The Elderly I Have Come to Be

Years ago, oh, around 1994 or so, I had

a job as driver at a Loveland, Colorado
nursing home. I would shuttle old folks
around town in a Ford Econoline Van.

Mostly my passengers were frail, little
white-haired, old ladies who needed to
be transported to doctor’s appointments.
Occasionally, I would also ferry little, bald-

headed, old men, but they were a rarer
vanishing breed, far outnumbered by
their female counterparts. Now, it is a
well-known established fact that women

outlive men on a lopsided scale of about
3 to 1. (I would refer you to either geriatric
specialists or anthropologists as to the
specific reasons for that.) Having myself

aged considerably since then, I have arrived at
my own theory as to why this age variant exists
to this day. The elderly female residents I took
for their scheduled checkups rarely batted an

eye or spoke a word to me as I wheeled them
in and out of the van to our destination. They
were peaceably compliant and took all that
jostling about in stride. On the other hand,

old men who were fewer and far between,
would often cuss, fuss and generally create
quite a raucous commotion. “Where in hell
you taking me? Leave me be, you son-of-a-

bitch! I’m warning you, one more move and
I’ll flatten your ass with my cane! Goddamn
doctor, what in hell for? I’m a goner anyway.
Take me back to my room. This is just a flippin’

waste of time. I’m gonna miss Let’s Make a Deal
on TV. Leave me be, you dirty S.O.B.!” Nowadays,
with the progression and declination in my own
old age, I can now certainly relate. For those

submissive and gentile elderly women I’d have
to say, it would take more than a mere doctor’s
appointment or missing an episode of Judge Judy
to get them to stroke out. As I see it for me in my

waning days, however, I’d have to say…Don’t be
messin’ with my TV. Don’t dare move me a friggin’
inch, you S.O.B. The hell with doctors and such.
If you know what’s good for you, just leave me be!

Chris Hanch 7-4-18