Elderly drivers cause much frustration

By Lauren Reilly
November 20, 2003

Cecelia Francisco

I’d have to say that one of my biggest fears is getting old. I don’t mean middle-aged, I talking about being really old, like I-can’t-wipe-my-own-ass old. Don’t get me wrong, they are useful for birthdays, Christmas and some other stuff in between, but for the most part, old people just bother me.

This, of course, excludes my own old people, because it would be sick for me to diss my own grandparents. My grandmom’s awesome. She thinks that I’m married and regularly sends me gigantic lacey granny panties for my “special night.” She’s kind of like Magda from “There’s Something About Mary” minus the nasty boobs and banana splits after sex. Actually, I’ve never seen my grandmom’s boobs, but I’d like to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I hate how they always have some sort of overwhelming odor that saturates everything they come in contact with. I guess part of it has to do with their dwindling senses, but still, it’s like they apply the entire bottle mothball perfume every time they have a chance.

I never had much against old people until I started driving. It’s like they don’t understand the concept of a speed limit. Hey, I’m not asking them to surpass the limit, maybe just drive within the vicinity of it. And why do they always drive huge-ass cars? It’s like once you turn 65 you have to buy a Buick or a Cadillac.

Since I have the worst luck, I always manage to get stuck behind the old person who is going the same place that I am and even when I try to take back roads to get around them, I still end up right where I started. Sometimes I tell myself that it’s some sort of divine intervention but I really think it’s God’s way of messing with me.

I don’t know about you, but where I live, old people take over the roads between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. To me, it seems like Havertown, Pa. has a surplus of old people, but there’s only one cemetery in the entire town, so maybe I’m just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

One time, I got stuck behind this old guy who’s going 20 mph on a road that allows the rest of the world to go 35 mph. First of all, I can’t even see the driver and by the vehicles’ erratic maneuvering, I could’ve believed that no one was driving if it weren’t for the fact that cars can’t drive themselves.

I noticed that his license plate displays the physically handicapped initials. Physically disabled? Is that your only excuse?

If it were up to me, your plate would say “really physically disabled” or maybe something like “just too freakin’ old.” I think there should be a system to measure the extent of physical disability because that license plate is a bit of an understatement.

In addition to the plate, this guy has two Florida bumper stickers. Come on, can you be a more stereotypical old person. I suppose you drink Ensure and play golf too. I hope he’s not trying to drive to Florida now because at this rate it’ll be July before he gets there and it’d be a shame for him to miss out on all the bingo tournaments.

When I finally pass him, all I can see are these two telescopes on his eyes. Seriously, his glasses were so thick that I could have seen Mars if I put them on. This is probably a great idea; magnify the suns’ rays by a 1000 and burn away whatever is left of his eyesight.

I’ll admit that I’m not the best driver there ever was, but please, once I start to really suck, throwaway my car keys. Hell, you can lock me away too because at this rate, I’ll be the bitchiest old lady ever.

<>i>Posted to the web by: Cecelia Francisco

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Lauren Reilly

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