You know when shitty parents shove their kids in front of a TV and call it parenting? Like they always say, “TV is the best babysitter.” Apparently, this rule isn’t just for kids. Once a parent hits the 80 year mark, the kids are going to topsy turvy that shit and plop them in front of the fucking TV. This is how I encountered Grandma Mabel.
This poor old lady calls me and can’t figure out a god damn thing on her TV. Well of course she can’t figure out a fucking thing, she’s clueless and elderly. All old people, I mean all old people, succumb to helplessness before they even call me. I know they can’t fucking see, which is why they probably shouldn’t drive. I know they can’t fucking walk, which is why they probably shouldn’t travel. I know they can’t fucking think, which is why they probably shouldn’t gamble. Yet when they’re at home, the TV is no excuse for cluelessness. All they have to do is press the power button, change some channels, then turn it off. Congratulations, now go take that afternoon nap.
I can immediately sense Grandma Mabel’s loneliness over the phone. My company with her was so welcomed that I began to actually think she was having a great fucking time. Every step we completed in our troubleshooting was greeted by shouts of glee. Every space of dead air was filled with chit chat about her overtly Republican beliefs and her love of The View. No, I didn’t make that up. It was Grandma Mabel’s activity of the week, like when the old folks home makes the big trip to Applebees.
We finally figured out what was wrong, and no surprise, all she had to do was press a mother fucking button. Once we got the problem solved, you’d think Grandma Mabel had won the lottery. I must admit I was proud of her too. This was a big accomplishment, especially considering the fact that she fit it in between reruns of Walker: Texas Ranger. After congratulating herself many times, she extended an offer my way.
“Winston, you sure have been great. Really, you’ve been so wonderful. If you ever find yourself down South, I think you should stop on by. You’ve got my number and address on your end. We’ll sit on the porch, drink mint juleps, and watch the time go by.”
I was actually quite flattered by the empty offer, since most people tell me to go fuck myself. Looking back, she sure did fit the old Southern lady stereotype. Unfortunately, nothing sounds worse to me than swatting bugs on a humid porch in the South and watching dumb Rednecks drive by in their shitty Ford trucks. Thanks for the offer Grandma Mabel, but I won’t be making it to the South, EVER. They would stop me at the border and make me turn around because my foreign/fuel efficient car wouldn’t have Miller High Life in the front seat, shitty country music on the speakers, or a gun rack on the back window. I’m sorry you’re lonely Grandma Mabel, why don’t you call Mom and Dad and tell them to visit instead of leaving you in front of the TV? When they do visit, tell them to plop little Jimmy in front of the TV, he’s probably already stupid anyway.