My first long-term job was on the front desk of an administrative office. It was a stepping-stone kind of job, which in a perfect world I would have moved up from almost immediately. It was a good place and I didn't want more than part-time work, as I was in the middle of working on my master's degree and simultaneously trying to knock off exams for my composition ARCT.
One day the watercooler conversation turned its attention on me, and the accounting assistant learned for the first time that I was in graduate school.
"I wouldn't have guessed you were in university," she said with a superior laugh. "I was thinking high school, maybe." I knew exactly what the comment implied: I've always been on
the gangly side of willowy, small-chested, deferential, quick to smile, eager to complete directives, and sporting
a kind of aged-emo style. In our largely big-boned office, I was like the runt of the litter.
But I'm in the camp that wants my years in this world respected.
People seem to think they are paying you a compliment by grossly underestimating your age. The implication is that you lack life experience, that you don't have adult responsibilities or worries, that you're not independent or successful by their measure. Look a little closer. Take a look at my eyes and you'll see a world of
aged pain and wisdom. Really look at my smile, and you'll see how it has
etched my skin. Look at my work, and you'll see years of higher
education and adult common sense.
If you really want to compliment someone, think about what you actually mean. What is it about the person that looks youthful? Pick a feature—maybe it's their smile, or the sparkle in their eyes, or (and you're walking on eggshells) their physical build—and if you still feel the need to verbalize your thoughts, try to spin it in a non-offensive way.
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