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Driving Miss Crazy
Some say Man is like a wine; he grows more refined with the years, accumulating character and depth. A vintage Man is the sum of all his good years; a bottomless source of infinite wisdom and invaluable experience. Bow before his splendor and grandeur. Bask in his glory. Pay him the respect that befits him.
Sure… Man is like a wine. But not every motherfucker is Mr.Chateau Neuf de Pape, and doesn’t age as gracefully. Maybe because he was just a Box-o-Wine from Wal-Mart to begin with. What happens when you age that cheap wine 40 years or so? Exactly. It turns into a rancid disgusting vinegary mess and the packaging comes apart at the seams, making the sour content leak as if it is going out of style. Much like most old people do as their autumn years slide downhill towards inevitable, and mostly gruesome, death.
I never liked old people. Maybe it’s because my great grandmother was an evil witch who set kid-traps in her home with crystal bowls full of candy that pinged surprisingly loud throughout the house when you lifted the lid. At the first sound, she would come running, wooden spoon in hand and anger to match.
I think the Swedes would still do that if they could get away with it. Half the nursing homes in the country has the name “End Line Acres”, or something similar, to pay tribute to old savage ideas that worked wonders with the senile surplus. (As I revisit my country’s history I realize that Swedes are fucked in the head for the most part. Did I say that out loud? Somebody should nuke us out of our misery.)
Anyway, old people suck. They expire and leave a sour taste in your mouth while continuing to be a massive speed bump on your road to happiness.
Of course this only applies to everybody but my grandma. She’s all right. She’s old Mrs. Chateau Neuf de Pape and all the other old bastards in her park are Mr. and Mrs. Box-O-Wine. Throw them out.
Karma is a bitch anyway, since we’re now stuck chauffeuring this crazy old bat to Bingo Night, Church and her friend’s knitting circle. All the while she’s complaining about our driving. Maybe I should take her on a vacation trip to Sweden, show her the scenery. Might do us all some good.
"I promise, mommy! Soon you won't be... er... I mean HAVE
a pain in the ass anymore. Just a little farther up."
I’m scarred for life.
It’s true though; old people suck. They suck almost as much as kids do. “Respect your elders” my ass. They are just everyday regular dumbasses who happened to grow old. Whoppie-doo. Big fucking deal. Most of these people were pissing smart people off with their stupidity 40 years ago. Should I reward that by sucking up to them now that they’re old and even dumber than before? No, unless it is your own grandmother, you treat them like you would any other person. Flick them the finger in traffic and send their shopping carts flying down the aisle if they cut in front of you at the grocery store. Fuck them old bastards.
While living in Florida, this country’s elephant graveyard for old people, where they go to die, I interact with these old fucks on a daily basis. I try to avoid it as much as possible but sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and face the music. Why is that? Well, because Florida has come up with the brilliant idea that these old pricks should be kept active after they retire. So instead of letting them rot away in nursing homes, as they should, they put them to work, bagging groceries at the big grocery chains. Marvelous idea! I am standing there at the Speed Check Out; I pay with exact change, and get ready to rush out the doors since I am double parked in a handicap zone outside. The only problem is I have to wait for Marvin, 106 years old, to painstakingly slowly pack my seven items in seven different bags. Twenty-three minutes, a full diaper and a heart attack later he’s done and I am finally ready to go. It’s only once I’m home that I notice that Marvin packed his oxygen tank with my pork chops. Well, I guess the Marvinosaurus is now extinct. Rest in peace you old bastard. Never again shall you stand in the way of the young.
But never mind all the aggravation old people cause you during the walks of life, because there is so much more to get pissed off about once you stop walking and start driving.
We all know the deal. Old people can’t fucking drive because they are too fucking old. Simple logic. They suck at it. End of story. They slowly sail along the highways with their right blinker on for miles, oblivious to the world around them. Hear nothing, speak nothing, see nothing. Period. The fact that rush hour traffic turns into stand still parking lots is because there are three old ladies in Lincoln Town Cars at the very front of the pack, leading the way at the breakneck speed of 25 mph – side to side, like some Siamese Mummy Parade.
OK, if we know that, what are we going to do about it?
My grandmother-in-law just turned 88 and her license was thus about to expire. She needed to go down to DMV to have it renewed, ‘cause God forbid she doesn’t get to go out in the real world and get in people’s way.
The day before she went for her renewal our whole family built a magnificent altar to the Gods of Traffic out of speeding tickets and fuzzy mirror-dice. We stayed up all night, praying to them and to the Patron Saint of Motorists (St. Henry Ford), asking them all to grant us peace of mind by failing her big time. And could we please have a minted out Chevy Monte Carlo ’77, while they were at it? No? Nevermind…
After I bribed one of the inspectors, they agreed to take her out on the closed course for a road test instead of just renewing her license. I fucked up her mirrors and shit in her car before she got in so she couldn’t see anything behind her. Not that she ever looks in them anyway. After half an hour and five laps around the course they come back; my grandmother-in-law grinning like a mad person, and the inspector ashen faced and tight lipped. I run up to him, ready to pump more money into him as long as he fails her, and he just shakes his head. Don’t bother. He already failed her. She had 63 points taken off. That’s a LOT. That’s worse than our ten year old daughter, who has never driven a car, would score.
Thanking our lucky stars and the powers that be, we get ready to go home, thinking the nightmare is over. Florida got at least one crazy bitch off the street, (only another 50 until my wife will lose her license too, knock on wood America). No such luck. Apparently you can try any number of times until you get it right. These people didn’t take the opportunity to make this woman never drive again and run with it. No, instead of celebrating with French Silk Pie and lemonade, they gave her a new appointment for a new road test, which she will never pass, but that’s beside the point.
In Sweden, in the old days, they had it much easier. They used to push their old and feeble down steep cliffs, to relieve the community of the burden to feed and care for them. This way of dispensing with a social problem was called "End of the Line".
