- November 23, 2024
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I went to a housewarming party last weekend where a girl repeated a compliment her grandmother once had about my writing.
“Oh, wow. Really?” I stammered, trying my best to blush and play humble. But the truth was, this wasn’t a surprise. As far as demographics go, I’ve always done great with the over-65 crowd — and the fact that I’m sure to fit words like “poppycock” and “hogwash” into as many columns as possible sure doesn’t hurt my street cred in that department.
I have the elderly demo so locked in, in fact, that each time I submit something new, almost immediately I begin imagining people named Gertrude, Eugene and Ethel sitting around a euchre table, quoting lines from the latest Cavaliere.
“Such a nice boy,” Gertrude says. “So handsome. Such talent.” And then Eugene shoots her a wink and says, “And that’s no poppycock!” And then they laugh, and laugh and laugh ...
Elders have always taken a certain shine to me. Yeah, there’s been the occasional hate letter and voicemail, usually only after I dive into controversial matter, like hot dogs, or call tropical storms “puny runts.” But my grandma, my friends’ grandmas, my grandma’s friends — you just can’t argue with that kind of rock-solid fan base.
But for some reason, standing at that party, stuffing as many scoops of free jerk chicken and rice onto my plate as possible, I wanted more.
I needed a publicist, a plan. I needed to expand my appeal. I needed every person in the world to like me: the young, the old, the tired, the weirdos. So I committed to the first idea that came to mind — Operation: No more hate mail.
It was perfect. I would launch a subliminal campaign to relate to every Palm Coast age group, starting with the kids.
For them, it’d be easy. I’d don one of those rainbow-colored hats with the fan blades on top in my headshot. Those helicopter hats do it every time. They’re like kid kryptonite. What little squirt wouldn’t like a reporter making a mockery of all this grown-up mumbo jumbo by wearing a hat with, get this, a propeller on top in commission meetings and during interviews? It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.
For the older crowd, your 35 to 55 age range, I figure I can get away with throwing in a few “Seinfeld” references and I’m golden. But it’s that 18 to 34 demographic that I struggle with.
This is my demographic. It should be cake. Tell a few off-color jokes. Take shots at the Man. Always be on the hunt for opportunities to cite ’90s pop culture. It all seems so easy.
But for some reason, my peers escape me.
Like most social situations, I have no clue what to do or say to gain favor. And so maybe I’m better off at the bingo table, where there’s always cobbler. And what’s so bad about suspenders and orthopedic shoes, anyway? I can see myself getting into that look.
Of course, I’ll have to retire early. That’s a given. And Social Security isn’t going to cut it. But, there’s always pension. After all, I didn’t break my back at the paper for the last year and half for bubkis. I gave my heart and soul to this company. Back in my day, that kind of loyalty actually counted for something.
