Getting back on track. I hope...

 Three months ago I managed to land a slave-wage job. 
Thank god. It turns out that after fifty, even employers needing to fill no-pay, no-benefits positions don’t want to see your resume.  So I
threw myself into the mind-numbing, backbreaking work with enthusiasm, trying to match the unnerving perkiness of my much younger bosses and co-workers.  It seems to have worked and I’m still employed. Phew.
   Then last month I made the mistake of asking to be cross-trained
into the coffee shop as a barista.  Since I already knew how to make
cappuccinos and lattes, how hard could that be?  Well, apparently harder than I anticipated.  I never realized how
many variations of drinks could be requested.  I grew up in an age where you took your coffee with milk, cream or black (and sugar if you had to.)  None of this soy/half decaf/double shot/half pump sugar-free raspberry syrup/hold the foam/and could-you-blend-that-with-a- banana, please? nonsense. My aged brain is rebelling against the myriad of orders and bizarre words spewing forth from the
mouths of babes.  And to make  matters worse, those eleven year old customers are telling me exactly how to make their highfaluting 3,000 calorie dessert in a cup.  This is not beneficial to my already battered
ego.
    I have never backed down from a job.  I consider myself reasonably intelligent and able to learn new things. Hell, I went from zero computer knowledge to being able to track shipments,
calculate amortizations, and print nifty graphs in excel sheets in a few weeks when I was in the financial market.  But this new position has me stumped, bringing back my anxiety attacks to the point where I can’t sleep and am petrified to go into work.  (it’s probably not beneficial that I’m only on coffee-duty once a week as it gives me plenty of time to forget whatever I learned between shifts.  Then
again, I’m so relieved to be on the sales floor dealing with simple requests and giving directions that I don’t dare ask for more barista
practice)
   So is it true that after fifty the brain just slows down this
much? And is there a way to speed it up again?  I know there are computer programs designed to kick-start memory functions, but the concept of throwing more new detritus into my already crammed brain seems like a bad idea.  I don’t even have the energy or will to read or write novels these days. 
   Maybe, just maybe, one day this will all gel in my brain and I’ll wonder what it was that sent me into such a dither—God, I hope! But meanwhile, spare a smile and a little patience for the old broad in the apron desperately trying to decipher what, to you, seems a perfectly logical drink order.  At this stage, it’s still all Greek to me…