Old Coot is delayed! This week's old coot article of 03/29/2023

 The Old Coot will reply in 10 seconds? I hope!

By Merlin Lessler

 There is a good thing going on in society; more and more old coots are communicating with text messages. It delays their interaction, like the 10-second delay built into live TV. It provides an opportunity to block inappropriate remarks. As texters, they have time to think before they press “send,” even though many text messages are littered with inappropriate auto-corrections that go unnoticed. Still, there is an opportunity to avoid insulting remarks, (and fix those unwanted auto-corrections). I’m not saying they take the time to do it. It’s one of those “lead a horse to water” things.

 It's a better world because of the smart phone. But, it doesn’t impede an old coot like me, who in person, blurts out whatever comes to mind. “Hey knucklehead, where’s the syrup for my pancakes?” OR “Are you really going to the prom with that big zit on your nose?” Oh, yes, my crowd needs a ten second delay when we open our mouths. We need a mask with a filter. Maybe we should be required to text, even when interacting in person. We’re so inept with those tiny keyboards, it would provide plenty of time to mull over what we’re about to blurt out. Our responses might become a little less thoughtless. Our mother’s tried to teach us to think before we spoke; our teachers did the same. And, it worked, for most of us. Until we became old coots. Then, the training and discipline disappeared.

 Mandatory texting for old coots would be a great boon for our wives too. They would be relieved of the embarrassment of standing by our side when we say to a perfect stranger, something like, “Hey lady, how do you get into a car with that big hat on your head?” It would keep down the senior divorce rate.

 Comments? Complaints? Send to -  mlessler7@gmail.com ((‘ll get back to you in ten seconds)

 

The old coot is a hack-writer? Owego Penny Saver and Tioga Courier Article of 03/22/2023

 The Old Coot says it’s all in a name.

By Merlin Lessler

 My friend Matt gave me this gem, for a Coot article, I call it “All in a Name.” He told me about a landscape planning meeting he was in. As he was explaining it to me, I interrupted, “So, the landscape guy was trying to find out your likes and dislikes?” – “Oh no,” He replied. “Not a landscape GUY, landscape ARCHITECT. Landscape guy = $20 per hour, Landscape architect = $400 per hour.” Knowing Matt, I’m sure he made the conversation as short as possible.

 This “All in a name” thing pervades every layer of society. Lawyer = $200 per hour, Attorney = $400 per hour.  Truck driver = $25 per hour, Transportation Specialist = $50 per hour. Plumber =$70 per hour, master plumber = $110 per hour. (These per-hour comparisons are approximations, dredged from the cobweb section of my brain and are not to be considered exact). But, that’s true of just about everything I write.  

 Most business enterprises follow an “all in a name” pecking order. Titles show distinctions commensurate with pay scales. But, not always. Sometime, titles are awarded instead giving someone a raise. You ask your boss for an increase in pay and walk out of their office with a new title, no raise, just an ego boost. My most annoying abuse of the all-in-a-name title game is the moniker some politicians claim for themselves – “Public Servant” -Wow! When I hear that one, my head spins, and brings up images from the scene in the Wizard of Oz movie where Toto tugs at the curtain while the wizard says, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” PUBLIC SERVANT?  I don’t think so, not with their salaries, pensions, medical coverage and other perks they certainly don’t want us to find out about. Doesn’t sound like SERVANT is an appropriate designation. Especially for the ones who hang on to the job for decades.

 Of course, my own situation carries a well-deserved designation. I’m not an author, nor a journalist nor a true columnist. I’m a hack-writer, or just a complaining old coot. Take your pick. Either is a skin I’m comfortable in.   

 Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot is broke. A 03/15/2023 Pennysaver Article

 The Old Coot is penniless?

By Merlin Lessler

 When was the last time you walked around in a store or across a parking lot and found a quarter, a dime, or a nickel? Oh, sure, there's an errant penny lying on the ground here and there. Hardly worth bending down to pick up anymore. Not like it used to be. A kid could get rich with found pennies. If you got your hands on two pennies when I was growing up, you could get a piece of Bazooka Bubble gum and a foot long licorice stick at the penny candy counter in a neighborhood store. If you found a soda bottle, you didn't need the two pennies. You could trade it in for 2 cents. If you found a prized, quart bottle, you got a nickel and that would buy you a full size Milky Way or Baby Ruth Bar. Today, those 5-cent “full size” candy bars are smaller, and cost well over a dollar.

 As a kid, I counted on those discarded bottles and lost coins. Not anymore. I throw the pennies in a box; when it’s full, I put them in a plastic bag and slip them in with things I take to the Open Door Mission. You just don't find coins laying on the ground these days. I know. I look. I ride my bike through empty parking lots most every day, on my way to coffee. Ten years ago, I usually found something on my journey. People don’t use cash; they use plastic. Bummer! Because, they don’t drop coins when fumbling around in their pocket, often for car keys. Keys, that are disappearing from common use as well. When I first had a credit card, it was a Mastercard. You could use it in most major chain stores. But, there was a catch; you had to buy at least twenty-five dollar’s worth of merchandise. Today, people use plastic to buy a single bottle of soda. When I was a young kid and couldn’t find loose change in the retail area near my house, I could always count on some at Saint John’s Church, several blocks away. I’d search row by row, until I came up with enough to buy a bag of penny candy, or on a good day, the twenty-five cent price of admission to see a movie. It never dawned on me that I was stealing from the church. I lived in a “finders keepers, losers weepers” world. I’m glad I’m not a kid today. I’d be broke. No penny candy, no Milky Ways, no free movies.

 Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot loves the word, ouch! Article # 1018 published March 8, 2023

 The Old Coot is a complainer.

By Merlin Lessler

 I walked down the hall in the condo we were staying at the other day; an old guy (younger than me but still, an old guy) came out of his door. As he was locking it, he turned to me and said, “Nice day, huh?” And it was, 75 degrees, a gentle breeze blowing off the ocean, sun shining below a blue sky with a few wispy clouds. I responded, “Yes it is. It will be a challenge for me to find something to complain about.” He said, “Why bother? Nobody will listen.” I countered, “It doesn’t matter; it just feels good to air it out.”

 Tossing out a complaint is just as therapeutic as yelling, “Ouch.” You bang your shin on the edge of a table; it hurts like heck! You let out a loud, “Ouch!” (Or two.) The pain starts to ebb. Ouch is one of those perfect words. Ow, or Ooh works for lesser injuries, but doesn’t have the pain easing properties as Ouch. It’s among the few words in the English Language that perfectly suits the reaction to a sudden, sharp pain. Oh sure, swearing can be used to relieve pain or frustration, but it's not my go- to. For the most part.   

 My father used to say, Sucker!” When we heard it, we could be sure a hammer missed the target and creamed his thumb or a wrench slipped off a nut, sending his knuckles into a sharp metal edge. We heard it a lot in the spring of 1949 when he decided to build a travel trailer in our garage. It slept four, had a kitchen table, an “ice” box and plenty of storage space. He got the idea, and the plans, from a Popular Mechanics Magazine. Our garage was soon filled with lumber, power tools, angle iron and other supplies. He filled the air with a plethora of, “Suckers!” He never swore, except for that. It was his Ouch!.

 Sucker was his; ouch is mine, as it is for many people. It makes the injury feel better, to a degree, and announces our suffering to anyone within listening distance. My complaint habit works in a similar way, clearing my angst. It may make everyone around me feel worse, but that’s their problem. They can say Ouch, to relieve the pain, or do some complaining of their own.

 Complaints? Pass them on to mlessler7@gmail.com – Ouch!

The Old Coot saves his hand. An Owego NY and environs article. 03/01/2023

 The Old Coot won’t shake on it.

By Merlin Lessler

 There are a lot of handshake bullies out there. You stick out your hand and find your fingers in a vice. The bully looks at you with one of those “gotcha” grins, and squeezes. You hear your knuckles crack, feel the joints buckle. You fight with everything you’ve got to hold back the tears.

 When he’s done crushing your hand, you don’t have enough strength to go through it again. Your hand needs a day to recover. So, you grin and bear it and put a note in your memory to be prepared the next time you run into him. It won’t work; the bully puts a picture of you holding back the tears in his memory. When you see him again and stick out your hand, ready for his maneuver, he doesn’t make a quick grab for your fingers, he ducks down and gives you a “friendly” punch in the gut, “Ha Ha, got cha again!” The only thing to do then, is to stomp down on his foot with everything you’ve got, and say, “Oops, sorry. I tripped.”

 This is why some guys don’t shake hands. Some younger guys hug, do a fist bump, a shoulder bump or a high five. Anything, to avoid getting trapped by a handshake bully. Old coots don’t do any of that stuff; it’s too complicated and we’re too uncoordinated – we’d miss the other guy’s fist in a fist bump and end up punching him in the upper arm – an attempt at a shoulder bump would find us staggering past the guy, headed for a spill  – a high five would end the same way and we don’t know how to hug. We step back, tip our hats or salute and say, “Howdy; good to see you Governor.” It makes us look like an idiot, but who cares? Handshake bullies don’t get us in their vice grip anymore.

 Comments? – Send to mlessler7@gmail.com