It's not what you think. I don't hate old people because they drive too slow or because I got swarmed by a pack of mall walkers as I tried to make my way to the Gap. It's worse than that.
Twice in one week, I witnessed something horrible. On two separate occasions I saw an elderly person struggle to do the zipper up on their coats.
Ugh. I hate that. As they fumbled again and again and again, I just wanted to run over and do it for them. But that would have just made things worse.
If I was a more clever person I would invent the "old fogey coat". It would look like a regular coat but would have a voice activated zipper. On command, the insertion pin of the zipper would automatically connect to the retainer box (technical terms - I wiki-ed it). The zipper would then magically zip itself up, the old geezer/biddy holding the pull tab confidently as if they were the ones in control. The voice command could be one that they program in themselves. For example, when they are about to zip up they could casually say (to a friend or to themselves) "I better pick up some Geritol today". Then Bam! On the word Geritol, the zipper's interlocking teeth would glide together effortlessly and easily.
Once, many years ago, I saw an old person running (well shuffling very quickly) to catch a bus. They just about made it to the stop when the bus pulled away. The driver, too concerned with schedules, didn't care. I was on that bus. It was a "kill me now" moment, one that has been etched in my memory ever since.
I find heartbreaking moments like these really, really hard to shake off. They stick to me like Poligrip to dentures.
Perhaps I should channel this angst and go volunteer in a nursing home or something. Maybe someday. But maybe it would be too much to handle.
My very first post ever was about embracing old age and becoming an umbrella wielding old biddy with a penchant for curse words. I still aspire to this. But I worry. What if I can't tie up my plastic rain bonnet?
Twice in one week, I witnessed something horrible. On two separate occasions I saw an elderly person struggle to do the zipper up on their coats.
Ugh. I hate that. As they fumbled again and again and again, I just wanted to run over and do it for them. But that would have just made things worse.
If I was a more clever person I would invent the "old fogey coat". It would look like a regular coat but would have a voice activated zipper. On command, the insertion pin of the zipper would automatically connect to the retainer box (technical terms - I wiki-ed it). The zipper would then magically zip itself up, the old geezer/biddy holding the pull tab confidently as if they were the ones in control. The voice command could be one that they program in themselves. For example, when they are about to zip up they could casually say (to a friend or to themselves) "I better pick up some Geritol today". Then Bam! On the word Geritol, the zipper's interlocking teeth would glide together effortlessly and easily.
Once, many years ago, I saw an old person running (well shuffling very quickly) to catch a bus. They just about made it to the stop when the bus pulled away. The driver, too concerned with schedules, didn't care. I was on that bus. It was a "kill me now" moment, one that has been etched in my memory ever since.
I find heartbreaking moments like these really, really hard to shake off. They stick to me like Poligrip to dentures.
Perhaps I should channel this angst and go volunteer in a nursing home or something. Maybe someday. But maybe it would be too much to handle.
My very first post ever was about embracing old age and becoming an umbrella wielding old biddy with a penchant for curse words. I still aspire to this. But I worry. What if I can't tie up my plastic rain bonnet?
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