Tuesday, January 30, 2007

The Dichotomy of Oldness

Everyone’s pretty familiar with how badly the elderly drive automobiles. Seems once you hit 60 years old and get that AARP card, you have to drive 15mph under the speed limit, you can’t use your turn signals, and you have the freedom to weave as far as two car lengths into any lane you choose to at any time.

Of, course, the lack of zip in their morning commute is explainable. They’re retired. They don’t have a job to get to, so they have no need to rush.

Which begs the questions: why the FUCK are they up so goddamn early, and why the FUCK must they clog up MY highway in the morning, when I have somewhere to be and I’m fifteen minutes late because Johnny Geriatric is doing 20 in a 65?!

(Release of steam. Calm restored.)

(Release of gas. Whoops, too calm! Awkward giggle.)

But lo, I have discovered something unbelievably wicked. When these “elderly” people want to rush, they can. It’s a choice, not some precondition of old age.

That’s right, I said it: they’re decrepit old liars.

Witness the line at a McDonald’s at eight in the morning. The line has about four people in it, then ME, and then a Little Old Lady (L.O.L.), I’ll say around the 70-75 zone, in a little beige overcoat and one of those plastic hair-net thingies that are supposed to protect from the rain (it wasn’t raining), but just end up making you look like a homeless person.

The clerk, a shining young man of 16 or 17, sporting a glorious spread of acne and no-I’ve-never-been-laid-I’m-saving-myself-for-Queen-Amidala-itis, was doing a fair job taking orders and gathering food.

But L.O.L., well, she was only there for coffee, so, of course, felt she was entitled to walk past everyone in line and tell the clerk that, yes, “All I want is a coffee.”

The clerk told her that she’d have to wait her turn. To which she not-so-calmly replied, “But all I want is coffee!” There was a silent universal agreement throughout the line, and we let crazy bitch go ahead of us. Almost exactly three seconds later:

“There are no creamers!”

Now, in that three seconds, L.O.L. had zoomed across the restaurant to where the creamers were, and come all the way back. I was amazed at her quick footedness. Perhaps the freshly squeegeed floors had added to her quickness, but either way, for a gnarled old hag, bitch could move.

As Zits (The Wonder Geek) disappeared into the back, further lengthening everyone's stay in our lovely line, L.O.L. stood at the counter, tapping her foot loudly against the floor, and doing that old person staple, the pronounced impatient sigh... every 2 seconds.

What a c-word.

I mean, we let her cut a fairly substantial line, then she has the AUDACITY to be impatient and bitter, feening for her cup of joe like a fuckin’ crack addict.

Therefore, I have deduced that Old People, when they want to, can move as fast and be as selfish as the younger generation can.

They just cover it up with candy, being nice to babies, and that Preparation H / baby powder / oncoming death smell.

Moral of the story:

That douchebag of an old fart doing 10mph and swerving to and fro in front of you on the highway?

He’s doing it on purpose. Feel free to bump him into the nearest tree.

Hugs and Handjobs,



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