatted along the way, starting with the weather, until he worked up a casual, "So, do you have any type of employment?" "Yes," I answered. That prompted a hearty, "Well, good for you!" I immediately knew that something was up.
The salesman left me and returned with his manager, who told me that he was sorry, "but the car is probably too expensive for me."
It gradually dawned on me that these men thought that I was a teenager who was just browsing for fun and unable to afford a car. (OK, I was wearing overalls and a baby-T-shirt, but still.) When Dan walked over, they probably just thought our favorite afternoon activity is wasting adults' time.
The encounter left me shaking with anger.
I was upset that I was again mistaken for a teenager. My first thought was that I deserved the respect of my extra years of life-experience and my hard-earned college degree.
But then I thought: Why should my age matter so much? And why are teenagers so rarely accorded any respect at all by adults? I know some 16-year-olds who are more mature than some 30-year-olds.
Also, for all that car manager knew, I could have been a young millionaire, ready to pull out the cash. OK, maybe not terribly likely, but how did he know that?
Whether I was black, white, young, old, rich or poor, I was interested in that car - and that was all that should have mattered. I certainly could have afforded that car, but I'd never buy it from that man, who obviously sizes people up on face value.
For as my mother always taught me, "You should never judge a book by its cover."
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