When I get impatient with an old person, I think of my grandparents (and now my parents) and try to be as patient with the old person as I HOPE others would be with MY (doddering) loved ones. It helps, but I am only one person, and these old folks have to navigate through life filled with impatient people.
Perhaps though once very self-centered and youth-oriented we now see the writing on the wall (or mirror) and have become more accepting of old people who once were invisible (at best) or an annoyance (at worst) to us.
Since the number of old people has skyrocketed in recent years, obviously we have become much more understanding. But when the younger generations are outnumbered more and more and get tired of paying for us, I am not sure that they will be as understanding as we are.
The voice has been mostly silent for a couple of weeks, with the exception of the stairs to leave the La Chapelle metro station every afternoon, alternating between "Get your ass in gear, lady!" and "Get your ass in gear, you old codger!"
You'd hate me then probably. On escalators, I generally just stand in place while people push past in a hurry. Climbing up an escalator to me just seems like a total waste of a free ride. As for stairs, I often used to jog up them skipping every other but now am more likely to trudge.
This skier's inner voice gets pretty loud when she gets off the chairlift at top of the mountain where there's only a little room to stand before dropping off the cornice into the run, and there's a whole mob of clueless skiers just standing there blocking my way. Mr. Kimby leads the way, cutting right through the mob, and I meekly follow. We don't worry about whether our ski poles "accidentally" make contact with the trail obstructors' equipment - or body parts - as we pass.
I imagine the clueless ones' inner voices get a bit fired up, but c'est la vie. Sh*t or get off the pot!
When Mother Noell tied my left hand to the seat of the desk with clothesline, in an attempt to prevent me from writing with it because it was "evil",and I wriggled it out and she caught me and then slammed my right hand knuckles with a yardstick, more than my nasty inner voice was activated. Had I known what the word sodomize meant at age 8, I probably would have incorporated it!
Oh okay, I didn't quite get who 'mother' was meant to be. That's the nun right?
Yes,that's the nun. Some orders of nuns went by the name of "mother" rather than "sister",particularly, some of the older orders,in this case the order of the Religious of the Sacred Heart of Mary (RSHM). I believe they changed to the use of 'sister' maybe in the 1970's.
My 'voice' surprises me sometimes. Today, it said to the car in front of me 'Shouldn't you go home and feed your chickens, peasant?' -- and I was on a bicycle. The car had a licence plate from one of those rural parts of France that Parisians disdain.
My inner voice gets riled up when salespeople tell me to "have a nice day" and it's already suppertime. It also wants to lash out when strangers say "how are you?" because I know they don't really care, it's just a "nicety".
A lady pushed past me roughly on the train and then stood next to me and dialled a number on her phone "Hello darling..." she started..."it's your rude, fat, ugly bitch of a wife calling" I finished for her in my head
I gave her a slap and put her back in her box. My innervoice, not the rude woman.