The Agony of Age

Age comes to us all and with it comes a raft of anomalies, dichotomies and shouldn’t be’s. Simply put age is poorly planned. And nowhere is that more sharply clear than at the supermarket.
For example, why is that the elderly and the relatively infirm with decreasing mobility insist on parking their shopping trollies in the centre of the aisle, thus requiring them to travel further to fetch something on the shelf? 
Why to do those with limited dexterity having the waiting queue behind them while the fumble through in their wallets or purses for coinsto par the exact amount of cash for their groceries? 
Why too do those with (probably) the least amount of time left insist on wasting part of it in idle chatter with the checkout operator?
That is what I mean by dichotomies and shouldn’t be’s.
Now, I am no longer young, though I am bound to say I am probably younger than my father was at my age, and I am on the cusp of entering old age. However, I am still sufficiently observant to note that there is a supermarket etiquette that all but the elderly adhere too. In the elderly’s favour, however, is that many of them passing into the dying of the light retain a sense of the niceties and they know how to charm—like the elderly lady in the supermarket today who asked me to fetch something for her off a bottom shelf. I did so. She had the grace to thank me—profusely—before adding quietly: “such a nice young man.”
Age is, after all, relative.