Doug PollardThe invisible man returns
July 26th 2008 04:42
Old Grey Dog - Zerpheus
It happens without warning. You’re probably somewhere in your early thirties, when you suddenly start to fade from sight.
At first it’s just the occasional incident. You’re barreling along the street, heading for the shops, and suddenly you’re forced to swerve around a couple of people who’ve chosen to block the flow of foot traffic while they discuss the merits of the latest celebrity wedding.
You’re heading for the escalator at the Metro station when a young man in a suit cuts sharply in front of you, bashing your hip with his briefcase as he hurtles into the depths.
You’re standing patiently at the counter waiting to order your espresso, but each time you start to open your mouth, the person next to you gets served.
In a bar you become a piece of furniture, an obstacle to be negotiated. You smile at a stranger and he looks right through you. You start a conversation and watch as a horrified look steals over his face, he smiles thinly, nods, and then starts talking to the person behind you.
You've become the invisible man
People no longer stand aside to let you pass. Bartenders no longer rush to serve you. Shop assistants are always busy with someone else. Waiters race around the room but somehow take everyone else’s order before you.
That’s when you know you’re slipping over the hill. Yesterday - dish of the day. Today - you’re leftovers. Especially when you go anywhere alone – everyone subconsciously marks you down as a failure.
Happily the situation doesn’t last, as I’m at last discovering. The downside is, you have to get through the intervening thirty years somehow. Then you start to go grey. Women, of course, mostly don’t. I’m surprised any of them know what colour their hair was any more. My mother certainly doesn’t.
And I so hated seeing Santa slowly appearing in the bathroom mirror, that I ‘assisted’ my hair and beard to remain, well, more pepper than salt. Nothing obvious – not that ‘Just For Men for Beards’ stuff that makes you look like The Hood from Thunderbirds – something professional and subtle.
But after many trouble-free years, I had an allergic reaction to the dye, and had to go ‘au naturel’ for a while, till the soreness healed and I could try another brand.
And wonder of wonders, suddenly, I was visible again! Shop assistants became helpful. Waiters noticed my table. Strangers struck up conversations – though as a gay man I found it a tad disconcerting to suddenly find myself chatted up by well-preserved ladies of a certain age. But I coped.
I have discovered that once your hair is silvering and the wrinkles mapping your life become undeniable, you can become visible again – provided you don’t try to stop the clock.
It’s not all wonderful. I have to put up with sales assistants calling me ‘Pops’ or ‘Chief’ instead of ‘mate’ or ‘Sir’, and the handsome guy who chats with me and smiles engagingly isn’t flirting, because he ‘knows’ I’m now well beyond all that. Schoolkids, having been rude, noisy and aggressive for years, have become mysteriously deferential.
My partner isn’t too happy that his lover has suddenly started reminding him of his granddad, so for now I’m just assisting my hair colour somewhat less, and less frequently.
But who would have thought that embracing the grey would make the world take account of me again. I thought the old and grey were the truly invisible, but it seems I was wrong. You can be grey and gay!
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