Why Age Matters

Some time ago, I caught a glimpse into the soul of mankind. Its ugliness transgressed the sense of sight, reeked and echoed ugliness throughout.

It was the second time it happened when I realized it was that that happened. And I started to learn. To adapt. That I’m quite good at, which is why I’ll never go extinct.┬áIt all started when… “Hi [real estate agent’s name], I saw one of your listings on XYZ website and I was wondering if it was still available? The property is at [address]. Would you please give me a call back at … when you get a chance. Thanks!”

In retrospect, I knew what my mistakes were, those tell-tale signs of youth. Too nice. Too chirpy. Instantly, they knew I was not a middle-aged, gray-haired individual with the purchasing power worth their time. Maybe the agent was busy, you say? Maybe he didn’t get my voicemail, you say? Nope, someone else made the same call later that day and his call was returned.

Some time later, I saw another promising property, and this time I had on what I thought was, if not my A, definitely my B-plus game. Made the appointment. On day of viewing, got stood up by the agent.

Thenceforth, I vowed bluntness and what’s the opposite of chirpiness? Moroseness? Thenceforth, I vowed bluntness and moroseness.

What is the lesson learned? Is it that age matters? That perception matters? That friendliness is akin to naivety? That old age and cynicism are two peas in a pod?


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