September 2024
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Sing
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The songs only appear in web mode
The songs only appear in web mode
You are not the sum of your struggles. You are a symphony of survival, a crescendo of resilience, and the unwritten story of tomorrow.
- Lindsay Wincherauk
- Lindsay Wincherauk
September 1, 2024
“Espresso, Ageism, and Isolation: The Life of a 64-Year-Old Barista
Imagine searching desperately for a job to keep a roof over your head. You land a position at a café—a beacon of hope, or so you believe.
Yet, soon enough, reality sets in that your coworkers are decades younger. It’s as if you’re stranded on an unwelcoming island. You’ve managed hotels, run bars, and led a company with thousands of employees—now you’re being instructed on vacuuming by someone whose life has barely begun.
Each day is a battle, not just with the tasks but the never-ending condescension. Despite bringing a wealth of experience, you’re stuck on the lowest rung, mocked by those whose knowledge pales compared to yours. They flash you smiles—only to veil whispers and criticism behind your back. They clique together, announcing you don’t belong.
In three months of work, He’s never been late. His attitude is exceptional. On the days He ‘opens,’ He shows up before 5 AM, ready to take on the day. Yet, there’s a fifty-ish coworker He feels a persistent chill from. She’s always late for the opening shift—everyone overlooks it, chalking it up to ‘her just being her.’
She’s got a physical ailment that makes walking difficult, so the first thing He does every morning when He works with her is fill the ice bin for her, though it’s her responsibility, not His. Despite His gesture, He’s overheard her telling a customer He’s an idiot and he doesn’t know what He’s doing—all because the customer deliberately complicated their order to get a discount.
He deals with this coworker’s venom by trying to find common ground, yet it eludes Him.
Her treatment can be summed up in two words: mean and rude. He’s overheard her complaining about Him at least three times—unaware that the fourth occurrence is looming by day’s end—as she turns others against Him in this toxic workplace—the most toxic He’s ever worked at.
Another coworker arrives, embracing the shift supervisor in front of Him. It’s not that He desires a hug, but He realizes the gesture is another reminder that He doesn’t belong and probably never will.
He’s tasked with engaging customers in conversation, only to be scolded for neglecting to wipe down the garbage bins--as He’s talking with customers in front of the customers. The customers feel for Him. He disengages and goes to wipe down the garbage bins. The customers say goodbye to only Him when they leave and thank Him for the conversation. This manager spoke to him so roughly once, to the point where another coworker told the manager, “You need to stop talking to Him that way.”
The hypocrisy is suffocating. While He’s conversing with patrons, one manager insists His goal is to interact with every customer who walks in the door, prompting a frustrated retort to quit reminding Him--while He’s conversing with patrons.
The most stinging affront?
The ageism. It lurks in every “I’m proud of you” from decades-younger coworkers every time they instruct Him on tasks He’s mastered long ago—attempting to rob Him of His uniqueness.
They don’t see Him as a seasoned individual; they see an outsider. His efforts in restocking, refilling, and covering for their youthful gaps go unnoticed, and His spirit wanes.
The coworker in her fifties (?) complains about Him incessantly (whispering)—He overhears it. He doesn’t belong.
He’s grateful for the job. But what’s the cost?
Each shift erodes His dignity, making Him question how much longer He can mask the pain in a place that prizes youthful compliance over seasoned wisdom.
Ageism isn’t just a term—it’s an ongoing battle. And He’s losing it despite offering what the café sorely lacks: a well-read master conversationalist with a trove of rich experiences.
He’s chatting with customers amidst laughter when a coworker angrily calls out His name. The patrons sense His discomfort as He flushes with humiliation.
The older coworker doesn’t thank Him for fetching ice; instead, she focuses on the one item overlooked in a fridge mere feet away from the one He stocked first thing in the morning and had made a point of telling His supervisor He couldn’t find one item in the refrigerator.
He was pulled aside by his manager after He overheard His coworker complain about him. He’s shown the oversight and wonders who pulls the strings: the nagging coworker or His supervisor, thinking, He had told his manager He couldn’t find the one item.
He stands alone.
He excels at engaging with customers far beyond the capacity of His peers—not that it matters—but He feels the sting of being ostracized and gossiped about by people who don’t respect His life’s journey.
Ageism at work.
He swallows His pride and realizes the GM is closer to them in age (He stands alone, misunderstood) than to Him, and the older coworker continues grumbling.
She never thanked Him for the ice.
It’s relentless—the disrespect, the belittling in a stream of condescension—in a place where His wisdom and insights hold no value, where customers are subjected to inane small talk that does nothing to connect or grow the business truly—youngsters who have been told to feign interest in what customers might be doing for the rest of the day. “Any plans for the rest of the day?” Please.
MANY. PEOPLE. HATE. SMALL. TALK.
Argue if you must.
He seeks refuge with friends, but they suggest applying for a different entry-level job—overlooking His struggles and the sting of repeated rejection, dismissing the reality of Him being 64. Never mind, they have nothing to do with the company they are suggesting he apply to.
Don’t misunderstand—He’s grateful for the gig.
But what’s the cost to His soul?
She never thanked Him for getting her ice.
But she didn’t hesitate to complain about a product in a fridge three feet from the one He stocked.
At the end of His workweek, His supervisor showed Him that He had failed (opening the refrigerator and adding to His humiliation by pointing to and showing Him the extra stock) because the coworker who complained about Him was just being who she is: mean and rude, or just ‘her being her.'
Yet, soon enough, reality sets in that your coworkers are decades younger. It’s as if you’re stranded on an unwelcoming island. You’ve managed hotels, run bars, and led a company with thousands of employees—now you’re being instructed on vacuuming by someone whose life has barely begun.
Each day is a battle, not just with the tasks but the never-ending condescension. Despite bringing a wealth of experience, you’re stuck on the lowest rung, mocked by those whose knowledge pales compared to yours. They flash you smiles—only to veil whispers and criticism behind your back. They clique together, announcing you don’t belong.
In three months of work, He’s never been late. His attitude is exceptional. On the days He ‘opens,’ He shows up before 5 AM, ready to take on the day. Yet, there’s a fifty-ish coworker He feels a persistent chill from. She’s always late for the opening shift—everyone overlooks it, chalking it up to ‘her just being her.’
She’s got a physical ailment that makes walking difficult, so the first thing He does every morning when He works with her is fill the ice bin for her, though it’s her responsibility, not His. Despite His gesture, He’s overheard her telling a customer He’s an idiot and he doesn’t know what He’s doing—all because the customer deliberately complicated their order to get a discount.
He deals with this coworker’s venom by trying to find common ground, yet it eludes Him.
Her treatment can be summed up in two words: mean and rude. He’s overheard her complaining about Him at least three times—unaware that the fourth occurrence is looming by day’s end—as she turns others against Him in this toxic workplace—the most toxic He’s ever worked at.
Another coworker arrives, embracing the shift supervisor in front of Him. It’s not that He desires a hug, but He realizes the gesture is another reminder that He doesn’t belong and probably never will.
He’s tasked with engaging customers in conversation, only to be scolded for neglecting to wipe down the garbage bins--as He’s talking with customers in front of the customers. The customers feel for Him. He disengages and goes to wipe down the garbage bins. The customers say goodbye to only Him when they leave and thank Him for the conversation. This manager spoke to him so roughly once, to the point where another coworker told the manager, “You need to stop talking to Him that way.”
The hypocrisy is suffocating. While He’s conversing with patrons, one manager insists His goal is to interact with every customer who walks in the door, prompting a frustrated retort to quit reminding Him--while He’s conversing with patrons.
The most stinging affront?
The ageism. It lurks in every “I’m proud of you” from decades-younger coworkers every time they instruct Him on tasks He’s mastered long ago—attempting to rob Him of His uniqueness.
They don’t see Him as a seasoned individual; they see an outsider. His efforts in restocking, refilling, and covering for their youthful gaps go unnoticed, and His spirit wanes.
The coworker in her fifties (?) complains about Him incessantly (whispering)—He overhears it. He doesn’t belong.
He’s grateful for the job. But what’s the cost?
Each shift erodes His dignity, making Him question how much longer He can mask the pain in a place that prizes youthful compliance over seasoned wisdom.
Ageism isn’t just a term—it’s an ongoing battle. And He’s losing it despite offering what the café sorely lacks: a well-read master conversationalist with a trove of rich experiences.
He’s chatting with customers amidst laughter when a coworker angrily calls out His name. The patrons sense His discomfort as He flushes with humiliation.
The older coworker doesn’t thank Him for fetching ice; instead, she focuses on the one item overlooked in a fridge mere feet away from the one He stocked first thing in the morning and had made a point of telling His supervisor He couldn’t find one item in the refrigerator.
He was pulled aside by his manager after He overheard His coworker complain about him. He’s shown the oversight and wonders who pulls the strings: the nagging coworker or His supervisor, thinking, He had told his manager He couldn’t find the one item.
He stands alone.
He excels at engaging with customers far beyond the capacity of His peers—not that it matters—but He feels the sting of being ostracized and gossiped about by people who don’t respect His life’s journey.
Ageism at work.
He swallows His pride and realizes the GM is closer to them in age (He stands alone, misunderstood) than to Him, and the older coworker continues grumbling.
She never thanked Him for the ice.
It’s relentless—the disrespect, the belittling in a stream of condescension—in a place where His wisdom and insights hold no value, where customers are subjected to inane small talk that does nothing to connect or grow the business truly—youngsters who have been told to feign interest in what customers might be doing for the rest of the day. “Any plans for the rest of the day?” Please.
MANY. PEOPLE. HATE. SMALL. TALK.
Argue if you must.
He seeks refuge with friends, but they suggest applying for a different entry-level job—overlooking His struggles and the sting of repeated rejection, dismissing the reality of Him being 64. Never mind, they have nothing to do with the company they are suggesting he apply to.
Don’t misunderstand—He’s grateful for the gig.
But what’s the cost to His soul?
She never thanked Him for getting her ice.
But she didn’t hesitate to complain about a product in a fridge three feet from the one He stocked.
At the end of His workweek, His supervisor showed Him that He had failed (opening the refrigerator and adding to His humiliation by pointing to and showing Him the extra stock) because the coworker who complained about Him was just being who she is: mean and rude, or just ‘her being her.'
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↓The Big Days↓
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There comes a point in life (maybe an age) where if we are not spending most of our time cultivating our passions and chasing our dreams—eventually, you'll become nothing more than small talk.
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September 1
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The last time Wincherauk applied for work, he said the internet didn’t exist.
“You’re right at age purgatory because for every menial [job] I’m overqualified for and everything that I’m qualified for, nobody’s going to [hire] somebody my age,” he said.
“And it doesn’t matter how hard you try. If no door opens, what happens?”
“You’re right at age purgatory because for every menial [job] I’m overqualified for and everything that I’m qualified for, nobody’s going to [hire] somebody my age,” he said.
“And it doesn’t matter how hard you try. If no door opens, what happens?”
I suspect our collective digital obsession has dulled our ability to listen and empathize truly.
- from "Real Life" a work in progress.
- from "Real Life" a work in progress.
Longest Pass
108TD Lindsay Wincherauk to Gord Bolstad, Edmonton Wildcats (PFC)...Sept 24, 1979
108TD Lindsay Wincherauk to Gord Bolstad, Edmonton Wildcats (PFC)...Sept 24, 1979
1978 National Champion Saskatoon Hilltops
"Boy in the Blue Hammock is worthy of classic status ... Groth's writing is extraordinary, heart-eviscerating and gripping..."
– Lindsay Wincherauk, author of Driving in Reverse
– Lindsay Wincherauk, author of Driving in Reverse
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Wincherauk’s Signature Blend: A Roaring River of Thought
Wincherauk’s pen is not merely a stream of consciousness but a roaring river—a torrent of unbridled imagination, racing, creating, and overflowing with brilliance. A rich fantasy land emerges within this powerful flow, interwoven with reality, where parallel universes collide. This collision brings readers a delicious blend of what is, what could be, and a vision of a better world—romantic fiction that transcends the ordinary.
Wincherauk’s narratives are infinite cascades of ideas draped in empathy, compassion, and profound understanding. It is an island of kindness in the vast ocean of literature. His work is not just writing; it is a symphony of thoughts, a harmonious blend that sings to the soul, making the world a better place, one page at a time.
Wincherauk’s pen is not merely a stream of consciousness but a roaring river—a torrent of unbridled imagination, racing, creating, and overflowing with brilliance. A rich fantasy land emerges within this powerful flow, interwoven with reality, where parallel universes collide. This collision brings readers a delicious blend of what is, what could be, and a vision of a better world—romantic fiction that transcends the ordinary.
Wincherauk’s narratives are infinite cascades of ideas draped in empathy, compassion, and profound understanding. It is an island of kindness in the vast ocean of literature. His work is not just writing; it is a symphony of thoughts, a harmonious blend that sings to the soul, making the world a better place, one page at a time.
Lindsay-The Memoir + Glue + Real Life + The Stairs + Prose + Humans' Bistro + Plus 15 + Abe +
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Music Bullpen
178 Songs in Waiting
(59 x 3) +1
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