Old Coot piles on. Published 12/17/2025 in Owego, ny papers

 The Old Coot found an ally.

By Merlin Lessler

A recent article by Dan Smith in the Volusia Hometown News caught my attention. In it, he realized he sounded like that grumpy old man in his neighborhood he hated as a kid, as he listed the things that irritate him: dances in the end zone when pro football players score a touchdown, fake butter on popcorn, men wearing too much jewelry, names he can’t pronounce or remember. His list went on and on, several dozen in total. I’m that grumpy old man too. Look up grumpy in a dictionary and you’ll see a picture of me.

It was a good start, but he left out a lot of things that bug me: stuff you are interested in buying, but it’s sealed in plastic and you can’t see what you are getting, stickers – on everything: apples, oranges, but the hardest to get off, are stuck in the worse possible place, like on the lens of a pair of glasses. The liar at the check in station who says the doctor will be right with you. You sit, and have no idea when you’ll be called. Meat and deli counters solved that issue 100 years ago, giving you a number. But, not modern day medical centers, in spite of having computers that could easily be used to reduce patient’s anxiety. My blood pressure is always high after sitting in a waiting room.  

Stretch jeans bug me. It just allows them to replace some of the cotton with a synthetic substance, probably derived from oil, like plastic bags. Stores that offer 50% off on a second item, but you don’t want a second item. So, as the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld might say, “No sale for you!” How about socks that are so tight they cut off your circulation and socks that are “one size fits all,” which means they don’t fit anyone properly. 

It's just wrong to advertise prescription drugs on TV. Just like it’s wrong for ambulance chasing lawyers to dominate the advertising landscape. Adds in general. Too many and everyplace: every App, every website, every streaming service. New Year's Eve celebrations, and worse, New Year's resolutions - nobody keeps them. Names for moons, every 28 days, a new, made up name. Naming winter storms, like the overzealous weather, people do with hurricanes. Weather reports dominate the news and make us focus on the disaster headed our way with DANGEROUS lightning. No longer called a simple thunder storm. They want us scared and tuned in.

My list is long, but I’ll cover it over the next year. That’s my new year’s resolution. For now, I’ll end with shoe laces that don’t stay tied, airplane seats for those of us in “the back of the bus,” glass bottles replaced with plastic, no free air at gas stations and crappy ones you pay for that hardly are up to the task. A rule against taunting in pro football. What’s wrong with the good old, “Na- na, na- na- na,” that my generation grew up using to celebrate, and rub it in, after scoring a touchdown. It’s a war out on the football field, and the insults exchanged that we can’t hear would make even a salty old sailor cringe.   

The Old Coot Splits in two. Published in Owego, NY 12-09-2025

 The Old Coot made a split decision.

By Merlin Lessler

I’ve been, or it seems like it, a Siamese twin for the last dozen years or so  – one-twin that grew into adulthood and old age, constantly saying, “I used to …..” or “I once could do…” and the like. The other one, trying to look ahead, not back. I’m in a struggle to separate the two. It’s a tricky process because we are joined at the head. It’s pulling away from those old brain cells from the past and moving to a new beginning. I should have done this ten years ago, but I’m a late bloomer.

 I’m just starting to get used to the separation. I limit my looking back, to the day I turned 80.  Not much going on since then to reminisce about with longing. A clean slate. I walk; I swim; I bike, do push-ups; wash the car and putter around in the yard. No real changes in my 80’s. Oh sure, I have a few ailments and physical limitations to put up with, but not bad, when I don’t compare myself to the memories now in the hands of my separated twin.

Life is happier when you get rid of a “I used to” focus. Sure, a few brain cells from my twin cling to me, but for the most part, they are fuzzy, weak and fading. It took all these years to learn to live in the “here and now.” My coffee-buddies in both New York and Florida are younger than me, except for 100 year-old Lester. Some, by a few years, others younger than three of my oldest daughters. This kind of daily interaction helps a lot.  

My memory lane trips still come out on their own, but only when I take pen (or keyboard) in hand. It’s not a conscious thing. It just happens. When I look at the output, I’m always surprised. It might come from my twin, but seems more likely to be produced by the subconscious in a process similar to the one that produces dreams. So, you still have to put up with the Old Coot. Sorry.     

 

My friend's sofa squeaks. Old Coot article # 1139. December 2, 2025

 The Old Coot’s friend is a squeaker.

By Merlin Lessler

My friend Mat, I won’t mention that his last name is Laba, recently bought a new sofa. Sofa’s cost a lot of money and you want it to be perfect. It wasn’t. It squeaked, every time he sat or moved on it He had the store pick it up and take it back to the store and take the squeaks out.

When they brought it back, it still squeaked. So, he told them to bring a brand new sofa. They did. Guess what? It squeaked. The company escalated his complaint and sent an expert to his house to figure out what was going on. She sat on it; it squeaked. She looked down and noticed the coasters under each leg it was resting on, to protect his new floor. She asked him to remove them. Then sat on it, no more squeaks. Much to Mat’s chagrin, it was the coasters that squeaked.

This isn’t a unique experience for Mat. It’s happened before. Several years ago, I wrote about a similar experience Mat had. I inadvertently mentioned that his last name was Laba then too. Anyhow, he asked his wife Linda, to have some copies made for him. When she brought them home he noticed that they hadn’t copied the back side of the originals. He was irked, to say the least. He stormed out of the house and demanded that they remake the copies and told them, “I’m not going to pay for it!” The poor clerk was frightened, let out a few squeaks (see how I tied that in to the sofa story) apologized profusely and immediately remade the copies, both sides this time.

When Mat got home and told Linda that he’d rectified the problem at the office supply store, Linda looked him dead in the eye, (I made that up; I  don’t know how she looked at him), and said, “I didn’t have the copies made at the office supply store;; I had them made at the screen printers shop. When you do business with Mat, be prepared to squeak.