When I'm Sixty-Four

When Sir James Paul wrote the lyrics to arguably his most identifiable song, he envisioned what it might be like in those golden years we all work five decades to enjoy. Growing old with his soul mate (clearly not Heather Mills), losing hair and having snot nosed rug rats on his arthritic knees, what could be more divine? What could be more wonderful? Well apparently a whole lot more.
I was brought up to be respectful and courteous, especially to my elders. I always held doors open, I always used the word ‘sir’ and I always told my grandma I liked the sweater she got me, well not anymore. I have had it. Old people better keep their heads up and brooches on tight cause that door is gonna smack you in the dentures next time I m leaving the bank. So are you wondering what is this vendetta I have with the silver haired punks runnin around causin a muck?? A firm lack of respect.
Respect is mutual and it is the fibre that has upheld our ignorant societies since someone put a frame around a cave painting. It has kept raging armies at a distance, nuclear bombs from exploding over our heads from about 1960-1990 and won Ms. Aretha Franklin two Grammy’s in 1968, so why do we forget about it when we are old? For an age demographic that demands it every time you walk past them with an iPod in your ears, they seem to forget that mutual part.
I understand their argument “I m old, my legs hurt” or “World War One was strenuous”, but I want to know what the hell that has to do with blindly merging with traffic and grunting at cashiers in ANY establishment on earth. Seriously, have you ever been standing in line at a store and an old lady just walks in front of you like you weren’t even there? And then she gets to the register and bitch’s for 10 minutes about the chill she caught in the frozen food section AND then counts out $36.87 in nickels? It happened to me two days ago at Price Chopper! That’s border line heroin junkie, it makes me vomit and it needs to stop. (Seriously if a heroin junkie did what I just described, I would fight him and so would you)
This case of entitlement Betty White and her cronies feel they deserve is a complete pile of Depends, just because you are old it doesn’t make it acceptable to treat age subordinates as well, subordinates. Our civilization (not a Sid Meier’s reference) needs to be stoked with a healthy dose of uneasy ‘hello’s and forced smiles to be cordial, because we are better than that... and there s only enough space for one Toronto after all. And lets be serious anyways, entitlement is like the Canadian Pension Plan, it won’t be there when we’re sixty-four.
So this is my personal perspective and I am not afraid to say it anymore, old people stink. They can’t drive, the colors they wear are hazardous to passing motorists and they’re over simplistic look on life should be a speech bubble in a Norman Rockwell picture. I am done with them. Well almost done...GRANDMA: I’m gonna need that receipt next Christmas, your sweaters suck!