You Meddlin' Kids.

I was at a concert not too long ago - when the show was done and everyone was filing out, I looked on the ground and saw a couple of $20 bills, folded together. There was a young woman standing in a money-drop-prone position above it, so I asked her, "Did you drop this?"

She looked down and slowly said, "Uhh...no?..." and snatched up the money.

Aghast at this repulsive moral breakdown and others that I've witnessed, I want to launch a new superhero program. I need results that I can apply on the ground to combat the ignorant, precocious behavior of certain aspects in today's society.

There's only one rational solution: old age power.

To most people, especially those of college age or younger, there is nothing more terrifying than the crotchety ire of an old person. If I could snap my fingers and temporarily gain the look and countenance of a senior citizen, my foes wouldn't stand a chance. I propose:

A SITUATION, WHERE SOMEONE IS, IN COWARDLY FASHION, CUTTING IN FRONT OF YOU.

Right now, I'd just let them go ahead. They're likely an overly aggressive asshole and I don't want to provoke someone like that into a spittle-laced tirade. Not worth my time, surely.

But if I was in old-man mode? Come on, no asshole would cut in front of the elderly. But if they dared to do so, I could not only yell at them, but yell far more loudly than any normal human, due to my assumed degenerative hearing.

The echoes of my warbly voice and dated admonishments would act as an instant alarm. I'd have the humiliation power of dozens of passers-by, with all eyes focusing on our loathsome line-cutter. Under my breath I'll mutter to him, "Looks like you've lost your place, my friend." Zing.

ANOTHER SITUATION, WHERE YOU ARE AT THE GROCERY STORE. THE YOGURT IS ON SALE AT 3/$1.49, BUT THE CLERK CHARGES YOU THE NORMAL PRICE.

This actually happens to me fairly often - I bet I've been swindled out of $20-$30 in the past year. I often only check the receipt when I get home, so it's a done deal at that point. Even when I catch this as it happens, though, I neglect to act; I don't have enough time to wait for the manager to clear anything. Besides, checkout clerks are a whole category of crabbiness unto themselves, so that's a beast I'd rather let lie.

Just rockin' on your dime.

With Gramps in charge? Patience is all old people know since it takes them ages to get anywhere. To my elderly self, waiting 20 minutes until the clerk gets it right is like a meaningless blip on my ancient timeline. Hey kid, maybe you have plans for later, after you get off work? I sure don't - cribbage club is on Tuesdays and I've already watered my gardenias twice today.

And if you even think you can take 72 cents-worth of discount from me...well you'll have to pry it out of my cold, clammy hands after I die in your checkout aisle. Oh, I can croak whenever I want - didn't you know that? I am your kryptonite, bitch.


A FINAL SITUATION, WHERE MONEY IS FOUND ON THE FLOOR AND THE RIGHTFUL OWNER IS IN DOUBT.

Let's rewind the clock here, to that fateful night at the concert. I spot a healthy wad of cash on the floor. It may belong to the girl standing above it. The old man adjusts his buttoned-to-the-top, short sleeve shirt.

I just hope he yelled loud enough.

"Excuse me, Miss - did you drop this?"

"Uhh...no?..."

She starts to reach for the cash, but not before her fingers instinctively recoil in pain. There's no mistaking the sound of cane on hand.

Shocked and angry, she looks into my wizened eyes. The girl quickly realizes that the pain of a well-struck cane is nothing compared to the mighty world of hurtin' I put on a squad of Krauts back in '44.

She makes a wise choise and relents. Also, she should feel bad for yelling at an old man.

I pocket the cash and coolly walk away, presumably to the local Elks Lodge. No zinger is necessary.