August 13, 2014 Article

The Old Coot reveals a secret.

By Merlin Lessler

One of the burning questions across the country is, “What do old coots talk about when no one else is around?” It’s a well-guarded secret, but in the spirit of Edward Snowden’s release of the secret files at the N.S.A. I’ve decided it’s time to let the world in on the “old coot conversations.”

Old coots don’t talk about religion or politics. They learned those subjects are taboo from years of experience and conversations that ended in arguments, fistfights and loss of friendships. Besides, people believe what they believe and trying to talk them out of it is futile. Eventually, you learn this and keep your mouth shut.

Old coots talk about four things: ailments - how old we are - who dies - and what was that guy’s name. Ailments are an everyday topic. “My neck hurts. I can’t turn it to the right today.” – “My knee has been sore for a week.” – “ I had a leg cramp in the middle of the night, jumped out of bed to kick it out, stepped on the cat and sprained my wrist when I fell.” These are conversations I call “ailments lite.” Nothing serious, just common, everyday things that happen to old coots. It’s a way of finding out how serious something might be. You throw it out there in hopes that one of the group will say, “I had that. It goes away after a week or so.” Or, it could go the other way, “Get to the doctor as soon as you can. Charlie had the same thing and let it go. “May he rest in peace.” Us old guys know. As a group we’ve had everything and are better equipped than an emergency room at figuring out what you have and how to proceed. It’s old coot triage.

How old we are - is one of our favorite topics. We can’t talk about it enough. We just can’t believe it! A couple of years ago we were complaining about turning thirty and now we’re sitting around in clothes older than that, not believing we’ve been retired for 10, 20, or 30 years. We also do it to fish for compliments. A guy will say, “I’m 68!” We’ll say, “Wow, you don’t look a day over fifty.” And, hope he’ll do the same when we tell him we’re seventy-one. We know it’s a lie, but it still feels good to hear it.

Who died - is always coming up. My crowd is in that phase of life. “John Doe died last week,” one of us will report. Then the discussion ensues to find a reason why he left the building so early and why we won’t do the same. “Did he still smoke?” – “He never did lose that beer gut like his doctor told him to.” – “I told him, and told him, he needed to get out and walk more, move around.” We loved John Doe, but still, we have to figure out that it’s his fault and we are exempt from his fate.

What’s his name -  doesn’t usually start out to be a topic in and of itself. It’s an offshoot from one of the three other topics. “Joe what’s his name had that sore neck thing you have. You know, the guy who used to live over by the guy from IBM next to the drug store. The conversation just skipped from one name to three. In trying to get it resolved, several more nameless people pop into the conversation. When it reaches a fever pitch we call it a day. Our brains over heat. We take our stiff necks, sore knees and sprained wrists and go home. The rest of the day is spent racking our brains to come up with one of the missing person’s names so we can call or text the other guys and let them know we’re not as senile as they are. If we could only remember where we put the phone!