the blasts, the fallout, the sickness and the diar[y]hoea

Damn The Beige… Damn It To Hell

Old people!


OK that may be unfair, but must they mingle with us? They potter. They meander. They mumble and stumble. They think doorways are the perfect spot to search voluminous handbags or to talk about Archie’s prostate problems. They think that their age entitles them to push into queues, to take items from your hands because they are the last one left. They think it’s OK to walk into your home to talk to the double glazing fitters about their work. Upstairs in your home. This really happened.

And today, one in particular had a go-slow contest with the cashier in M&S to see just how long buying and packing and LEAVING the till with one pint of milk, some haddock (for the cat) and brussel sprouts (they’re good for Morris’ rhythm apparently) can take. And let me tell you it can take a l—o—n—g—-t—i—m—e!

I swear the woman at the till had never seen a barcode the time it took her to find it, and when she finally located it she took minutes! MINUTES, to position the code in exactly the right spot to scan it ever so carefully.

Then she had to wrestle with the carrier bag for an aeon while the old biddy, who it transpired was called Flo, removed a thousand purses and other musty old person oddments from about her person in a lengthy search for one that contained money.

I was silently screaming in my head. Bouncing off the walls with a barely contained rage. I wanted to pack the bag in her bag and shove her in the trolley and roll her down the aisle and then pelt the snail paced cashier with savagely thrown brussel sprouts. Eventually my wrath began to bubble out in small muttered, “Oh for fucks sake!” and “You’ve got to be fucking joking.”

But if “oblivious” was invented for any reason it was to describe these women. Finally twenty years later, and having replaced the salmon fillets I was buying because the first ones had expired it was my turn. But did the old cow move? NO.

She stood there rearranging every thing she had, coat, hat and scarf, bags and gloves all the time talking about Mildred or Bertha or “our Morris.”

MOOOOOVVVVEEEEE!!!!!! I yelled. In my head gritting my teeth ’til my jaw cracked.

Thank God she did, tottering off, veering in-front of everyone as she went. The relief was immense though I still had to wait for the cashier to scan my salmon.

Eventually I was done. I was relaxing, I was nearly out. My blood pressure returning to normal when there blocking the door with her squad of beige clad time terrorists was Flo. Crowds of shoppers milled uncertainly about them like flies at a window.

I left by another door. Lest I kill them all!

Will To Live Factor 46.83%


2 Responses to “Damn The Beige… Damn It To Hell”

  1. I too hate old people!! They should all be given roller skates maybe that would help. The slow ones would go faster and the ones that couldn’t cope would have to stay off the streets… sounds fair I think!!

    Tagged you!!

  2. I love it, lots of unsteady OAP’s weaving round the streets on wheels. If nothing else it would at least turn their annoying habits into comic relief for us to be amused by. We could throw sticks in their way and watch them tumble. Nudge them into each other and enjoy the ensuing pile up. It could be the next urban sport, points for each crashed old fogey, bonus for every broken hip.

    Mwah, ha ha ha,

    I like your thinking a Nutty!

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