New York Grannies

Now I'm not naturally of irritable comportment. To be sure, it takes more than the errant swashbuckler to ruffle the McPipe feathers. But I must say, the grannies of New York are somewhat driving me to the end of my tether.

About a year ago, I wrote a post about NY grannies, racing around on their zimmerframes. And I mentioned how endearing I found them. A year later, having had time to sufficiently meditate over my opinion, I must confess to a somewhat differing perspective.

More than anyone I know, I'm a lover of ye olde peoples. Their kindly eyes and dentured smiles, the white sneakers and oversized coats, the way they launch into lengthy tales of reminiscence, assuming that you too have all day to sit by them on the park bench, soaking in the sun - these are all part and parcel of being olde peoples, and I'm a lover of it all.

That is, except the New York Grannies, who are a species of their own.

Hurtling down the crowded sidewalks, zimmerframes thrust forth like weapons of mass destruction. ZimmerGrannies.

Weaving through (and over and under and within and without) the sidewalk crowds, elbows stuck out as they forge their way through the unsuspecting throngs. ZipperGrannies.

This afternoon, as I strolled peacefully towards the park to indulge in a spot of lunchtime reading in the sun, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my side. Looked down, and there was a belligerent grannie, glaring up at me over her rimmed glasses, eyes disconcertingly magnified behind the ponderous lenses. "Move it!" she barked. I was instantly irritated, but obligingly stepped out of the way. Not because maturity demanded that I dont' stoop down to her level of rudeness. Oh no, no such moral high horse for me. Mostly just because she had scared the jeebies out of me. So I stepped off her sidewalk, and she clumped angrily by.

Which reminded me of a scene Doobie had witnessed, not so long ago. A granny was crossing the avenue, when a car started to turn the same corner. Spotting Granny, the car slowed to a halt before reaching the crossing, but probably still came too close to her for her comfort. What would you have done in this situation? Given the driver a dirty look? Shuffled hurriedly on? Well, Granny stopped there in the middle of the road, brandished her cane on high in a likely Don Quixote impression (coming dangerously close to toppling over), and screamed "PHEHCK OHFF!!!" at the poor driver. Pedestrians around, New Yorkers hardened to any kind of weirdness, stopped to gawk. The driver, a New York taxi driver who's probably had guns pulled
at his head, cowered quiveringly behind his wheel.

If such be the rules of life, I'm going to have to see to it that I don't grow old in this city.