Officer Sweet and the Magic of Invisibility
How a carful of old ladies avoided a ticket
In a monochrome photo taken many years ago, I am standing outside a very old, white clapboard school building, arranged with other children in tiers on a wide staircase leading to the front door. It is the entire group shot for the Harold Grade School, circa 1961. I am wearing a handmade white organdy dress and pinafore with ruffly socks and black patent leather shoes because I have just been crowned princess for the school’s Halloween Carnival … and I have my hands over my eyes.
This was the time in my childhood when I was convinced that if I couldn’t see you, then you couldn’t see me either. I guess I was feeling over-exposed that day, having been made a princess and all. I had only to put my hands over my eyes and — abracadabra! — I was instantly invisible. It was a very handy form of magic.
And then one day I discovered that I didn’t even have to cover my eyes to become invisible. It happened naturally when I hit middle age. If you are a middle-aged (or older) woman, you may have noticed the same phenomenon. Younger people don’t see us when we walk down a street. Few of us are on TV or in movies or magazines. Clothing designers assume we don’t exist. Even L.L. Bean has abandoned us, now knitting up skimpy little sweaters in synthetic fibers that must be stretched across our sagging breasts, instead of their sturdy cotton cardigans of yore.
But, despite its occasional downfalls, invisibility can be an empowering experience. Older women can charge around doing pretty much whatever we want without being noticed.
It paid off for me a few years ago. I was traveling northward to a weekend getaway with my aging girlfriends when a member of the Indiana State Police noticed that my boat-sized Mercury Grand Marquis was doing 70 in 55 zone.
He whipped around in the middle of the road and came after me, lights flashing madly. I muttered a few obscenities and pulled over, rolling down my window and thinking fast.
Imagine his surprise when he approached an empty car!
It wasn’t really empty, of course.
But when Officer Sweet looked in the window, all he saw were three old women, so it might as well have been empty.
I figured as much and was ready for him. When he said, “Ma’am, I stopped you for your speed,” I just smiled and shouted, “Oh my god, I am so glad you stopped us! We are SO lost!”
And then I launched into a long string of “…and then we turned onto route 145, but it went two ways, so we turned around and tried to find 36, but I don’t think it goes this way and I don’t think we are ever going to get where we are going because it’s not even a real address — it’s just a bunch of numbers!”
That’s all it took to distract and redirect this fresh-faced young police officer. Well, that and my friend Lilith muttering ominously from the backseat, “It’s getting dark. It’s going to be dark soon. Then we’ll NEVER find it!”
Officer Sweet saw a carful of squishy bodies, graying hair, crochet supplies, and junk food. If we had been really visible to him, he might have noticed a few more interesting things. Eve and Lilith had been imbibing adult beverages on our journey northward and, as Eve was rummaging around in the glove box for my car registration, she was silently sliding empty beer bottles under her seat. The trunk was full of bourbon and peach brandy. I am certain there was an illegal substance in Lilith’s purse. And we were on our way to a cabin where we would plan a political act of civil disobedience.
But that was all invisible to Officer Sweet! After hearing my tale, he went to his patrol car, returned with a county road map, and pointed out our next three turns. Then he told me he was obliged to give me a warning. When I timidly asked, “Is there something I should do with this, Officer?” he just said, “Ma’am, it’s meaningless. I only had to do it so my superiors would know I am doing my job.”
By the time I finished telling him how lucky we were that he had pulled us over, I believe he was convinced that his job was not Officer of the Law, but Good Samaritan. I avoided a ticket and got good directions (we really were lost). I felt only a little guilty for our cackling as he escorted us to our first turn off the highway, pointing his young, muscle-bound arm out the cruiser’s window to make sure we didn’t miss it.
Was I manipulative with Officer Sweet? Yes.
Am I sorry? No.
The journey towards old age can also be a journey towards empowerment. I reckon I will accept the invisibility that comes with aging and see it for the valuable resource that it can be. Just imagine the handy magic that could happen if all women “of a certain age” were to join forces on an issue. We would become an invisible army that could take over the world!
And we wouldn’t even have to put our hands over our eyes to do it.
