Oldladyphobia!

Okay, so it's not very PC of me! It's honest.

Old ladies skeeve me out sometimes! It's true. Now I'm not talking about younger vibrant yoga '60 is the new 50' women, I mean the witch ladies. Old, crabby, self-entitled, moth-ball smelling cranks! Old men I'm fine with; maybe because one day I'll be one and can identify on some level but I'm just bothered by old biddies!

I just am. Sorry if that offends but it's mostly true. There are exceptions, of course. I know several older women who do not curdle milk when they walk into a room. They smile, hug, and show genuine affection. There are those though that give me goosebumps, and cause the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end, however. They glower! They skulk! They demand! They condescend! That's what gets me the most, I think.

I deal with old ladies everyday at the part time job I have. They come in and haggle over prices, suspiciously eye me when I offer assistance, and then demand special treatment. The other day there was a woman in a wheelchair - a manual deal - and she was parked in front of the entrance to the stockroom where I needed to go. She was in my way but was annoyed with me when I asked to get by. Then she was muttering to herself as she backed up, and I tried to reassure her by saying, 'You're doing pretty good.'

'Well. I'm doing pretty Well!'

REALLY? I was offering you some reassurance as you back up, trying to be positive with you, and supportive as you maneuver out of the traffic jam you have caused and you correct my grammar? My grammar? You're going to correct my grammar as I stand here holding boxes of product waiting for you to quit causing a fire hazard! Then you'll look at me with a twinkle in your eye as if to say, 'Did you hear what I did? I corrected your grammar, you young scalawag! That's my right, as a senior citizen!'

The goosebumps appear, the neck hair rises, and I grit my teeth. Mrs. Heckleman! I think maybe I can trace it to a teacher I had as a child. She was capital M Mean! She was harsh, gravelly-voiced, and I now realize she smelled of cigarettes and scotch, I believe. She terrorized me that year and ever since then if I see an old lady with a walker, or a couple grannies shuffling down the sidewalk I quickly cross the street, and lower my head.