Coonridge Digest: It could be worse

Greetin’s from the Ridge.

It was one of the biggest conflabs our St. Avis Ladies Bible Study has ever got itself into. We’re supposed to be studyin’ the book of Numbers this month so we will do absolutely anything to avoid the subject matter at hand. The weather, the stock market, the local football team…anything to get our attention off the births and begats.

This week it was "profiling," that questionable procedure used by airports and other security checkpoints as a method of pickin’ out potential bomb tossers. The pros and cons got batted back and forth over Darlene Henny’s pineapple swirls as our leader, Sandra Carlson tried unsuccessfully to steer us back toward the 12 tribes of Israel.

Frankly, my mind was elsewhere. Profiling seems like nothin’ new to me. In fact, since Herb and me have entered the Golden Years, we’ve been the victims of the most hideous type of profiling, the Profiling Of Old People…POOP for short.

The specifics of the POOP movement are everywhere you look: shoppin’, the highway, restaurants, even in church. While we design nice Hallmark cards dedicated to the glory of growin’ old, the truth is that as a nation we don’t much care for the practice.

If you’re a middle-aged man drivin’ the speed limit on a two-lane highway, even with a string of traffic backed up behind you, most will consider you a law-abidin’ citizen just doin’ his best to follow the laws of the land if goin’ perhaps a bit overboard. Try this trick when with a head of gray hair or a bald palate on top and the whole caravan behind you will be grumblin’ about the senile old codger up there who shouldn’t even have a license. It’s POOP in action.

I once stood in the post-Christmas "Returns and Refunds" line of a local department store. The lady ahead of me had two small children and it looked as if she was bringin’ back the contents of her walk-in closet. The gal behind the counter patiently and cheerfully recorded each item and gave her a credit slip. The line was long, the hour was late, but the Returns and Refunds department was doin’ its holiday best to make the customer happy. Then it was my turn…gray of head, dumpy of stature, and not blessed with the most pleasant profile in God’s creation. "This coat is too small. I’d like to return it."

"I see." (And behind the "I see" her eyes say, "These old people never like anything they get and I’ll probably have to shout and Lord knows what old viruses she’s breathing on me.") She picked up the coat and went over it seam by seam to make sure I hadn’t stolen any stray piece of thread to add to my dusty collection back at the High Rise for the Incapable Anymore, then stamped my receipt with a shatterin’ ka-thunk and told me to have a nice day. More POOP.

If there’s one place that the quality of mercy ought to be doled out just a bit heavier it’s the church. But take a look at most heads of committees and you’ll see that the wisdom of age is merely a phrase relegated to books of famous quotations. Too often those with a knowledge of what’s gone before, what’ll work and what won’t, and seven generations of livin’ close to the Lord, are shuffled off to the quilting circle and the pies-for-funerals jobs while the young folks gladly take the reins to make the same mistakes afresh.

Herb once went to the dentist to have a crown slipped over his tooth and when he came out and flashed me his wrinkled old smile I nearly went through the roof. Right in the front of his grin was a gleamin’ post of yellow gold! A gold tooth in the front of his mouth! I went stormin’ back to the DDS and asked him what in the heck he was smokin’. "Well Mrs. Crump, your husband is getting older and he’s a farmer and I didn’t think it would make that much difference." Herb had just been POOPed!

Of course the double whammy of profiling comes when POOP is combined with POW (Profiling of Women), and the most irresponsible breed on earth, young men, are given the nod over God’s most sublime creation, old women. Face it, gray is the best color for a halo.

I’m sorry but I have little sympathy for those who whine and complain over being picked out of the boarding pass line at TWA because of the color of their skin or the nationality on their passport. The loss of 3000 innocent lives a year ago is gonna cause a little inconvenience, and yes, even a bit of unfairness here and there…at least until the world gets safer. So grin an bear it, my fellow non-lily-white citizens of the world. It could be worse. You could be an gray old woman.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.