Two men in their seventies walked
into a trendy Shoreditch restaurant on a Tuesday evening. “Hi Guys,” said the hipster
meeter/greeter in the spirit of modern, casual dining that makes no distinction
between gender or age. The guys in question (my companion and I) did not bridle
– such places are not novel to us (though we are not yet entirely comfortable with
the lack of respectful address to which we feel entitled). Therefore, knowing what
to expect, we set about the task of fitting in as best we could with a room
full of people still racking up the second of their three score and ten.
“How can young people afford these
prices?” I said with a touch of resentment as we scanned the menu. “I thought
we boomers were supposed to have all the money.” Apparently, the popular story
of millennials’ straitened circumstances is exaggerated – or at least does not
apply around here. So, it’s enlightening to get out and about, mingle with
other social groups and expose oneself to a few myth-busting experiences. We, the
older generation, can benefit from shunning the same old places with the same
old faces from time-to-time. Exposure to change is a chance to broaden horizons
and challenge beliefs and entrenched preconceptions, for, in the end, modernity
will have its way – though we do have choices: resist change unto the end, absorb
the shock of the new, or adopt a conciliatory position somewhere between the
two extremes. So it was that evening; we could either have turned curmudgeonly
or decided to go with the flow. We did our best to take the latter route, but
with age comes experience and so we did have a few set ways to overcome.
The menu was explained to us (hackles
rose but restraint prevailed) and we listened politely to the suggestion that
we should share the selection of “small plates” that were on offer. But experienced
diners like us know what we want and don’t want to share it, so we ignored the (very)
young waitress’s advice. Besides, diminutive portions can lead to awkwardness
when it comes to allotting fair shares and awkwardness is the last thing you
want to intrude on an evening of camaraderie. But we continued to keep our minds
open, notwithstanding the filters of experience firmly embedded in our systems.
The important thing to remember about filters, however, is that they can get
clogged up and, like those on my Dyson, need periodic cleaning if they are to
remain effective and prevent motor seizure.
Actually, the food was excellent, the
wine, such as we could afford, was pretty decent and the service was attentive
and the very opposite of casual. The only fault we could find was the choice of
background music which, considering the majority of the clientele, was unsurprising.
Yet we refrained from complaining and we had a good time – thanks in part to
our open attitude. But, before I get carried away with self-congratulation, here
is a stanza of verse:
When I can look life in the eyes, /
Grown calm and very coldly wise, / Life will have given me the Truth, / And
taken in exchange…my youth*
They say that youth is wasted on the
young and, looking around the restaurant, slightly nostalgic for my own
formative years, I could only agree. Yet, having wasted my own, I bear no grudge.
As we left the restaurant, we got a
cheery “Goodnight, gents,” from the desk and were chuffed with the promotion
from regular guys to revered customers. On reflection, however, the salutation might
just have been code for “You’re not really our target market, guys.”
*Sara Teasdale, poet. 1884-1933.
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