Retirement Updates — Binders of Seniors

One of the more memorable images that emerged from the presidential candidates’ debates was Mitt Romney’s binders full of women. While that may have appeared tacky to some of you, it didn’t surprise me. When I was in Marketing at Colgate-Palmolive, we had binders full of MBAs looking for internships. Of course, that was back in the 1980’s.

It turns out that this resource device, though antiquated, is not limited to women and MBAs. There are also binders full of seniors at that paragon of American retail, Walmart. Back when they decided to hire the elderly (now defined as anyone 65 or older) as “greeters,” they hit a brick wall with their sourcing efforts. The word went out to the local AARP and Gray Panthers: “Bring us binders full of seniors.”

The letter that was sent listed qualifications seniors needed to have in order to make the cut. “Must look good in blue” was the first criterion. “Able to maintain balance on three-legged stool” and “Able to hold their water for at least four hours at a time” were also up front on the list. “Have sufficient dexterity to tie their own smock or pinny” and “No hearing aid needed” were listed as “preferred skills.”

The Walmart binders of seniors had several tabs to organize the material and these varied according to the area of the country. In the South, there were tabs for men named Billy Bob and Jessie Joe and for women named Sue Ellen and Betty Grace. Those in New England had tabs labeled Chip and Muffy. One universal tab read: “Speaks more than one language.” In most areas, there were only a few sheets behind that one.

Now that Walmart has cut back on its greeting service, it’s selling its binders of seniors to other entities. One of the first organizations to open its wallet for this so-called asset was the National Association of Velcro Manufacturers and Distributors (NAVMAD), whose wallet has a Velcro closure, BTW. Apparently, they plan to mine the pages for consumer research on new ways to hook seniors on that miracle invention.

Volunteers in Service to America (VISTA) has also expressed interest in the binders. They claimed that Walmart paid so little it was like volunteering anyway. Adopt-A-Grandparent toyed with getting them, but they need seniors who can use smart phones. The Walmart binders are a bit thin on that criterion. The Service Corps of Retired Executives (SCORE) looked into acquiring the binders. Sadly (or perhaps mercifully), they found very few executives among Walmart’s pinny-hopefuls.

Speaking of scoring, one group that was particularly happy to have access to binders full of seniors is the Sisterhood of Boca Raton Widows. Not surprisingly, they jettisoned all the papers for female Walmart greeters. Likewise for any married gentlemen. Although that left a pretty thin binder, the Sisterhood feels it’s a better way to find available men of a certain age than hanging out at the cemetery gates.

The Brotherhood of Boca Raton Widowers, on the other hand, was looking into whether Romney was willing to share his binders full of women. No word on Romney’s response, but one of his Florida campaign staffers was rumored to have floated the idea of trading “a page for a vote.” Fortunately, that idea fell on deaf ears. Something about it being at risk of becoming a three-ring circus…

Retirement Peeves — Elder Creep

Some items in the media this week gob-smacked me with the possibility that I’m getting old. True, my body feels a lot older. And if I let my roots grow in gray for too many weeks, I look sort of old. But I still don’t think of myself as old.

I don’t shuffle along. I still walk briskly, especially vs. typical Rhode Islanders. (I have that NYC pace, the one that keeps you from getting mugged.) I’m pretty savvy on pop culture, especially for someone who never had any children. I even use the word “gob-smack.” So when did “elderly” sneak up on me?

Since I’m short and had a youthful face for most of my life, I looked forward to the time when my age would earn me some respect, or at least deference. But pity? Not an emotion on my bucket list for societal interaction. Yet pity seems to be where my chronological age has brought me. It pains me to report this, but people seem to feel sorry for “the elderly.”

The local news item that put this on my radar had this lead: “An elderly woman with two cats has died in a house fire.” This immediately grabbed my attention. Most of you are thinking: Of course. It mentioned cats. But the truth is, what caught my ear was the word “elderly.” I don’t know why or how, but I knew I needed to stay attentive to find out how old this “elderly” woman actually was. She was 66. “OMG!” thought I. “Sixty-six is now considered ELDERLY?”

The news piece ended: “Unfortunately, one of the cats died.” You’re probably thinking I responded to that because of a cat having perished. Not so, though of course that made me sad. What I responded to was that the copy was NOT: “Unfortunately, one of the cats ALSO died.” My take away was this: The elderly lady was old; she’d lived her life and probably would have died soon anyway. Sure, it was a pity that she died. But the tragedy was that the poor cat had its life snuffed out prematurely. Gob-smacked by local TV.

Imagine my surprise when just one day later, while watching one of my guilty pleasures, The View, I got smacked again. The guest was actor Chris O’Donnell (NCIS Los Angeles) and the discussion was about flu shots. O’Donnell hates needles and was touting the new shot that goes just under the skin and not into the muscle. TMI, perhaps, but I’m providing backstory here.

He encouraged parents of young kids to get their own flu shots because they’re not just for “little kids and the elderly.” He elaborated. “Eighteen to sixty-four year olds think they’re indestructible.” Hold on. Using my deductive reasoning (which still functions), I figured out that he was defining “kids” as anyone under eighteen and “elderly” as folks sixty-five and older. Be still my heart. Gob-smacked again.

If that exchange wasn’t enough to make me aware of my creaky bones, a segment later in The View heaped it on. The hosts showed a YouTube clip of Gwyneth Paltrow and Cameron Diaz mocking Chelsea Handler in rap style—not what you’d expect from two blonde actresses about yet another blonde. Someone joked that Joy Behar and Barbara Walters should also do a rap video. To this, Whoopi Goldberg told them: “You need to stay in your lane!”

This expression is new to me. I love it and plan to use it on occasion. But what resonated was the point Whoopi was making. Gwyneth and Cameron are young enough to pull off a rap video that’s out of their wheelhouse. But Joy and Barbara shouldn’t try things people aren’t expecting from women their age, even if they’re willing to risk it. Double gob-smack.

For those of you still trying to figure out what “gob-smacked” means, from the Oxford English Dictionary: “utterly astonished; astounded.” (“Gob” is British slang for mouth.) Southerners have a similar expression: “Well, shut my mouth!” I prefer: “Shut your mouth!” It more accurately expresses what I’d like to say to those who use the word “elderly” to describe people my age. And what I’d like to do to them is smack them in their gob.

Retirement Tidbits — Fall Potpourri

It’s been five months since my last potpourri post, so it’s a good time for another one. Most of these tidbits have been collected from my favorite source, Time magazine. Thanks to their editors, especially to whoever puts together their “Briefing” section.

The first group of bulletins covers Sex, Mating, and Panties.

·      In Klagenfurt, Austria, zookeepers had to separate a pair of giant turtles who had been mates for most of their lives. They were judged as suddenly being in danger of killing one another. (Or as the zookeeper put it: “We get the feeling they can’t stand the sight of each other.”) I recall similar reports from a retirement community in Florida…

·      In the U.K., a pair of Queen Victoria’s knickers fetched over $15,000 at an auction at the end of last year. On a price-per-square-inch basis, this was perhaps not extraordinary, but a bargain when you consider the scarcity. Rumor has it that the provenance of those knickers included at least one cross-dressing nobleman.

·      Also British, but spanning the globe, Mick Jagger confessed to having sex with more than 4,000 women (and still counting). You can be sure his rolling stones gathered no moss.

·      Closer to home, Ad Age briefed us on a new subscription service called “Blush Box,” from a former adman (and ex-seminarian—go figure). A $400 quarterly subscription will get you lotions, potions, oils and sex toys, all in a brown paper wrapper. Just call me 50 Shades of Blushing.

My second group of items can loosely be considered Entertainment (in case some of the ones above weren’t entertaining enough).

·      As of this past February, Disney’s U.S. theme park employees were allowed to have beards and goatees. I hear they’ve added “Hairy” as the eighth dwarf.

·      For just over $80, you can get 200 fireworks rockets designed to look like your face when they explode. The fireworks are visible for 20 miles. However, you can name a star after yourself for anywhere from $15 to $50. Stars are visible for gazillions of miles. I suppose the better investment depends on whether you want instant gratification or long term pleasure. Hmmm…

Moving on to Curious Statistics.

·      20% of Americans admit to peeing in a swimming pool. That’s among adults. I don’t want to even think about the figure if kids were included.

·      If world-wide crime were a country, it would be one of the top 20 economies. I have absolutely no idea what to make of this fact.

·      A less surprising statistic: Not a single state in the U.S. has an obesity rate below 20%. The map that accompanied this blurb showed the most extreme percentages swathing through the country’s poochy midsection. You just know this cries out for a red-state/blue-state overlay…

Lastly, a serious issue—World Economics.

·      The sanction-burdened Greek government circumvented annual pay restrictions by compensating employees “for months that didn’t exist.” I hear their fabricated months inspired a new folk song that ends “…November, Cucumber, Suspenders, December.” It’s usually followed by a huge swig of Retsina and a hearty Opa!

·      My favorite of these potpourri items comes from Iceland, where they created an innovative way to build assets. From Time Oct. 17, 2011: “[Imagine] you sell me [your] dog for a billion and I sell you [my] cat for a billion. Now we are no longer pet owners, but Icelandic banks, with a billion dollars in new assets.” I guess we know how they get through those long winter nights in Iceland. And it’s a safe bet that Mick Jagger hasn’t spent any time there.

You just can’t make this stuff up.

Retirement Prenups

The New York Post reported on a trend of increasingly bizarre prenuptial agreements. It’s not too surprising that a bride-to-be would want to be compensated for marital sex in the event of a divorce. Likewise, “no smoking” and “no cheating” clauses are to be expected. But not being rude to the wife’s parents? Or having to make an annual pilgrimage to a Rice Diet Program? Not your typical boilerplate.

As I took this in, it occurred to me that there’s a more important agreement for seniors to craft. That’s a retirement prenup. Yes, dear readers, it’s crucially important for partners to have an advance understanding of what they can or cannot do when they retire. Following are suggestions for you to consider for your own retirement prenup.

Based on my own experience during my first year or so of retirement, I’d suggest a clause that says the maximum amount of weight you can gain each year should be whatever the national average is for your sex and age group. That seems reasonable. I think that’s about one pound per year for me, so I’ve used up about ten years of my retirement allowance already. I can offer this in a prenup since I assume they can’t be retroactively enforced.

Also based on my recent behavior, husbands might want to stipulate that retirement is no excuse to be delinquent in dying your gray roots. The penalty should probably kick in when the gray goes beyond ½ inch. Most months I’d be in trouble even if the limitation were 1 inch.

An extension of the gray roots clause should be a prohibition on dying your hair red or pink (or purple or orange). Fluorescent highlights should also be banned. And those feather and bead extensions that are all the rage right now. Blue hair that happens by accident at the beautician’s could be tolerated for a short period, but the prenup should specify how long you get to correct the problem.

Here’s one the wives will love. No Velcro shoes without a written exemption and the spouse’s approval of the footwear prior to its purchase. Nothing screams “retiree” like those parallel sets of straps, not to mention the annoying sound they make when they’re undone. Shoot me now, because I know my husband will eventually be wearing these.

Another popular retiree purchase is the Hoveround® scooter. Once again, this is a clear tip off that you’re retired. If I had a retirement prenup, I’d have a serious penalty clause associated with my husband’s acquisition of one of these scooters. Unless it’s fire engine red, with a sidecar. And matching helmets.

Both partners should appreciate a clause that reads you cannot hang out in your PJs all day unless you’re sick. I’d go even further by stating that changing into sweat pants does not count as getting dressed. Similarly, you should not be allowed to wear slippers with animal heads on the toes. Ever.

I can’t believe I’m writing this, but you might want to set a limit on how many hours per day can be spent cuddling the family pet. Two hours is probably about right, but personally, I’d lobby for three. And that would be per pet, of course. Likewise, you should put a limit on how many animals can be rescued from the pound once you’re in retirement. I won’t even speculate on what that number should be.

Many folks decide to learn a foreign language in retirement. If that’s not in your wheelhouse, be sure to state that you will not be forced to learn one along with your spouse. You might also want to put in writing that your partner cannot try to teach that language to the family pet.

Another post-retirement hobby is music, especially taking up an instrument. This area also needs careful prenup discussion. Consider restricting the hours of practice (both in number and time of day). You might even want to prohibit certain instruments, but that could be squeaky to negotiate.

Prenups are delicate agreements, not to be entered into lightly. The retirement prenup is a whole new category for attorneys to sink their teeth into. I suggest you get yours done before the inevitable crush this blog post will create. The cost to get one prepared is certain to go sky high. Oh, another thing. Be sure to decide up front who’s paying the lawyers to draft this sucker.