I remember being in my 30s, which was a very long time ago, and laughing about senior citizens who were unable to adapt to change.
It didn't matter what that change entailed; it was always funny.
Now it's not so humorous. Now I'm one of the so-called senior citizens and find it very difficult when challenged with new and "improved" items or "advanced methods" of accomplishing everyday tasks.
Grocery shopping: Thirty years ago going to the store was simple. You knew where everything was. Nothing changed. You even knew most of the clerks on a first-name basis. Now they change the aisles monthly. It takes me 30 days to learn where everything has been moved to, and then they go and move them again. You don't have clerks any more. You have machines. There is now a mechanical voice telling you to scan your items yourself or return everything to the shelves, if you can remember where you got them from.
Gas stations: Oh, brother. If somebody had told me in the '60s I would be pumping my own gas, I would have been humiliated. Who, me? Oh, no. That's what those cute little guys are for with the uniforms and hats to match. All I'll ever have to do is wait in the car and tell them to fill 'er up when they come running to the vehicle.
Telephones: There were no seven-digit numbers. In Augusta, you dialed RE3 or PA4 followed by four identifying numbers. Now it's all numbers and, not only do you have to memorize your home number but your cell number also.
And please don't lecture me on "saving" this and "programming" that into that little piece of metal I very seldom remember to turn on. Every time it rings, it scares me to death because my grandchildren have changed the ring-tone to a song or rap or animal calls and I have no idea where the noise is coming from.
Automobiles: Why do they have to talk to you? It's simply not normal for a voice to come at you from the dashboard. I'm a big girl. I can discover all myself whether or not the door is ajar. If the trunk is open, you don't think I'd notice that?
Typewriters: Does anyone even sell them anymore? I would love to stick a piece of paper in a machine and not worry about pushing numbers that will erase everything I've worked on. I would also like to simply stick a column in an envelope and mail it to the paper, instead of sending it into never-never land and never-ever seeing it again.
That's right. I may be older but I have earned the right to complain as much as I want. If you disagree with me, you'd better run fast or I'll hit you with my cane.
(Pat Fickle is a Martinez resident.)
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