Am I becoming invisible as I get older?
Increasingly, standing at the service counters of banks or in checkouts at supermarkets, other people, frequently much younger and a great deal louder, step between me and the teller or checkout operator and begin their business as if I wasn’t there. Perhaps, in their world, I am not.
It is entirely possible that they can’t see me and assume that the teller is simply passing things over a barcode reader because he has nothing better to do.
It happens in cars as well. Other drivers will look at what in the real world would be my oncoming car and pull out directly in front of it. Clearly they don’t see me, or the couple of tons of metal surrounding me.
I am fully aware that I pop out of the space-time continuum when the telephone on the desk of an official rings. Instantly, a glazed expression covers his eyes as I disappear from his world and his entire attention is devoted to driveling on about shopping for the next 10 minutes or so. When the call is completed, Bingo! I pop back into his reality.
Sometimes though, just to establish that I still exist and have some sort of reality, I let an ATM machine eat my card. If people can’t see me, than at least the electrons and diodes of the machine might acknowledge me.
Fortunately, the bank attached to the machine was open. Having attracted the managers’ attention by dropping my briefcase on his desk — it surprised him somewhat to see a disembodied briefcase falling out of the ether — we managed to communicate through the medium of sound.
We sauntered along on the lines of: “Your machine ate my card and I would like it back, please.” I think it was a surprise to him that his machine had done anything, let alone something as vigorous as eating an ATM card.
A period of absolute stasis followed.
Training is a wonderful thing. With the speed and agility of a tectonic plate, he pounced on a memory. “Go your bank,” he said, a seraphic expression suffusing his face. Think of it, tens of thousands of riyals spent on installing the rudiments of banking practice in Faisal’s mind and, after only three or four minutes processing, this!
“No,” is a powerful word in the right hands. “I want my card back. Your bank took it, your machine has it, I need cash.”
The same response.
I couldn’t possibly win this. The invisible stand no chance against solid specimens like Faisal. Nearer the point, people in positions of power, however minor, have to admit to responsibility if they admit to seeing you. So, they don’t. It’s a lifestyle choice.
The invisibility conferred by the telephone ringing means that you become the last item on the agenda. The invisibility that blankets you to other car drivers means that they can drive precisely as they like, and the problem is yours not theirs. The invisibility bestowed on you by the person barging in front at a checkout means that the “me first” syndrome can triumph.
Mind you, ten kilos of briefcase on a toe concentrate the mind wonderfully.
Arab News Features 24 February 2003