Instead of me just telling you how mean old people can be (not all old people just many old people) I’ll just do what I do best and tell a few stories. Once, about two years ago, I was shopping at my local grocers. I needed to know where the bags of ice were. There was nobody in the aisles, and nobody in the back and just one person working the register up front. The clerk was busy helping a couple sort through their food stamps when I got in line, patiently waiting my turn to ask where the bags of ice were. As I was waiting, hands folded, posture sturdy and straight, and a smile on my face, a very rude, Russian, older woman literally shoves me aside and stands in front of me. There was no mistaking that I was in line, for to the left of me was that beaten, worn, and black rubber conveyor belt that we’re all familiar with next to its stockpile of Do-Not-Cross red rubber bars, and to the right of me was a selection of mints, chocolate bars, beef-jerkey sticks, batteries and lighters. This babushka shoved me where there was no room, squeezed her bloated self between the conveyor counter and myself, and stepped ahead of me. When I told her that she cut in front of me, she told that she only had one bunch of flowers – as if her shortlist of purchases somehow translated into “I get to cut”. I told her that I had only nothing, showed her my empty hands, and told her to get behind me. It’s the arrogance of the elderly of which I speak. They demand and expect respect and honor from us, the younger generations. To this I completely 100% agree. However, a bitch is a bitch I don’t care how old she is, and if she shoves me into a rack full of (probably expired) chocolate snacks I’m not going to stand aside quietly. Just because she’s older doesn’t mean she’s smarter. Did she somehow manage to never encounter the word ‘manners’ during her century on this planet? Moving along… Old people are liars. Why are they liars? Because after all the time they’ve spent on this Earth, they know what people tend to fall for and what people tend to dismiss. Old people are good liars because they’ve been around long enough to study the rest of the populous. It’s just a matter of fact. They lie about age, coupons, discounts, percentages, what people said, what one race did to another race, etc… The worst of it, however, is how they lie about their health. On top of all their lying, the elderly are, all of them, drama queens. Every last one of them. They don’t just get cut off when driving home, no. They’ll tell you a whole story about how a gang of young punks surrounded them and forced them off the road. Together, the drama and liar skills make for great fun – especially at weddings. Oh please, read on. At my wedding (and at my sister’s wedding, my cousins’ weddings, and any other celebratory event than involved the placement of floral centerpieces) the elderly, some of whom I knew and many of whom I didn’t, couldn’t be more blatant and obvious in their ‘look at me’ styled using of walkers, canes, and that little pole thing with wheels at the end that a couple of them dragged around with an oxygen tank mounted toward the bottom. I’m still surprised that the poor carpet beneath their collective dragged feet and rollers is still intact. Anyway, in they hobbled (you’ll understand why I’m making fun of them in a minute), but out they torpedoed – they’re canes held loosely in one hand a centerpiece cradled in the other, looking much like a football player attempting to plow through a relentless defense even if only to gain but one more yard. Where did that energy come from? Where did the osteoporosis go? All of a sudden both legs, and arms, and back work in fine form? Huh? They’re liars. They’re drama queens. And, I’m going to throw this on for good measure, they’re floral-kleptomaniacs too. So, all those background stories read and told, that brings me to my newest story – the story of today. It’s been nearly two months since my last haircut. Even though I’ve no job to look good at, no more family events to dress up for, and no ‘special evenings’ planned for the wife and I, I still like to maintain a somewhat decent look just in case I run into anyone that ever bullied me when I was a kid so I can look down on them and say, “See, my haircut looks new and fresh because I’m exuding the air of success whereas you look like a shmuck.” Lisa, the lovely wife I just mentioned, called ahead for me this morning to book an appointment for me to get a haircut at 1:40pm today. Little extra fact there that might see a bit unnecessary right now, however I have a sneaky feeling that it just might come in handy in, oh, the next paragraph. I arrived at SuperCuts at 1:39pm, the exact same time as some grey-haired beauty walked in. We arrived at the door at the same time, I opened it for her, she went in first, and I followed - seemingly innocent enough. She stepped up to a very busy woman behind the counter and asked if she could have a “blow dry and styling”. The young lady started flipping through the appointment book looking for an open slot. While she was flipping through, the young lady looked up to me and asked if I needed anything. “Just a haircut thanks,” I said, “I have a 1:40 appointment.” Seeing that what I said was true, a stylist behind her snapped to life and motioned for me to come on over to his chair. Seeing this the old bat was outraged, “What!? You should let me go,” she tells me. “But I have an appointment for right now.” “Just let me go ahead of you. It won’t be that long.” “Then what was the purpose behind the appointment?” “THIS PLACE IS RIDICULOUS!” she said as she stormed out. I think she tried to slam the glass door, but her weakness due to her age (and the hydraulics towards the top of the door that prevents it from slamming) stood in her way from making as dramatic an exit as I’m sure she hoped to achieve. The elderly. They’re old, they’re clever, they steal flowers. You probably think that I’m judging an entire age bracket simply from a few encounters. Well, yes and no – mostly yes, but at least I don’t wear diapers. |
