I loathe old men. With good reason. Actually, I don’t hate old men as much as I fear them. I’m oldmanophobic.
One time I was on the bus, less than a block away from my stop, when an old man attacked. I was listening to loud, angry music on my iPod and staring blankly out the window, suspecting nothing. Then, he reached over and began rubbing my arm. As I sat frozen in terror, his mouth began to form words that due to Billy Talent at full blast, I didn’t hear. I yanked the headphones out, and opened to mouth to scream as loudly as possible.
“You have soft skin...” He murmured. He grinned toothlessly at me, his shriveled face wrinkling in ways that shouldn’t be possible. I don’t know if you’ve seen Silence of the Lambs, but I have. With his words came a vivid memory of the terror that that movie inspired, which meant that I was frozen with fear again. The entire bus was watching this interaction, but nobody bothered to interfere and save me. Fortunately, I noticed my bus stop outside the window. I LEAPT out of my seat and through the door, then ran as fast as I could away from the bus. I’ve never quite recovered...
“You have soft skin...” He murmured. He grinned toothlessly at me, his shriveled face wrinkling in ways that shouldn’t be possible. I don’t know if you’ve seen Silence of the Lambs, but I have. With his words came a vivid memory of the terror that that movie inspired, which meant that I was frozen with fear again. The entire bus was watching this interaction, but nobody bothered to interfere and save me. Fortunately, I noticed my bus stop outside the window. I LEAPT out of my seat and through the door, then ran as fast as I could away from the bus. I’ve never quite recovered...
Then yesterday, I was at physiotherapy, waiting for one of my family members to realize I wasn’t at home and come pick me up. I would have used my cell phone to speed this process up, but it’s usually dead. The old man janitor smiled menacingly at me as I tried to make myself as small as possible in the furthest corner of the elevator. I felt greatly relieved as he disappeared as soon as the doors opened, and went to wait patiently at the front doors, only glancing over my shoulder occasionally. Unfortunately, it took a very long time for my brother to come pick me up. Long enough for Oldie McCreeperson to put on a concerned face, and sidle up to me.
“You know, if your boyfriend makes you wait like this, you should leave him and find someone that will treat you like a lady. Actually, if you live nearby, my shift ends in a few minutes...” *Insert creepy smile and bad breath here*
We were alone, it was late, and my phone was useless. I also don’t actually have a boyfriend, but I was already feeling threatened enough with him thinking there was someone who would probably search for my body. I didn’t want him to think he’d get away with it. When my brother FINALLY showed up, I sprinted to the car while screamed at him to floor it.
“You know, if your boyfriend makes you wait like this, you should leave him and find someone that will treat you like a lady. Actually, if you live nearby, my shift ends in a few minutes...” *Insert creepy smile and bad breath here*
We were alone, it was late, and my phone was useless. I also don’t actually have a boyfriend, but I was already feeling threatened enough with him thinking there was someone who would probably search for my body. I didn’t want him to think he’d get away with it. When my brother FINALLY showed up, I sprinted to the car while screamed at him to floor it.
If you think about it, old men are actually brilliant predators. They are familiar and soothing (to some), because you are most likely related to at least one, and will have been around them from a young age. They also look fairly helpless, what with their oxygen tubes and health problems, and overall ricketyness. They could easily pull a “Help, I’m having a heart attack!” and some poor, innocent young one would go over to help, and the old man would be all like “NOM NOM NOM” and the young person would be no more...
