Sure, I’ve read the stories of older women and younger coworkers. At times, I’ve even drooled over the salacious details. But never in a million years did I think I’d be the star in one of these little dramas. If ever I doubted it before, I know now that there is definitely a case to be made that there is a great generational divide in the workplace.
I offer as evidence a recent road trip with a younger man – a 20-something client who’s the CEO of an up and coming software company. For reasons I’m not too clear on (he’s too young to have a drivers license perhaps?), I was the driver.
Exhibit A
At the appointed day and time I pulled up in my silver Honda mini-van. Spying my young traveling companion, I honked the horn and waved. A strange look crossed his face, something between amusement and disgust that said, “You expect me to be seen in that?” I felt like I do when I pick up my teenage daughter and her friends at the mall, old and embarrassed yet feeling put-upon to make small talk.
Exhibit B
For the first half of the trip, we drove and chatted about inconsequential things until I had to stop for what would be the first of many bathroom breaks. Remarkably, my young friend declined to use the facilities. Apparently there’s a world of difference in the bladder control capabilities of a 25 year-old man and a 47 year-old woman.
Exhibit C
My traveling companion kindly offered to drive the next leg of the trip so I handed him the keys and off we went. Everything was fine until we were about 20 miles from our destination. It was then he handed me his fancy iPhone and asked me to pull up the GPS and navigate him in.
Now I embrace technology as well as the next person: I obsessively check my email and have even stalked an ex-boyfriend or two on Facebook. But up until that moment, I had never used an iPhone before. I managed to start the GPS but I couldn’t read a thing. The map and road names were all so tiny – they just became a blur. I held the device at arms length then moved it slowly in and out, trying to find a focal point, but it was no use. I vaguely wondered if I had reading glasses in my bag but was pretty sure there weren’t any. So I did the only thing I could – I tried to fake it.
At first I looked at the other cars on the road, hoping I could spot a driver who looked like he might be going to the same place as us. Perhaps we could follow. I surreptitiously began glancing at road signs for something, anything that might point us in the right direction. It was tough. Should I gamble on “Denny’s, Next Exit”, or keep going to “Side Road Seven, 5 Km”?
Ultimately, my bladder made the decision. I gave directions to take the Denny’s exit.
Exhibit D
By the time I returned from the restroom, my client had consulted the GPS and knew where we were going. Off we went again. I thought the worst of it was over until I felt a hot flash coming on.
I began fanning myself madly but I think he found it distracting and I worried my actions might get us in an accident. I began peeling off layers of clothing but then thought better of it. What if I sent the wrong message and he thought I was one of those wild, Cougar types? It was time for the last resort. Feigning car sickness, I rolled down the window and stuck my head and upper body as far out as I could. Like a Golden Retriever that just loves car rides, I rode that way until we reached out destination.
In Conclusion
The trick in this generational mash-up is to not feel bad about getting older; remember who you are and be proud. I may be a far-sighted, hot-flashing, incontinent middle-aged woman but at least I have my own car.