It wasn’t until I started working retail when I was in my late teens that I realized that older people aren’t as patient as I thought they were.  Until then, I had only been around gentle, patient, and selfless older folks, I guess. Or maybe I never noticed.

Out in the vestibule at Walmart, the crowd would line up ready for the doors to open on Saturday morning. Invariably, one of the guys going to fetch carts would come out the side door and some older guy would yell “Are you open?”  This could happen 30-45 minutes before the actual opening time.

Once the doors were open, the stampede – albeit slower than most stampedes – would begin.  There would be at least one or two folks coming up to me (I worked at the service desk) who would say “Where have you moved the paper towels?” or “Why is that shelf of such-and-such empty?” 

 One day, I told a lady, as politely as possible, that a lot of people had bought the item and we were out.  She called me a smart aleck.

I saw impatience as I worked in different professions. Even now, I come across people each day who want people to stop what they are doing and answer questions or cater to their immediate needs, even if it’s trivial and doesn’t have to be taken care of right at that moment. Every now and then, people I meet in my part-time job will come in and start their conversation with “OK. I need..”  Phone calls are the same.  People call with some little issue and they want you to fix it right away.

Now, as I unpack this impatient attitude, as usual, I start to understand. When you have a life change and are no longer on a schedule as before, you are still geared to being on that schedule. You still want to take care of things in a timely fashion.  Even trivial things seem like big deals.  The more I think about it, the more I relate.

And then I realize, I’m an older folk.

Still, I meet folks who seem content and patient no matter what.  They may ask you if you have time to help them or put in a request. These folks are not demanding, and they fully realize you may have things going on at the time. 

“But when you get a minute, could I ask you to do this for me?” Of course!  Who wouldn’t want to help you if you have an attitude like that?

I think a lot of impatience in older folks has to do with control, also.  Many of us have been used to being in charge of things or the boss, and therefore, even when we don’t have the same situations that lend themselves to being the boss, we still like to be in control. The need to be waited on hand and foot, right this minute and without delay, is something that still makes us feel vital and alive and in charge.

So, I get that too. As bad as I hate to admit it.

I couldn’t end this rant/observation without bringing up the little guy who used to shop at Walmart in the college town I lived, schooled, and worked in.  He used to buy a six-pack of Ramen noodles for a buck and they seemed to be his favorite thing to buy on his trips to Walmart.  

Yes, they were a buck.  They were in unhealthy styrofoam containers. You added water, the spice packet, and after zapping it for a few minutes in the microwave, you had a delicious and comforting meal.  In a styrofoam cup.  

Sound healthy? I know they weren’t good for you, but I lived on those suckers in college.

Anyway, this little old guy was hilarious. I learned from some of the locals that he was a coach from way back, and in his retirement, he was a manager somewhere.  In any case, now in his 90s, he was demanding and crusty. He yelled out things like “I need to talk to you” and “Hey boy, come here.” He expected all of us to wait on him hand and foot, and by golly we better have plenty of Ramen noodles around.  

After a while, I got such a kick out of him that I made myself available when he came in. I think, after a while, he liked me because I found his curmudgeonly ways endearing. We were friends.

OK, finally at the end of the story. I never knew his name, but I ran into him at the post office of all places one rare Saturday when I wasn’t working. There he was, seeming to be hollering about his mail to the postal workers, but I think they knew this was his way too. I was there to get a stamp, I think, because I didn’t go to the post office much in college.

“Well what are you doing here?” he said to me without cracking a smile. I barely had time to tell him I wasn’t working today when he barked out “Well listen, if you don’t have my noodles out there when I walk in today I’m going to have to kick your skinny butt.”  

And he turned around and walked out. No laugh. No smile.

I drove out to Walmart and made sure things were in order before I went about my business.  

I mean, wouldn’t you?