Mind the Elderly

It was a hot afternoon working in county government. I sat in an unconditioned boardroom with seven other octogenarians to plan the county's semi-sequential event. If you believe I was interested in planning a county semi-sequential event, you do not know me at all. If you think I was interested in planning a similar event with people roughly fifty years older than me, you must think I hate myself.

I volunteered to be the scribe for the meeting because I did not care about whatever they decided. I was game for an avant-garde performance art installation, as I was an idol burning the president; I did not care. However, what did fascinate me about the meeting was the earnest debate about nothing.

"Should the square dancers be under the pavilion or the grassy marsh?"

"Can I consign one of my subcommittees if I am playing Betsy Ross in the group theater?"

"Should we have the children write cards to veterans or patriots from the Revolutionary War?"

I then realized the caliber of my clientele: white, middle-class retirees. The planning of this event was theatrical; mortality edged them out of the AI job replacement and the rise of neofascism. These people tenuously connect themselves to the rest of humanity through events like semi-sequential celebrations. The worries of everyday people condensed to the positioning of square dancers and addresses to fake people.

I was speaking to the most privileged people on Earth.

"Where should we set up the Ellis Island attraction?"