Escape from Century Village

“Do they make the old people live there?”

When he first saw Century Village a Russian visitor who had never been to the United States before was incredulous, “Do they make the old people live here?” he asked.  Separate housing for the elderly is unheard of in Russia.

No one made me live there but I often felt someone must have, because I hate gated communities and I never wanted to live in an old people ghetto.  I think it’s unnatural to separate people by age—it leads to young people seeing us as a group to be avoided.

In my case I think it was my mother’s revenge.   I’d been so disdainful of the place when she and my dad moved there in the 70s that maybe she—or her spirit-- wanted to show me it wasn’t so bad, or punish me for being such a snot nose. 

Actually, it was that bad. 

Coming in and out of Century village always reminded me of going through the gates at Hudson Correctional, the minimum-security prison where I taught years ago.  The only difference was I didn’t have to leave my weapons at the gate.  

 When people tried to visit me they had to navigate a maze-like layout of huge institutional buildings which all looked the same, challenging the most directionally adept.   Some friends simply refused to visit—I had to meet them somewhere else. 

 In fact, gated and 55+ communities are what I hate most about Florida.   Since 55+ communities are cheaper, it’s very tempting to move to one of them if you’re old, especially since they often boast tons of “amenities,” i.e. stuff to do, which everyone but me takes advantage of.   I tried to avoid the cavernous clubhouse where the amenities took place, with its long halls and huge lobbies which exhausted me to look at much less navigate.

 I kept swearing I would go to an exercise class, but when I tried chair yoga the chair was so uncomfortable my back hurt after the class.  I asked the teacher if I could bring my own chair, or bring one in from another room but she got all flustered and said she’d have to ask permission of the activities director.  Having to get permission to switch a chair was so reminiscent of junior high school that I never went back.   

The amenities I would have been interested in, such as a dining room with decent meals, rental scooters or tricycles, rides to and from the doctor, cleaning or caretaking when needed, were not available.  There are busses which you can take to the clubhouse or stores, but few shaded bus stops.  Sitting in the hot sun waiting for a bus in the boiling heat seems less like a convenience than a punishment for not being able to drive.

 It seems cruel to throw thousands of old people together and offer them nothing but recreation. I was stunned during the last hurricane when the clubhouse closed, the administration left, and told us residents, you’re on your own.    I remembered how when my mom got sick her friends couldn’t help her because they were as old as she was.   I had to hire a live-in aide for her.   If you need help you’re supposed to move to assisted living—which is really depressing—and extremely expensive.

The concept itself is the problem.  55+ communities are  for “active” seniors.  Unfortunately, if you live long enough you are unlikely to stay active.   At least in an all-ages community there’s hope that a neighbor might be young enough to carry your groceries or help you get up if you fall.   Or there’s a teenager who might want to walk your dog.

Which brings up another cruelty.   Many 55+ communities bar pets, despite the fact that pets help lonely old people stay healthy—there’s clinical proof.  You are forced to get an “emotional service animal” letter from a doctor—or a phony one online—to have a cat or dog.  An old couple in my building was thrown out because they had a little dog and weren’t savvy enough to figure out the emotional service animal ploy.    

HOA’s (Homeowners Associations) are generally power-hungry wherever you live, but in Century Village you are totally at the mercy of your building president.   My building president, Victor, had a thick Slavic accent and probably enforced Judenrein in his native Ukraine, or wherever he was from.  He’d knock on my door at weird hours and lob accusations at me—like throwing junk mail in the trash can in the laundry room, leaving a wheeled bag outside my door overnight, parking over the line of my parking space, and other high crimes and misdemeanors.   Finally, I wrote him a letter threatening to sue him for harassment.  He complained about me to Century village management and my landlord but stopped bothering me.  I was very happy to never see his sour face again.

Then there were the cliquey Canadians.    Century Village is half Canadian owned, and despite their reputation for politeness, Canadians are not particularly friendly to their brethren South of the border—the Canadian border.   Many don’t speak English and those who do are unlikely to invite you over for Poutine or Montreal smoked meat (which might be a good thing—Canadians aren’t known for their cuisine).   The Canadians in my building--now that they’re vaccinated--got together for happy hour in front of the building at the picnic table every day and eat and drink and schmooze.  I envied them.  They reminded me of what I was missing at Century Village—and in life.  My own happy hour tribe.

So in the hallowed New Agey tradition of manifesting what you want, I posted on a local Facebook group that I dreamed about an affordable apartment on a lake and miraculously, the perfect place appeared-- up the road from Century Village.  The one amenity Century Village had that I DID appreciate I got to keep—being near the beach. 

I still can’t believe I’m living in a small, pretty community with a lake, no gates and neighbors under 50. 

Somehow, miraculously, I’ve escaped from Century Village.

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