BY SUZI SCHULTZ GOLD
I was playing pickleball with an eclectic group of adults who crossed the spectrum of ages and abilities. We met in a beginning adult education class called Pickleball Basics. The group was social and, for the more athletic, pickleball checked the recommended “exercise” box.
After a morning of dinks and drop shots, winners and losers, Melinda proposed we collect money “for a gift card to DoorDash” for a player having surgery. “Just Venmo me whatever you want to contribute,” she says.
Venmo? The money wasn’t an issue, but I asked, “Doesn’t anybody write checks anymore?” She responded that I could give her cash the next game day. I felt past my expiration date, like moldy cheese that had overstayed its refrigerator life. I emailed, “I am a Venmo virgin. What do I do?”
She sent me directions. I downloaded the “app”—a word now in my updated vocabulary—and murmured a few swear words. I resisted calling my daughter for help. I was determined to conquer this. My blood pressure returned to normal when I received the message: “You have paid.”
A month later I received another request for donations for a sick friend. Flowers would brighten her day, the email noted. I was happy to participate. Then came the direction, “Just Zelle me.” Seriously? I wanted to respond, “Doesn’t anybody write checks anymore?” But that was too embarrassing. I Googled, “How to use Zelle.”
After logging into my bank, I followed the instructions. I was anxious. I didn’t want to send money to someone in Nairobi. What if I sent it to the wrong person? I decided to go for it, rationalizing that ‘someone in Nairobi might need a lift even more than my ailing friend.’ I took a breath and clicked SEND.
With ambitions of becoming a techie, I registered for a computer class at the local high school. I want to create a blog for older adults who share my frustration with keeping current in our rapidly evolving technical world. The class was comprised of business owners and entrepreneurs—most young enough to be my children.
In the first 20 minutes of class, I was 30 minutes behind. The instructor barreled through the lecture, moving the cursor on the large screen like an Energizer Bunny. He incorporated a whole new vocabulary as I fumbled around: Figma, Plug-ins, widgets, domain, IconScout. I nodded through the next two hours, though the total evening was lost in translation.
Last Thursday, the weekly ad arrived from our local grocery store. My favorite Minute Maid sugar-free lemonade was on sale! This is my nightly go-to cocktail. I drove to the store and loaded my basket with every bottle of lemonade in the cooler. Feeling smart—I was saving enough for a Grande at Starbuck’s—I began to scan each bottle at self-checkout. WAIT! The price shown on the screen was the regular price.
Noticing my confusion an employee asked if I had clipped the digital coupon. Huh? Please translate. After downloading the store app she gave me a lesson in clipping a coupon—no scissors needed—into my “Just-4-You” digital purse.
I wonder who needs a real wallet anymore. They are outdated. Forget about giving one as a graduation gift full of green stuff. Today’s kids wouldn’t know what to do with it. Just send the gift by Venmo or Zelle—no Hallmark card required.
The other day I stopped at Target for a few items. I got in line behind a smiling woman about my age. As we waited, she began a friendly chat. Her basket was full, and I considered moving to another line. I was eager to get home but, admittedly, was enjoying our conversation.
Finally, my new friend was next in line and began to unload her items. One by one, in achingly slow motion, she placed each item on the conveyor belt. On and on until finally, the basket was empty. Could this count toward her 30 minutes of daily exercise recommended by AARP? It took forever. I was getting impatient and more annoyed by the minute.
The cashier totaled the bill, “That will be $67.59.”
That’s when I saw her reach into her purse.
And just like that, I discovered who still writes checks these days.
Suzi Schultz Gold is the former marketing director for MCCS Marine Corps Air Station Miramar. After decades of raising children and pursuing a meaningful career, she’s discovered the joy of writing narrative essays in retirement. She published her first memoir, Look at the Moon, in 2021.