Why are Old People So Weird? Or So Some Say!

Not All Old People Are Created Equally

Once upon a time I had a friend (seriously, I’m telling the truth now — I really did), and we worked together in our very early fifties.

But… one day I overheard him telling people,

“Well, when you get as old as I am, you just don’t move around like you used to…”

WHAT? I couldn’t believe he was seriously using the age card at fifty! But I assume he had his reasons.

For one, he was rather rotund and, shall we say, not very meticulous in his work habits. Regardless, to say something wouldn’t get done because he was “too old” to do what was needed? Well, as his manager, I was at a loss.

He often carried a curmudgeonly look on his face, as if the entire planet irritated him. Once, he paced back and forth in front of a coworker’s office while she was on the phone. He frightened her so much that she called me and asked me to remove him — she actually thought he was going to harm her and locked her door.

And that story brings up a question:

How Old Is Old?

Old is the moment you begin to use your age as an excuse, rather than a story.

If I hadn’t personally known a man who, at 102 years old, was more active than most people my age (73), I might have a different view. But when a man begins to gesture at time as the reason he no longer tries — that’s when he becomes old. When he trades curiosity for complaint. When movement becomes chore rather than choice. When effort feels beneath him and blame floats like a lazy ghost behind his eyes.

He didn’t own up to his hundred extra pounds, his lack of exercise, or his habit of just sitting in front of a computer. Instead, he tried to buy sympathy with borrowed years. And worse — he scared people. Because he was trying to force the world to adapt to his own comfort, and when it didn’t, his constant irritation glowed like a bare lightbulb.

Old is not a number. Old is when you stop adapting and start resenting.

Consequently old is not a number. Old is when you stop adapting and start resenting.

To the eyes of our children and others, “old” looks like this:

Replying “Okay” to a text… with a period.
So aggressive, Grandma. Why are you mad?
Watching the local news like it’s Shakespeare.
Weather, traffic, and that same anchor from 1987. Ritual.
Forwarding email chains with “FWD: FWD: FWD: Important!!!”
Referring to the Internet as “Google.”
“Why is my Google so slow?”
Sharing every Facebook clickbait post with their friends.
“This is so true.” “Isn’t this the cutest?”
Giving out personal information on the Internet like Halloween candy.
Talking to automated menus like they’re people.
“REPRESENTATIVE! I SAID — REPRESENTATIVE!”
Leaving voicemails that begin with, “Hi, it’s me…”
(As if we don’t have caller ID.)
Wearing socks with sandals… and not ironically.
It’s fashion meets support hose. Welcome to Eldercore.
Double spacing after a period.
The sacred relic of the typewriter era. Gen-Z calls it “The Void Gap.”
Saving plastic bags inside other plastic bags.
It’s the Matryoshka doll of groceries.
Using speakerphone in public at full blast.
Obsessively clipping coupons — even for things they don’t buy.
“35 cents off cat litter!” (They don’t own a cat.)
Calling everything newer than the year 2000 “fancy.”
Bringing Tupperware to a buffet “just in case.”
Taking the soaps and ointments from hotels.
“Because we paid for them.”
Holding doors for their spouse, as if chivalry guarantees intimacy.
Driving in the outside lane at or below the speed limit… as if it’s their divine duty to slow the world down.

Aging is a must-do — and we all do it differently.

But there is such a thing as aging with dignity. Recognizing that just because “that’s how we did it,” doesn’t mean it was the only way — or the right way.

Using age as an excuse to no longer try or care is a resignation from living. Adapting doesn’t mean surrendering. It means not allowing the actions of others to make our lives miserable. We are still human.

But if we want to be respected, we cannot retire into the sunset with our excuses flapping like loose shoelaces behind us.