The eldest oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head…
— Lewis Carroll
I haven’t conducted anything like a scientific survey of the subject, but I think I’d be willing to bet even money that each time I randomly turn on the little television set in my kitchen, tuned to MSNBC (now MS NOW) or CNN), I’m more likely to hit on a commercial than news or commentary content.
I don’t watch the set; it’s too small and too high up in a cabinet for easy viewing. So I just listen; I grew up on radio, anyway. As a result, I can identify the idiosyncrasies of the speakers, from Wolf Blitzer’s choppy reading, hyperventilating, and shouted numbers of deaths in various calamities to Joe Scarborough’s world-weary baritone mansplaining.
In between those frequent and maddening commercials there is a bit of information to be gleaned on various subjects, which I then sometimes fact-check with the on-line Times. And I understand it’s the commercials that make the reporting possible.
Still, after I’ve had some smooth-talking middle-aged man describe the marvels that I can access by adding to my Medicare coverage, I’m ready to strangle someone.
One of the privileges of being the eldest oyster is the expectation of others that you will become curmudgeonly – especially of you let your eyebrows grow, which I do.
Thus, when some shill first tries to frighten me with a catalog of the perils in my future and then shows me the way around them (for a fee that’s never mentioned), I get a bit testy, and often shout back at him in a most immoderate manner.
The extended Medicare coverage, for example, now being flacked during the annual sign-up period (its coincidence with the holiday season does much to take the bloom off the rose of the celebratory atmosphere) is a prime example.
Depending on the private insurance company sponsoring the ad, the script is the same. And boys, I’m ready for them! When I hear, “…Medicare Part C, sometimes called…” I drown out the ensuing words with “sometimes called the Great Ripoff of the Credulous and Vulnerable Agéd.”
They have us pegged, those rascals, and know when a lot of us dodderers are listening.
So they trot out Ice-T, Detective Tutuola on “Law and Order,” to frighten us ancients with warnings about our cars breaking down: “…not if, but when.” After describing how many thousands it will cost us to fix our transmissions, electric windows, or engines, he says, “And the computer? Don’t get me started.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t!” I shout back. “But how come a millionaire like yourself is driving around in broken-down junkers that he can’t afford to fix, and doing ads for pay”
He never answers.
Speaking of millionaires doing grunt work for commercials, how about Tom Selleck, at his friendliest and most intimate best, shilling for reverse mortgages? It invariably makes me wonder if maybe he’s had bad luck at the track or his wife’s attorney’s office.
And that all-American elderly couple (the accents!) describing their pickle: “We thought we had enough savings for our retirement. But we suddenly realized…” Suddenly? Who was keeping an eye on it? How’d it sneak up on you? And has either of you read that contract all the way through?
It’s no wonder that, after listening to three or four (or more) of these commercials in a row, you might get a bit curmudgeonly. Not only do they prey on our finances; they also suggest nostrums to cure common diseases, especially of the late middle-aged.
Psoriatic arthritis? Gotcha covered! The cure works for most people (read at least just above 50%), and after a year, some (at least two) still have relief from it.
Side effects (I’m working on the list for each; it stimulates the mind) may include pain at the injection site, soreness, swelling of the hands or feet, vision problems, constipation or diarrhea, liver or kidney problems which may or not be fatal, memory loss, depression, or suicidal ideation.
I’ll give ‘em this: They got it almost right. But the ideation I experience when I’m listening to these lists isn’t suicidal, but homicidal.
What gripes me the most is when I call to speak to a “licensed insurance agent” and ask them why they always hang up when they learn my age. They ask my age. And hang up. Aargh!