Aging in Montenegro

 

Easter at the Ragina Glava pub in Podgorica

A few nights ago I dreamt that I — me, 57, the David you know — was going to meet friends at a bagel place on Washtenaw Ave. in Ypsilanti, Michigan (a commercial strip near where I grew up in Ann Arbor) ... pretty much across from where the old Wayside Cinema used to be, back in the 70s. (Where I saw both Smokey & the Bandit and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, in fact!).

The Now Long-Gone Wayside Cinema

Anyway, that opposite side of the street immediately turned into a sort of ... long hallway/foodcourt (you know dreams are) ... and I walked a bit too far, realized I hadn't been paying attention and had passed up the bagel place, turned and walked back the other direction, missed it again, then stopped to consider my options.

I was sort of wondering if the bagel place had closed or moved, and I was getting out my phone to check it, and then wondering if I should tell the people I was supposed to meet that we'd be meeting at a different restaurant — perhaps one of the ones I was standing in front of. I was hesitating, certainly, but I wasn't ... bewildered or scared in any way.

Still, at this point a 30-something well-dressed black man down at the other end of the hallway, in front of a Cinnabon or something, said to a colleague, in exasperation, "every year I have to tell him this," and then, beckoning to me, yelled, "Sir! Sir! come back here, sir!"

The manager here took four steps forward and yelled down the hallway at me

I lifted my head up from my phone and walked back towards him, and he said, with an exaggerated sigh, "Sir, you come here every year, and every year I have to tell you that the bagel place closed because of Covid, and it's gone!" He wasn't angry at me (although perhaps a bit exasperated (which seemed excessive, if it was really only once a year he needed to have this conversation)), and he was genuinely trying to help. 

I wanted to say, "Oh, I don't remember that, but you don't have to be all condescending to me — I wasn't needing any help, and I was just trying to decide what to do next!" but ... I did realize that sounded very much like what an old person who in fact did need help might say, which made me both self-conscious and nervous, so I stammered ... and ... then I woke up anyway, feeling aggrieved and frustrated at how I had been talked to.

So I wonder: Is it ok to be upset at the assumptions younger people make about the need for assistance they're convinced we have — if that in fact only happens in a dream? How dare he? And ... yes, sure, I didn't remember him telling me about the store before, but ... that alone doesn't mean I'm forgetful, does it? Does it? And I didn't need his help — I was just standing alone looking uncertain not knowing exactly what I should do next!

I dream of a day where younger people are more patient with the slower processing of older people ... in my dreams.

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Maybe I was just prescient. 

That very same day I was working out at my gym here in Podgorica, having finished my run and time on the elliptical machine, all that was left on my admittedly pretty tame regime was to do some sit-ups on the little sit-up bench and then maybe find a machine to work out my arms and chest a bit. I do 15 sit-ups at a go, then stand and relax the muscle a bit before doing another set.

The Soko Gym, downstairs

The machines this particular gym has allow you to remove or add round weights to each machine, and those weights are distributed on various machines. Need to add weight? Go to a nearby machine nobody is using and take one of the 5 kg or 10 kg or 15 kg weights and add it to yours. Want to remove weight? Take it off your machine and put it on another.

Anyway, after my first set I stood up and walked over to a machine I've used before on which you sit and pull down handles from up above to — I just laughed out loud remembering this — work out your, I don't know, neck muscles or something. I wasn't going to use it — I was in the middle of my sit-ups. Just walked over to see how much weight was on the machine (I think it was like 30 kg on each side) for when I did want to use it, and wondering whether I would need to add more or remove some. In doing so I lazily pulled down on one of the handles — not sitting in the machine itself, or in any way indicating I was actually trying to use it — just trying to get a sense of whether the amount of resistance that was currently on the machine was good for me.

The kind of machine I'm talking about (not my gym)

But a young man who was working out at a nearby machine who I remembered later was one of the managers of the club, and who had actually taken my money and signed me up when I first bought the month-long membership, leapt to help. He stopped me as I was turning to go walk back to the sit-up bench and said, "no, no — if it's too heavy we can remove the weights for you!"

I'm afraid I sort of snapped at him. "I know, I know!" I said, dismissively, before realizing he was only trying to help and flashing him a thumbs up. "Thanks," I said.

It makes me laugh. He saw the old white-haired American — so clueless about so many things in Montenegro, for so many reasons, he assumed — walk over, hesitantly stick out a hand to try the machine, pull the arm halfway down, realize (he thought) it was far too heavy for him, and start to walk away. He was trying to help the old white-haired man by reassuring him they could make the machine easier for him!

Sigh.

But no, we're not done!

The very next day I was running on the treadmill at the gym — I was about 20 minutes into a fairly fast 5.3km run (at about 10.2 km an hour), and sweating up a storm — when the same young man walked up to my machine, and in a sort of surprising breach of etiquette, came and looked right at the dashboard of the machine to check out how fast I was running and for how long, then looked up at me, flashed a big grin, and gave me a big thumbs up. This time I smiled back, at least.

And I guess good that he was impressed, but ... I can't help but assume he wouldn't have done that for a 23-year-old. 

Ironically, both of these stories are about how I look, and a little bit about how he was taking ownership of me as a client and wanted to make sure I was enjoying my membership, which is nice, but ... sigh. I guess ... 23 I ain't.