Seniority: Senior survivors aren't playing a game

Senior survivors aren't playing a game

By SHEILA STOLL

I confess to having been sucked in by Survivors. I especially enjoy watching these previously healthy specimens of Homo greedius suffering from having been profligate with their rice supply. They are hungry. They have lean, hard, very tired bodies, and they long for Big Macs.

I watched them while I enjoyed Gorgonzola-stuffed ravioli in an excellent, lemony sausage sauce of my own devising. They were having two spoonfuls each of mushy rice, chased by an enticing bug or two.

It's good training for those the tribe boots out. Not having won the million dollars, they will have to learn to budget a fixed income.

I'd like to see a Real Survivors show. All the participants would have to be older than 60 and living on a fixed income. As producer, I would give them certain tests that would involve rewards. The grand prize would be free prescription drugs for life.

They would be isolated in a former Army barracks, privacy not being one of their options. They would have to deal with situations such as the air conditioning going out in August, a terminally limed-up hot water heater and one barely functional vehicle. Their meals would be dictated by their initial purchasing binge from their fixed budget. Do they go to the supermarket? Bargain clubs?

There are 12 of them, and they must make wise decisions about their resources, including the particular specialties of their members. Perhaps one is mechanically inclined. Another may be a whiz at preparing abundant meals that involve inexpensive root vegetables and advocates buying bouillon cubes to stretch their available food. One pushes exercise as a way to stay strong. Another believes in conserving personal strength for when it may be needed. He naps a lot, and snores.

It may turn out that the mechanical whiz has an abrasive personality and loathes rutabaga. (The tribe suspects that he has a secret supply of beef jerky.) There may be a woman who recommends expensive vitamin and herbal supplements, or others who think broccoli will provide the necessary vitamins.

Three toilets are available in the compound, and a limited amount of toilet paper. After two weeks, the women are ready to toss out the man who insists that they are profligate with the toilet tissue. He relieves himself in the vegetable garden; he claims doing so keeps rabbits from eating the harvest. The women think he is a contaminating factor, and they don't like him anyway.

There is one shower. He doesn't use it, but he does know how to fix a leaky water hose in the van with duct tape and hose clamps. He may be vital.

One phone call outside is permitted each day, one trip in the van each week. Factions arise about whether to use the phone to order Meals on Wheels or call Dial-a-Prayer. Some of the women figure the calls should be to Dial-a-Ride, so they can live without the fellow with body odor.

The tribe meets. The smelly guy goes. Mechanical ability isn't a good enough tradeoff for his aroma and attitude. They soon discover that Dial-a-Ride options must be divided among the guy who needs an adjustment for his pacemaker, the need to make a drugstore run, and two women who want to have their roots touched up. The latter group succeeds in commandeering two phone calls, one for hair coloring, one for Prozac delivery.

In reality, many seniors have to play Survivor every day. Challenges threaten the budget. Priorities must be addressed. Do I strip the budget for prescription medications? Do we get the brakes fixed on the car? Will I lose my teeth if I choose car repairs over the appointment with the periodontist?

This isn't a game, and it isn't entertaining. Quality of life comes slap up against survival for too many of us. Some of us prove to be amazingly strong and wise. Those of us who have made wrong decisions sometimes do not last.

- You can write to Sheila Stoll c/o Seniority, the Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg, FL 33731.