Sympathy For The Devil

 The other day I ran into the store to grab something.  Just one thing.  Some cloves, if you must know.  I was making a ham and I like to stick cloves all over it until it looks like something you should not get too close to, like a porcupine,  Punks from the late 70's, or Courtney Love. I was hurrying because my ham was waiting.  Luckily the store was quite empty.

Now if you have been reading this blog for any length of time, as unlikely as that may be, you know that if things are looking up for me, there is going to be a hitch. As I looked around the store,  I noticed that besides the service staff, there were maybe 2-3 people other than myself there.  That meant that it was going to be easy peasy to get the cloves and get the hell out of there and be home in time for Dr. Phil.

But I didn't anticipate that one of the 2-3 people in the store would be an Old Person with a capital O and P, the kind that are horrifically and likely terminally bored and may have gone to the store out of sheer and absolute desperation.

There are a lot of problems that are age related. Old people really do have a lot of problems.  Just ask them.  I mean they are always hobbling around and groaning, breathing heavily, conning people into holding doors and carrying shit for them.

But of all the millions of problems old people could have, the one that is most often ignored is boredom.  I mean, really. Being old must be unbelievably dull.   Let's look at some things many people find exciting in life.  Then let's consider if old people would find these same things exciting or would even be physically able to participate in these activities.

NOTE:  I will check off the ones that old people might still be able to do, or be even mildly interested in.

Mountain climbing.
Surfing.
Dancing ✔  (you've seen the commercials for the retirement communities.)
Going to a rock concert.
Closing a bar and leaving with a black eye.
Poll Dancing
Staying up past 9:00 pm.
Driving a motorcycle.✔ (highly unlikely except if you're an old hippie/Hell's Angel, but maybe as a passenger.) 
Running a marathon.
Swimming ✔  Ok, technically, it wouldn't really be swimming, but maybe walking around the pool in a group, wearing a swim cap and a full coverage swim suit.
Having sex.✔ (only older women who are like Mrs. Roper.)
Camping/Hiking/Canoeing
Traveling✔ (mostly with senior groups.)
Sky diving
skiing
Scuba diving
Playing mind games with people ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔ ✔

Yes, if you are an old person,  the only thing that might save you from dying from boredom is probably something that doesn't require very much physical activity, so what does that leave us with?  Um, well, fuck all, really - no WAIT!  Yep,  MIND GAMES, and since someone once said this so it must be true - "the mind is a terrible thing to waste, " and I have a feeling that a hell of a lot of old people take this saying quite seriously.  So they use their twisted feeble little minds in the service of the devil.

As I followed The Old Lady, who we shall from now on refer to as Satan's Old Whore, I aged a few years ,  Dr. Phil was probably recapping what happened on yesterday's show, and a body that was rotting in a graveyard finally turned to dust.   Up ahead I saw the sign that read "Baking" and knew my aisle was coming up, albeit very very very very slowly, as I muttered something involving fucking love of, and Jesus, and a crutch.  As we approached my left turn, Satan's Old Whore decided to turn left as well,  without warning and walked, strolled, slithered ever so slowly down MY AISLE and didn't stop completely until she got to the spot right in front of the rack of spices.

There may have been enough room for both of us, but she shrewdly placed her gigantic shopping cart with exactly two small items in it, right next to her, and pushed it sideways against the shelving, eliminating any room for me to squeeze into, even for a peek.  So I pretended to occupy myself by reading the recipe on the back of a box of confectioners sugar.  And I waited.  And I waited.  And I waited as she ever so slowly picked up one jar of spice after another, over and over and over and over and over.  I watched as she looked at me out of the corner of her eye, watched her try to hide a tiny grin of satisfaction, knowing how much she was irritating me with her old lady slowness and indecision, knowing that she smiled smugly as I wheeled my carriage away from her and left the store, thinking less about cloves and old people, Satan and boredom, support stockings and a hell of a lot more about Merlot.