February 17, 2016 Article

Some old coot makes a scene in the store.

By Merlin Lessler

OK, here it goes. Another Old Coot, pet peeve! Well, it can’t really be called a “pet” peeve since it is article # 652, all of which were some sort of peeve. They can’t all be Pet. I’ll just call this Peeve #652. It takes place in line at a counter. A check out counter; an ordering counter; a merchandise return counter. Any counter where humans line up.

The line moves along fairly well, with only the usual number of glitches: people who wait for the clerk to announce the cost before digging around for their wallet (like it’s a big surprise they’re going to need it), or people who change their minds and ask the clerk to remove an item from the total, or people with an expired coupon and the clerk has to ring for the manager, or the tape on the cash register runs out and has to be replaced. None of these delays push my peeve button. I  expect them and have set my temperament on tolerance instead of crabby.

It’s OK for a while, but little by little the irritation builds up. Maybe the “wallet-seeker” takes extra time getting into their wallet, or the coupon challenged customer has more complications than an expired coupon; they are also trying to use it on the wrong size item. Then along comes the TALKER.

She tells the clerk she likes her haircut, “Where did you get it done?” The clerk is hooked! Flattery gets you a conversation. “Over at Shear Paradise,” she replies. “Katie did it.” A conversation is unleashed. The customer says, “I go by that shop all the time; I’ll have to give it a try.” “You should,” the clerk responds. “They are all excellent stylists.” - “It goes great with your face,” says the customer. “Thanks,” replies the clerk. “I used to have bangs, but this style changed me. I love it.” Bla, bla bla, on and on go the Talker and the clerk.

Meanwhile, her groceries remain on the conveyor belt while some old coot standing in line holding a gallon jug of milk in one hand and juggling a Snicker’s bar, a tub of ice-cream, a bottle of Dr Pepper and a bag of chips in the other. He wasn’t smart enough to grab a basket on the way in. Why bother? He just came in for milk. (I refer to myself in the third person when I do something stupid.)

Here’s more of the stupid part. The conversation with the clerk follows an ebb and flow pattern. Just when it appears to be coming to a close, it shoots off in a new direction. Finally, the old coot, three back from the TALKER begins to weaken; his hands are cold, turning blue and cramping up. A rumble sounds and then the volcano erupts, “GET A ROOM,” yells the old coot and then looks around, as though in wonder. Everyone else in line looks at him. They know who said it. They would applaud if they could do it without joining his team. Finally, the line moves forward. The old coot gets to unload his items on the counter. When the clerk looks up he says, “I like your haircut; where did you get it done?”

February 10, 2016 Article

The old coot gets fashion tips from the news reporters.

By Merlin Lessler

I don’t know if you’ve noticed it or not, but most of the on-scene, TV news reporters have expensive scarves draped around their necks. At least the ones reporting with a winter scene as a backdrop. It’s this copycat syndrome that gets me the most about the national media. Watch any network and you’ll see the same stories, reported the same way, by people that for the most part, belong on a movie set, not in a news room. Even the same “cute” videos are used as a sign off at the end of the broadcast. The sameness drives me nuts. It’s probably why I noticed the scarf phenomena.

It all started, this use of a costume by on-scene reporters, with Dan Rather. He’d trot off to some hick town where regular Americans live to report on a local disaster and cover up his suit with a safari jacket. It was designed to make him appear as one of the common people. Then came the jeans and tan chambray military shirts. All the networks now do it. So do the politicians when they’re on the stump, but that’s an issue for another day. 

This year, it’s scarves. But, not any scarf. Not a scarf like the one you’ll find around the scrawny neck of an old coot like me. No, these are pricey, designer scarves. Much longer than the ones that hang on my hall tree. Long enough to be tied in a politically correct knot. I grew up with scarves. We used them for warmth, draped around the back of our necks to keep the nape warm, or when it got colder, wrapped all the way around with one end thrown back over a shoulder. When the mercury dropped into the teens and the wind kicked up, we pulled them up over our faces.  Today’s scarves are more decorative than practical. Especially the news reporter version.

I’m so out of it; I had no idea how complicated scarf wearing had become. I thought you just threw it on and went out the door. But, I noticed that the scarves worn by TV news reporters were carefully arranged. That’s when I started my scarf education and discovered there are over 25 fashion correct ways to tie a scarf.

Twenty-five! Just when I thought life couldn’t get any more complicated. The first, and the one I use, is called the “Modern Loop.” Once around the neck, no knot at all. Why it’s called modern is beyond be; it should be called the Old Coot Loop, but then what do I know about fashion. There is one called the Bunny Ear. It’s a knot that would take me an hour to duplicate. I wasn’t good with scout knots either. It ends up with two bunny ears pointing down in front. The Turtle Neck is what you see most TV reporters wearing. The scarf is looped around the neck twice and fluffed up to look like a turtleneck sweater. One end has to be shorter than the other according to the scarf tying web site!

Here are some of the others: the Infinity Loop, the European Loop, the Celebrity Loop, the Waterfall, the Magic Trip and the Braid. Look close and you might spot one of these variations on the TV news. I wonder what it will be next year. Earmuffs?   

February 3, 2016 Article

The Old Coot moves in the slow lane.

By Merlin Lessler

A reader from Nichols called me a while back. A nice call, not one of those, “That thing you wrote about riding a bicycle facing traffic was stupid!” This guy was OK with what I had written and called to offer a suggestion for an article. He’d just come from the UHS, walk in facility on the Vestal Parkway across from SUNY Binghamton. His nose was red, crooked and puffy. Not from an illness, from walking into the automatic door. It opened too slowly. I immediately identified with his mishap. I have door problems too: buildings with six sets of double doors where only one door is unlocked, buildings with an outer and an inner door and you are confronted with a social dilemma (do you thank the person in front of you who held each door open or do you wait until after you get through the 2^nd door. Two thank-you’s or one? That’s the dilemma).  And, automatic doors of course; they open too slowly or too fast and worse of all, they make you think that all public doors will automatically open and you get banged up when you walk into one that doesn’t.

A slow opening, auto-door, like the one he encountered at UHS is a perfect example of why getting around gets trickier and trickier as you age. They are not as bad as revolving doors, which should have a warning posted on them saying, “No seniors allowed.” But back to the reader from Nichols problem, slow opening automatic doors. It’s an issue that can go either way. The opening speed is based on an architect’s assessment of how fast the people using it can walk. The designer has to pick between someone with a stride like Wilt the Stilt, or someone who creeps along with tiny baby steps, like Tim Conway when he played an old man on the Carol Burnett show. The UHS architect opted for the Tim Conway stride and my reader from Nichols ended up smashing his nose.

If you’re scratching your head at this point, wondering why someone would walk smack into one of these slow opening doors, you don’t understand old coots. Slow or fast, we aren’t paying attention; we’re fumbling in our wallets or pockets in a panic, to make sure we have our insurance cards and the list of questions we want to ask the doctor. And, even though we checked when we left the house and again when we got out of the car, we still check again when we get to the door and become distracted. I don’t know why we bother with the questions. The doctor gives us the same answer for every one, “You have to expect that at your age.”

I went to the UHS facility where the Nichols guy got his nose job, to see how slow the door really was. Unfortunately, it was perfectly timed for me. I didn’t realize how much my stride had slowed down until then. I doubt if I could beat Tim Conway in a race. I guess I should expect that at my age.