Column: Oldies not goldies

By Elizabeth Aleman

Tonight I stole my friend’s fortune cookie. It said, “Always be kind and loving to people older than you, you will soon be older, that’s true.” Aside from the rhyming, this fortune is stupid. Thankfully, it was my friend’s and therefore null and void to me. Mine actually said, “Everyone agrees you are the best.” Keeping that in mind, I have decided to blow the lid wide open on old people.

It seems that the elderly are consistently portrayed as cowering victims who are abused by rude young people. In reality, old people are mean. I, for one, am sick of biting my tongue and repeating, “It’s okay, they are going to die soon,” through gritted teeth.

Earlier this evening I was escorting my mousy DI associate to the corner gas station because she needed me to buy her some laxatives. A college kid asked an old man if he was in line, which, by the way, he wasn’t.

The old man mustered up the most disgusted expression his wrinkly old face could portray and said, “Well, I’m not standing here for my health!” There was a mysterious brown bag waiting at the counter for the old man, which I can only hope was packed to the brim with sorely needed mood elevators. He snatched it and stormed out in quite a huff.

This is not an isolated incident. On Valentine’s Day, fellow columnist Bridget Sharkey and I went to Wal-Mart to get our Valentine’s presents for our sweeties. I usually go to the one in Savoy, but Bridget – always attracted to the seedier things in life – took me to the one over by Market Place Mall. After we had dizzied ourselves by picking out glitter, doilies and red construction paper, our high spirits were crushed by a rather surly cashier.

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She wasn’t exactly old – she might have only been forty-five – but the years of hard living had made her withered and disgusting. When I slid my credit card in the scanner, top to bottom, she rolled her eyes and said, “the other way.” I misunderstood her and turned my card the other way, sliding it from top to bottom again.

She rolled her eyes so hard that she actually had to throw her head back and, almost yelling, repeated to me, “NO, the OTHER way.” Apparently she had wanted me to slide it bottom to top, but could only express it by being a guttersnipe.

I said, “Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot” in the most non-confrontational voice one can say such a statement. We argued back and forth for a minute and finally I said, “Don’t expect me to take your crap,” to which she answered, “Well, you don’t have to cuss at me.”

I had obviously offended her fragile sensibilities with my unwarranted use of the harshest four-letter word commonly used by second graders. I am not even sure if the word “crap” will be able to be printed here because it is so unseemly. Bridget and I turned to leave, and the cashier snarled under her breath the final insult: “College girls.” Ooooo dis, lady. I go to college, what a slur on my character.

Of course she wanted to make the incident about class difference, which is completely untrue. I am usually quite congenial to cashiers because I used to be one (contrary to popular belief I have worked a day in my life). Our confrontation was brought on because she was rude.

In essence some old people are angry because they always have the croup and gout and sometimes goiters, and they want us to be nice to them while they ruin our lives. I once saw an old person in a wheelchair with a bumper sticker that read, “My other ride is a cane.” If only all old people could be this good humored, I might not have to “cuss” them out.