Seniority: A bit testy, maybe, but not grumpy

A bit testy, maybe, but not grumpy

By JAY HORNING

As I read about Jack Lemmon's career after his recent death, I was struck by a reference to a couple of movies in which he starred, but which I never saw. The films are Grumpy Old Men and its sequel, Grumpier Old Men. I don't know why I never saw either of those films.

I have always liked Jack Lemmon and his Grumpy co-star, Walter Matthau. But as I wondered why I hadn't seen them, I began to think that perhaps I ignored them for fear of seeing myself. Am I, after all these years of living, becoming a grumpy old man? My wife says not, and that should count for something. After all, if she can put up with me without sensing a growing grumpiness on my part, maybe my fear is unfounded.

Nevertheless, I began doing a little self-analysis. Do I do more than my share of grumping, and if so, what do I grump about? I like to think of my grumps more as pet peeves. Somehow, pet peeve doesn't have the negative that grumping does. As I continued my unprofessional analysis, I decided I should admit to myself that pet peeves, and my reaction to them, may at least sometimes add up to just plain grumpiness.

What are they? I'm almost afraid to make a list; there may be far more than I think. But if I'm really into this self-analysis, I guess I must be honest with myself.

One of the first to come to mind is when a person ahead of me in the supermarket express lane has 15 or 20 items instead of 10 or fewer. As far as I have been able to determine, no effort exists to enforce the 10-item limit.

Why does this make me grumpy? What difference should it make to me? That person may have a legitimate reason for needing to get checked out in a hurry. The biggest difference it could possibly make in my life is two or three minutes, and as a retiree, don't I have more time than anything else?

Then there is the person ahead of me in line at the post office who carries in a package not completely ready for mailing, leaving the business of securely taping it to the clerk. Again, so what? I can use that time to be happy that the clerk is willing to provide extra service to a customer who needs it.

The driver who fails to use a turn signal is a different matter. I find myself talking to him (or her), asking from the confines of my car, "Don't you have a turning light, or is it that you just don't know how to use it?"

Some drivers, turning light or no, approach an intersection in the right-hand lane. The traffic light is red, and such drivers have no intention of turning right after they stop and determine that the way is clear. As traffic piles up behind them, they blithely sit in their cars waiting for the light to turn green. Meanwhile, six or eight drivers who otherwise could have turned right and been on their way can do nothing but wait.

Again, why should this irritate me? I am never in such a hurry that I need to turn right and get on my way this instant.

Finally -- not really finally, but this has to stop somewhere -- there is the matter of cell phones. These may be at the top of my pet-peeve list: people who don't seem able to survive even a trip for a carton of milk without either taking or making a cell-phone call.

I used to think it was just their way of letting the world know they had something that many of the rest of us didn't. That can no longer be true, if it ever was; nearly everyone has at least one cell phone. And they are ringing all the time, even in church, the theater and at concerts, even in restrooms.

A couple of years ago, as I stood before a urinal in the Atlanta airport, I realized the next man was talking. At first, I thought he was saying something to me, then noticed he had a cell phone. What was that to me? I didn't have to respond, and I certainly couldn't say that his conversation kept me from catching my flight.

I could go on, but suffice it to say that I have decided these are all minor irritations, not worth grumping about.

I hereby vow that from this time on, when one of these peeves pops up, I am going to turn my frown into a smile. After all, I read somewhere recently that a smile uses many fewer facial muscles than a frown. Who knows? All those smiles replacing grumpy frowns may delay the wrinkling process.

It sure is worth a shot; besides, I don't want to be a grumpy old man.

- You can write to Jay Horning c/o Seniority, the Times, P.O. Box 1121, St. Petersburg, FL 33731. Or send e-mail to jayhorning@aol.com.