It isn’t mean spiritedness. It isn’t jealousy. It certainly isn’t fear.
I have reached the age myself where the constant drip-drip-drip of callous customer service, aggressive driving, and entitled young(er) people have worn a jagged hole in my psyche. And my patience.
Decades of angst, starting out slowly and then building year by year, rudeness by rudeness, results in surliness. A generation of cantankerous baby boomers who each come to an identifiable instant when they aren’t going to take it anymore.
How much finger-swiping across glass screens should I be expected to silently endure before I crack? I’m sitting here next to you, or do I need to go to the next room and text you to get your attention?
Since when have businesses tasked the already-overburdened cashier with answering the phone, too? And that phone call takes precedence over customers, every time. Let’s not get started on how I get my change back from that cashier.
If I dare go out on the road I am subject to the drivers who, as Jerry Seinfeld so aptly described, believe they bought all the space in FRONT of their car when they drove it off the lot. They tailgate even in heavy, grid-locked traffic, as they aggressively covet the space MY car is in and then the next one and the next one. Until we all meet up at the same light anyway.
So, I no longer have any doubts as to why old(er) people are grumpy.
We’ve decided murder isn’t an option.
How do I confront aging? With a wonder and a terror. Yeah, I'll say that.
Wonder and terror.