Old People

In my 2+ years at the grocery store, I've had the (sometimes mis)fortune of meeting a lot of old people.  I'm aware that the world, as a whole, is an aging culture, as taught to me several years ago in my sociology class with one fantastic senior citizen in Mr. Chuck Leonard.  But for how a town that boasts a high school fed by multiple districts, there are a hell of a lot of old people here.

For some, the IGA is likely their only connection to the outside world.  My experience tells me that they just want to get out.

One in particular is a nice older lady.  For awhile she came in late at night after I'd sent the last checker home.  I'd seen her in a lot, and after a few times, she revealed to me that she'd lost her husband.  I don't remember any of the rest of the conversation, but figured this might have to do with the fact that some older folks come in every day of the week.

But once isn't enough for a particular old man, who in one shift I've seen come in at least twice and heard he was already there before I've gotten there.  He's a shy guy but he'll always flash his smile.  Despite coming in multiple times a day, he's got a wife.  So I really can't figure out why he's in there.  One would guess he might want to escape from her, but he usually ends up dialing the Missus for one reason or another.

The real inspiration for this post came from working Friday morning.  I'm going to backtrack and say that the night crowd I'm used to working with is, on the whole, a more youthful crowd, with the biggest exception being two people who work third shift at the nursing home.  One regularly buys a few items and never wants her receipt.  The other usually only buys candy, paid for with a crisply bent dollar or two, plus change from his leather zip-up wallet.

But I digress.

While nightside is by and large a more youthful crew, it does have its old people.  But not nearly as many in the morning.  And, in my experience, old people in the morning are grumpy and unwilling to help me or themselves.

I was stocking the shelves with items freshly delivered that morning.  I caught eyes with an old lady and thought, as a manager, I should smile at her and say hi.  She thought, as a customer/old lady, she would just glare back at me.  No smile, no wave, not even a blink.  I kept walking.

Later on I encountered an old man.  This particular one felt, despite the narrow aisles of the store, he was required to take up what little room there was with his cart while bent over looking for the cheapest can of soup.  Carrying something which required both arms and knowing I'd never make it through the sliver of empty space he left, I said, "Excuse me," which got him to slowly turn around and look at me.  I readjusted what I was carrying and had to move this man's cart for him.

I should probably use this point to stop and discuss old people driving - not long, but just enough.  Ambling with canes, heads cocked to the side and leaning on the cart just to stay on two legs, it is my belief that folks who can barely walk should not be behind the wheel of a 2,000-pound motor vehicle.  At least they're driving slow.

I started this post speaking positively of old people and I think I should end it that way, instead of just badmouthing them. 

This one particular old guy came into the store to get some water softener salt.  He came in, paid for it, and when the two workers were loading it up for him, he noticed a difference in what the sheet of paper said above the salt outside the store and the price it rang up at.  It took me awhile to figure out what he was getting at (old people have a weird way of asking for things.  One guy said "yeah, gimme a couple lottery tickets."  "I'm sorry, how many?"  "TWO!"  Just tell me two in the first place, old man.)

I finally figured it out and he goes, "I don't mean to be a bitch..." and I had to go back inside because I was laughing so hard at those words coming out of this guy's mouth. 

He was refunded his money and sent on his merry way.