Rage against the Rudeness

Is it just me-or does anyone else think that public behaviour getting ruder?

Yesterday I wanted to make an enquiry at the supermarket phone shop. My phone contract expires in a month or so and there are areas I’d like to improve. The booth was busy-one assistant taken up with a ragged group of browsers, the other moved to help the woman in front of me. This was a woman in a wheelchair whose mobility problems were severe enough for her to have special requirements in a phone. I waited. The lady suggested I take her place as she would be some time but I was more than happy to wait and took up a position behind the chair.

A middle aged man walked into the booth followed by a young girl. He strode to the counter-inserting himself between the wheelchair and the desk; he talked directly to the assistant serving the woman-even though he was engaged in unwrapping a box for her.

‘Excuse me’ I ventured. The man turned to me and said something incomprehensible which, when repeated became ‘I need his voice’. Need his voice? What was he-some kind of radio special effects collector? An advertising director looking for a voiceover artist? A patient wanting a transplant?

The assistant, inexperienced in the ways of customer service, stopped his unwrapping and made an immediate and ill-advised decision to deal with the man. By now I could feel annoyance welling up like indigestion and threatening to belch out. The woman sat impassive throughout; no doubt she is accustomed to such crass treatment, which is telling in itself.

The assistant left the counter and went to the store room. He’d abandoned both the wheelchair lady and me in favour of the rude, boorish man.

I waited until the man had left before telling the hapless assistant what I thought, though once he’d apologised and acknowledged the error I relented. The woman in the chair was, she explained, going to be a long time and would I go first?

Later, as I was driving home a Range Rover driver behind my car flashed his headlights continually for about a mile because I’d had the audacity to enter a roundabout ahead of him. Presumably he owns all the roundabouts. In a similar incident on the motorway a couple of days ago the passenger of a vehicle overtaking our van opened the window and gesticulated graphically because we’d had the boldness to encroach on the overtaking lane ourselves . Perhaps the driver of this car is the proprietor of all overtaking lanes?

Road rage, queue rage, shop rage, trolley rage-no waiting, no ‘after you’, no holding doors, no surrendering seats, no thank-you…

Perhaps it is, after all simply a case of becoming older, less noticeable but more noticing, but how dispiriting this witnessing of deteriorating social skills is! –or am I even more of a grumpy old woman than I’d realised?

You’re never too old for Rock and Roll

                One of the many aspects of ageing that intrigues me is what I will be listening to [always providing I am able to hear anything] when I am installed in my care or nursing home as a result of having been firmly placed there by my sprogs. They will have done this following lengthy and frequent exhortation by me and having researched widely [I hope!].

                I imagine that such ‘entertainment’ provided by institutions for the elderly consists, if it is adequate, of some kind of sing-along sessions, as well as gentle exercise to music? What, then, will that music be? Because it would have to be derived from popular songs of the inmates’ era, would it not? And what will the songs be?

                Well certainly not ‘Bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover’, or ‘Pack up your Troubles in your Old Kit Bag’. These belong to a bygone era. No, the popular music we babyboomers will be jigging in our orthopaedic chairs to will have to consist of hit parade favourites or sixties underground classics or punk. How about sing-along-a ‘She Loves You’ by The Beatles, or Lou Reed’s ‘Walk on the Wild Side’, or The Sex Pistols’ ‘Anarchy in the UK’?

                I like to think there is less of a generation gap in musical tastes as there used to be when I was a teenager, though I fear I am deluded, since I would be at a loss right now to be able to name any tune in the charts today.

Festivals, however are attended by a wide age range, and of course, especially this year, frequently feature vintage bands such as The Rolling Stones headlining act at Glastonbury, pilloried by that most erudite rag, The Daily Mail, with the headline ‘Night of the Living Dead’. Yes, Mailites, the Stones are oldish. They are all pushing seventy. They are wrinkly and craggy looking. Some [Keith] are too arthritic to play their instrument. But here’s a thing-a vast number of people of all ages loved it, including me. Why? Well for me it is generational. They are of my era, playing the songs that define my youth [mostly written by Keith, who merited his place on the stage for having produced such classics as ‘Gimme Shelter’ whether he played or not. The Stones, geriatric though they may be, can play on into their wheelchair years as far as I’m concerned.

And as our little, local music festival draws to a close today I look around at the substantial audience and see revellers of all ages from days old, to old and infirm and from all walks of life, sharing and enjoying the same music and best of all, the acts live on stage. So maybe in real music, unmanufactured by the likes of Simon Cowell etc there is no generation gap after all? And I can look forward to afternoon tea, Bingo and ‘I can’t get no Satisfaction’ when I wind up in sunset hotel.