Old People Cannot Drive

If there are old people in your vicinity, give them time to vacate the room before reading this. Tell them Columbo reruns are on TV; that should get them out right-quick. Or just take their glasses, or whatever.

I'm sorry if there are any staunch advocates of elderly drivers reading, but old people are TERRIBLE AT DRIVING. Actually, I'm NOT sorry if there are any of you reading. If you so badly want to waste your time, why don't you save yourself a lot of trouble and just vote for the NDP or something.
Anyway, back to the old people thing.
Old people cannot drive. Period. And as such, they should not be ALLOWED to. After the age of 70, I don't care if you pass every test, I don't care if you have better vision than me. I am taking your license away. I will then taunt you by pretending to give it back, only to snatch it away from your liver-spotted, arthritis-ridden hand at the last moment. I'm looking forward to this being one of my few victories on this front; Where once I possessed the reflexes of a cat, I now have the reflexes of a cat that has been shot up with enough tranquilizer to take down a raging wildebeest.

Just the other day, I was on my way to work--which, as it turns out, I ended up being late for--when I came upon my old arch nemesis: a red light (not to be confused with my new arch nemesis: pants). I would have pulled all the way up to the stop line, however my progress was impeded by a strategically-placed old-man-driving-a-car. The first thing that struck me, a near-perfect driver, as strange about this man's choice of stopping area was that he was fully 4 feet--approximately one midget--away from the curb, nearly over the dividing white line between right- and left-turn lanes. For my Milton readers: we were stopped on Wilson, coming up to Main street.
I let this pass without too much worry. This was Milton, after all; home of some of the worst drivers known to mankind.

What did get me worrying, however, was that even when no oncoming traffic could be seen, this person did not step on the gas pedal. After about 30 seconds of waiting, toying with the idea of smashing on the horn and waking this jackass up, an oncoming car slowly ambled up to the stop line, choosing not to run through the now-yellow light. I figured that the driver ahead of me was simply being very, very cautious. Or perhaps the law about right turns on red had been changed when I wasn't looking.

When, a full minute after our light had turned green and no movement was forthcoming from the car ahead, I officially started believing that he was dead. Then I noticed the passenger looking around, as if gauging the speed of the oncoming traffic. It took quite awhile for her to come up with "zero miles per hour". To be fair, she didn't have a calculator.

After confirming to myself that no, the law about right turns on GREEN had not been changed while I was asleep, I lost all patience and beat my horn like it owed me money. The driver finally began to lurch forward at a painfully slow pace, looking, in all honesty, as though he was going to head straight (which, for those of you who aren't familiar with the intersection in question, would lead him directly into a curb, followed by a sidewalk, followed by a field, followed by a scenic view of Rona, followed by train tracks). Finally, when it seemed all hope was lost, the vehicle swung right (and ending up in the wrong lane, but I'll let that one slide). I gunned it, turning 'round the corner and accelerating like a madman. In the process of passing the incompetent driver's car, I glanced over and saw a couple who must have been at least a thousand years old. I'm sure that if you added their ages together they would be older than time itself, at least.
Then I rolled down the window and flipped them the bird.
I don't care how old you are; being flipped the bird is the universal punishment for incompetent driving.

The worst part of this story, however, I have already mentioned: that jackass made me late for work.

So, in conclusion, the next time you see an old person reaching for car keys, do the right thing: don't think. Strike.
Failing that, I'm sure the Columbo thing would work in this case too.