CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE OLD KIND

 

So I was driving home the other day (as is my God given right under the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms),  and when I went to turn left onto my street I noticed an elderly woman, who, by the looks of her, could have been one of the first people on the Ark, step unsteadily off the sidewalk and head towards the other side of the street, directly in front of me.  Not wanting to run her over (this could, after all, do costly damage to the front of the car), I decided to wait for her to cross because I didn't want to hasten her demise although, at the rate she was going, I'd have been doing her a favour.

Well, to say that she was moving slowly would be an extreme understatement.  At one point I wasn't sure if she was moving at all or if

(a)  she had gone into a coma-like trance and was unsure of her surroundings

(b)  she had actually died and rigor mortis had set in

(c)  she was trying to fart

(d)  she was trying to hold in a fart

(d)  she had just farted and was waiting for it to drift away

(d)  she was fucking with me because at that age you can just about do whatever you like.

Well, I sat there waiting and feeling my leg hairs growing, and, of course, cars started to accumulate behind me.  I thought of driving around her but I was afraid she might suddenly move and end up on the front of the car and I'd have to explain why I had a senior citizen as a hood ornament.  

I thought of getting out of the car, walking over to her, picking her up, carrying her across the street, and depositing her on the other side.  Then I thought I should get out of the car, go for a coffee, go shopping, go see a movie, learn Kung Fu, visit the jungles of Guatemala and then return in time to see her step onto the pavement.  But I sat there waiting - while my life and several other people's flashed before my eyes.  

And then I heard honking.  The car behind me was honking impatiently.  At first I ignored it because if I didn't, I was afraid I would go over to the car, lean in the window and strangle the driver with my bare hands.  So I continued to wait.

But then I got honked again.  And this time it was a sustained honk followed by several shorter ones.  So I turned around to see who was honking and, I swear to Jehovah and his one-legged turtle, Molly, it was an old geezer who could have been the father of the woman crossing the street.  He was ancient!  I couldn't believe my eyes!  I also couldn't believe my ears, throat, pelvis and large intestine.  

I ignored him for the same reason I was ignoring the old bag still crossing the street - I didn't want to be responsible for depositing someone at the pearly gates.  Although, to be honest, the only reason I was being so patient was that there were witnesses around and I knew I'd get caught.  

Well, the old bugger honked me again and this time I had had enough.  I got out of the car, walked back to him, gestured for him to roll down his window, leaned in and said "Will you knock it off, for fuck sake!"

He looked at me through glasses that had lenses thicker than the bottom of a coke bottle and, pointing an old, crooked finger in the wrong direction, said "Officer, that truck in front of me is stuck." I wanted to say "Your head is going to be stuck through your steering wheel if you don't get a grip" but, assuming my newfound role as a law enforcement officer, I said "License and registration, please".  

He feebly fumbled around in the glove compartment muttering "It's in here somewhere", and handed me a book titled 'Farting Tips For Seniors - How To Drop One In An Elevator'.  

I looked at him and thought that could be me one day (well, except I wouldn't be a man, obviously) and my heart softened and a tear rolled down my cheek and a sob welled up in my throat and with trembling fingers I handed him an old grocery receipt I had in my pocket and said "Here, there's twenty dollars.  Have a nice day."

By the time I returned to my car, the old woman had made it to the other side of the street and was asking a tree for directions.  I drove home and immediately wrote a letter to the Canadian government suggesting that as soon as someone turns 80, they should be fitted with wheels so that the rest of us can gently nudge them out of the way and get on with our lives.