Jonathan goldstein
‘Young people are the future and they are here to replace me. And so, wisely, I fear them’
I’ve recently begun a new job at a startup podcast company. In the tradition of great startups past, it’s housed in an industrial loft that has the look of a horror movie set — dangling bare bulbs, exposed pipes and, in the washroom, single-ply toilet paper. On a good day, the office smells like garbage; on a bad day, it smells, rather curiously, of cheese. Possibly a kind made from rat milk.
The place is also lousy with young people and on a bad day, I feel like Creed, the old man from The Office; but on a good day, I feel like I’m taking a chance on something new — keeping young. So, to summarize: not being afraid to smell bad things instead of, say, that splendid CBC carpeting, keeps one young.
Fortunately for me, I’m not a gymnast, energy drink branding guru or member of any other profession that favours youth. As a broadcaster, all I need do is stay away from unfiltered cigarettes and friends with whom I tend to get into screaming matches, and I can remain young-sounding forever. Even when I’m being wheeled into the studio in, say, an iron lung I’ll have a fair chance of maintaining the golden pipes of a man seven-tenths my age.
Just the same, change at 46 is scary, and we Goldsteins are not built for it. My father remained a school teacher for most of his life and his father barbered — from what I understand, talentlessly and unhappily — for most of his.
Which is to say, they had job security. There is no security for a man surrounded by young media people. They communicate using apps with names I can’t pronounce and use emojis for emotions I’ve never had. Young people are the future — iOS 100 — and they are here to replace me. And so, wisely, I fear them. When I interact with the office intern, I can’t help thinking about how she’ll one day be my boss. Lucky for me, I lean toward deference in all my interactions anyway. I refer to the 14-year-old goth girl who makes me coffee at her father’s dépanneur as “ma’am.” I generally tend to think everyone’s my age. Unless they look 12. Which usually means they’re 30.
On a bad day I feel like I should be shoved off to sea on an ice floe; but on a good day, I consider the sense of comfort that being around older people affords young people. I remember as a young man feeling somehow comforted and even protected by the presence of older people. Maybe it made me feel like someone was minding the store, like someone would catch me if I fell. Maybe I just felt like I had a bulwark between myself and death.
There’s power in being the “old guy at the office.” As well as being a death shield, I represent the importance of endurance and perseverance, a reminder to the new generation that they’re a part of a longer tradition. I just hope no one thinks that the odd odour around here is from me and my old man smell.