“Please be reminded that you are responsible for any luggage taken mistakenly from the carousel, and you must return it to the airport today.” Such is the continuous announcement in the baggage claim section at the Ft. Myers, Florida airport, which I found a little odd, but admittedly had me taking a second glance at my suit bag to make sure it was mine. I didn’t catch on at the car rental counter either, which had a long, unmoving line standing in front of the exasperated associate. I just thanked my luck that no one had noticed the self-service machine gathering dust next to the associate, and moved forward to use it and drive away ahead of the crowd. It wasn’t until I was leaving the grocery store in Bonita Springs with some toiletries when the sign there struck home – “Any items left behind will be restocked” – I was in the land of retirement.
It’s impossible not to observe how life changes for the elderly, even for the well-to-do who spend the September of their years in swanky south Florida. It’s tough, even in a place that caters to retirees, to avoid the constant change that leaves senior citizens in a continuous state of hesitation. It’s a perfect place for light rail and mass transit, for example, but there is no evidence of it. This is not a generation to give up their cars, and their freedom, for the slavery of remembering monthly passes and timetables. Instead, there must be a perpetual shortage of blue paint in Florida, if the sheer quantity of designated handicapped parking spaces means anything. It takes some getting used to, watching a long Lincoln glide smartly into a handicapped spot … the door pops open, legs slowly swing out, a walker is pulled from the back with much contorting from the driver – he erects it and prepares to raise himself from the car. Some ten minutes later he has shuffled across the road, stopping traffic both ways, and finally disappears into the darkness of the Irish pub. One wants desperately to check the expiration date on his driver’s license.
It was during lunch at a small Greek restaurant, though, that I saw the most brilliant piece of marketing toward retirees. Among the tables scattered on a terrace was a cage with a small parrot preening itself. As the single older women came in for a Greek salad and diet Coke, each would stop by the cage and chat for a moment with “Georgie,” and he entertained them by jabbering nonsense back at them. Soon all the tables were full of women, calling out to Georgie for his opinion on the daily special or advice on afternoon activities. As I munched on a gyro, I noticed a poster on the restaurant wall advertising drink specials after 4pm, as well as a belly dancer who performed at 5pm. Brilliant. This restaurant was going to thrive, giving the widows someone to talk to, and the widowers someone to look at.
berowne.com 