For years now, my mother has been helping the little old
lady down the street with odd tasks around the house and trips to town. Recently, this spitfire elderly woman has
realized I’m as much of a sucker as my mother is and now she has the two of us
catering to her every whim. I’m not
complaining (too much), I mean she pays well enough. But sometimes, I think I may be a little too
willing to do anything for money. She
challenges my psyche at every turn.
First of all-I don’t like old people. I’m sorry, that sounds mean but it’s the
truth. They are knocking on death’s
doorstep, a living example of what I have to look forward as each year
passes. I grow greatly uncomfortable
when faced with my own mortality. I do
NOT want to get old; lose mobility and muscle tone, sagging skin with wrinkles,
failing organs and senses. Ew. (The discount sounds nice though.) And I certainly do not want to die. So just being in her presence makes me
anxious. I suck it up anyway, not only
do I have a very hard time telling people “no”
but I desperately need the money she offers.
Trying to ignore her senior shuffle and bad wig (will I lose
my hair?) is the least of my worries on this particular day. You see, I tend to be a bit of a
social-phobe. When I head to a store- I
go in, get what exactly what I went for, and leave. In and out.
One and done. Not her, we wander
and look and analyze and back track. We
have a list, and do manage to get everything on it, but we also find a
necessity for just about anything else that catches her eye. “Oooh kiwi fruit! I love kiwi fruit but only
when they have hair on them. If they
don’t have hair on them, the taste makes me want to barf” Repeat six times in
two different stores. Speaking of one and done, I also go to one store. Store hopping is not in my vocabulary. The more stops on my trip, the more anxious I
become. A little side note to any who
plan a road trip with me, this also applies.
I stop for gas and get right back on the road. I apologize in advance if you’re a smoker or
have a small bladder. Better get a patch
and some Depends, it’ll be a long trip for you.
But anyway, because of this little quirk of mine taking my neighbor
shopping is intensely stressful for me.
She buys her produce at one store, the bulk of her groceries at
another. Then there’s the wholesale
warehouse store stop and off to the liquor store we go too. Let’s not forget about the bank; one must
always stop at the bank, even if one has no business to do there. All of this takes about three hours. That’s three solid hours of intentionally
causing myself anxiety and stress, just for a few bucks. About halfway through is when I start to
weigh the question “how desperate am I?
Is this really worth it?” I
spend most of the time talking myself out of my tree.
What do you imagine would happen when you spend three hours
with a person that doesn’t leave the house or have really any social
interaction but for this one weekly trip?
Yeah, she wants to talk. How
lovely for me. I act more like a
sounding board, listening to how drunk and awful her no good son is, or how fat
and awful her unmarried daughter is or the latest drama with all those
connected to her. Mind you, I’ve have not met a single one of
these people but feel it’s beneficial to me to learn their names and follow
along. She asks questions about my son
and my mother, but isn’t terribly interested in the answers. I suppose I should view this idle
conversation as a welcome distraction to my anxieties, but it’s really
not. It is adding to them. The sound of her granny voice, her thick
German accent, the whining and complaining; it all wears on my nerves. She’s an eighty something year old woman with
a life full of regret. She buried the
love of her life years ago, and misses him intensely each and every day. Her children are ungrateful, selfish users
who eat her food and steal her money.
She goes on and on about how much she’s had over the years and how much
she’s lost. I do not want to be this
person. I do not want to look back on my
life with such bitterness. The outlook
she paints is grim and depressing. So
when the conversation takes an unexpected turn on the ride home, it was all I
could do to bite my tongue. My nerves
are frayed, my patience is shot and she says “Ya know, I’d vote democrat if
their President wasn’t black. So I
don’t. I know I’m prejudice and I
shouldn’t be but I just don’t feel the country should have a black president.” My eyes grow very wide and I hold my
breath. She continues her little rant
about Obama as my teeth dig into my poor tongue. I look up at the passing street sign, “26th
St” and start trying to focus on the simple math that will tell me how many
more streets before we arrive at our destination of “57th St.” I remind myself that she’s from another era,
another country too, but it doesn’t help much.
I have a very hard time excusing stupidity. After unloading three stores worth of
groceries and filling her water softener with salt, I gladly take my well
earned money and run. I’d like to say I
wouldn’t do it again, but the answer to my question earlier is yes. Yes, I am this desperate and yes, I need the
money so it’s worth it. So, I’m taking
her to get her lottery tickets on Monday.
What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, right?
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