On the Right to be Tired

My own parents, at the retired age of 67 and 65, are still actively engaged in their respective lines of work. They’re sleeves-up, hands-on, and walking-the-talk. Mr. A is an elected public servant, and Mrs. A runs a small food business, the beloved Bunny Bunch, catering mostly to overseas placement agencies nearby and taxi drivers.

It’s not unusual to see more seasoned citizens to still be working.  I remember (as one writer put it), a twilight-zone-like experience at a McDonalds in Singapore. They had stores manned by elders instead of a perky, hyperactive crew who looked like they were injected mountain dew directly to the vein. This wasn’t the same set-up in Manila though; probably because there aren’t too many jobs around and even a service crew spot is considered lucrative.

So it was still unusual to see elders working at fast food chains that underpay their overworked staff.  In recent months, there's been a battery of protests in the US by McDonald's and fast food workers. We need more of that here and fight out the limited freedom, the paralysis of choices brought about the the greed of the rich enabled by Capitalism. The elder workers, most especially, should be paid right - if not more.

One of them greeted me this morning. I was travelling from one of the farther sites, and I had to stop by for coffee and apple pie as my eyelids were heavy and I was getting sleepy on the wheel. McDonald's was a convenience I can't deny. The elder crew who greeted me was wiping the floor, big smile, multitasking, firing on all cylinders as he glowed with his “good morning” by the door.

The age and the uniform didn’t appear to match. But when I look at him as I gulped my coffee and gobbled my pie, I didn’t feel pity, or guilt, nor did I condescend. I saw him as a paragon of persistence. I myself was tired and beaten. People like him, and my parents, stripped me of the right to be tired.

A lot of folks who are supposed to be retired are still toiling in physically/mentally demanding occupations – as carpenters, as call center workers.  I remember how I romanticized the elder who pushed the shoe repair cart, and in ways that I should keep quiet, I’d like to think that I helped with respect and dignity rather than just charity. I write again because we collect these experiences. It is connecting us the way a bundle of apparently simple, worthy experiences - make us look at our life and affirm why we keep pushing our rocks.

And while it looks like a long way away, my hairline is receding we are really growing old.