The audacity of some people, usually women, to automatically position you in their age bracket is something that had always annoyed Rina. Regardless of whether she witnessed this behavior being directed at others or herself. But she had never expected such rhetoric to come from her doctor. And she couldn’t decide if Dr. Aguirre had said something so affronting because she assumed a close-ish relationship with her patient, or because she didn’t feel that close to her at all, therefore was obliged to be as much of a bitch as possible.

Whatever the case, it was all Rina could do to prevent her tongue from bleeding as she bit down on it to keep from saying what she really felt in response to Dr. Aguirre’s comment. A comment that arose when Rina, much to her chagrin, realized that Dr. Aguirre had been recording what she was saying in English via Google so that she could translate it into Spanish. This despite the fact that the only reason Rina had chosen Dr. Aguirre to consult with for a referral to a dermatologist was because on her website, it listed English as one of the languages she spoke (along with Spanish and Catalan). This being of the utmost importance to Rina, who, despite having lived in Madrid for the past two years, had not learned enough Spanish to communicate effectively in a situation such as this one, where needing to express her medical concerns intelligibly was of high importance.

So now, not only did she feel duped by Dr. Aguirre because it seemed that she wasn’t fully understanding Rina, but also because Dr. Aguirre had recorded her without her knowledge or consent. It was one of those scenarios that, in spite of her best efforts to put the thought out of her mind, would make her think, “No one would ever try to pull this shit in the U.S.” She would then have to talk herself down by saying, “Yes, but you know what they would pull? Mass shootings, book bannings and rampant oppression in the name of ‘freedom.’” This was her “taking a deep breath” mantra, as it were…without actually taking a deep breath. And it was what enabled her to calmly respond to Dr. Aguirre regarding the instant translation of what she had just said into perfect Spanish. Rina’s succinct response being, “Oh. That’s creepy.”

Dr. Aguirre simpered at Rina and replied, “We are old, so it is creepy to us.”

That was when Rina’s last nerve had officially been frayed. The gall of this woman. A woman, who, just because she had access to Rina’s “real” age (which she never had to acknowledge or think about unless forced to by a bureaucratic or medical situation) made Dr. Aguirre assume something about her. Something false. Which was that Rina acted, felt or even looked her age. It was the latter category—physical appearance—that was always most offensive of all to Rina when a visibly much older woman tried to establish some kind of “familiarity” with her through their supposed “similar” age bracket.

As she sat there seething about this utterance, not confirming or denying anything regarding her age, her racing thoughts of indignation were interrupted by Dr. Aguirre, who felt obliged to add, “The young people, they don’t know any better. Any differently. So it doesn’t disturb them.”

The “it” being AI in general, or how easy it was to funnel information into the proverbial system and have it process whatever you told it for the purposes of its own nefarious ends. Rina couldn’t argue with that. She knew that she was of the last generation to remember a time before the internet had taken hold of every facet of existence. And, because of this, Dr. Aguirre had relegated Rina to being firmly in her camp—the “old person’s” camp. But it wasn’t true. Maybe she wasn’t the type to be seen taking in a Sabrina Carpenter concert (though she did listen to her music) or anything, but that didn’t launch her all the way into the stratosphere of Dr. Aguirre’s age bracket.

She wanted to explain this to her, but then thought, Why should I have to explain it? It should be fucking obvious. And then it bothered her that she was focusing so much energy on this, that it was vexing her this much when she knew that Dr. Aguirre was too coked out, so to speak, to know what she was saying. The insult she was hurtling. It was a classic case of “la-di-da, I’m just an old lady saying crazy shit.” And then Rina felt bad for thinking this, too, fearing the day when some younger person might think the same of her without Rina having any awareness whatsoever of it. But then, wasn’t that ultimately what made things unpleasant or uncomfortable for someone? Awareness? De facto, no awareness equaled no problem.

Deciding that Dr. Aguirre had no awareness of her insensitivity or the tailspin about aging/being perceived as older than she was that the “good doctor” had sent Rina on, she stifled her emotions long enough to get through the rest of the appointment. Hoping against hope that Dr. Aguirre wasn’t still recording her on Google Translate. But, evidently, that was out of her hands. For all she knew, Google now presumed she was some ancient lady based on what Dr. Aguirre was recording of their conversation. Further corroborated by Rina mentioning her skin concerns to la doctora, who referred her, unbeknownst to Rina, to a male doctor. Even though she had expressly mentioned she did not want that, as it made her ill-at-ease to have her body examined so thoroughly by a man, “clinically” or otherwise.

This didn’t seem to matter to Dr. Aguirre. Either that, or it simply didn’t register. By the time Rina realized her error once she got home and bothered to look at the “patient portal,” she was too mentally exhausted by her medical outing to endure communicating with Dr. Aguirre again. Worse still, when Rina looked up the doctor she had “auto” assigned to her, there was no mention of his ability to speak any language other than Spanish. What a fucking headache. Almost as much of a headache as being an “old person” in a society of youths that had no remembrance of the way it used to be, therefore no understanding of how fucked it presently was. All of which gave her a literal headache.

Looking through her various drawers and cabinets to see if she had any Nurofen leftover from her last physical health setback, Rina was somewhat shocked to find there was nothing. How could she be so ill-prepared? And then she answered herself that it was a further sign of her youth, being so careless with her stock of health and wellness supplies. This comforted her even as she was annoyed at having to pass through the Puerta del Sol to get to her pharmacy, shuffling past tourists taking photos in front of the Bear and the Strawberry Tree.

Once she had collected her Nurofen and left, retreating as quickly as possible back into the safety of her apartment, Rina popped two pills and downed them with some Vichy Catalán. She then went into her bedroom to lie down, resolving that she wouldn’t be seen by any dermatologist after all. She was young enough to resist going a bit longer before the damage on her skin truly solidified. And for this little revelation, Rina had only Dr. Aguirre to thank.