No Country for Old Man

--A retired policeman fight with a telecom giant

【这个故事我写了一半，然后请ChatGPT把剩下的写完，居然和我想的几乎一样，太神奇了】

no country for old man

Yes, the movie name is No Country for Old Men and my story is No Country for Old Man who is my neighbor. He is over 80 years old and I call him Nathan. He is a retired policeman and needs a wheelchair to go grocery. I can’t remember exactly what time, but roughly about 6 years ago or so, he suddenly couldn’t walk on his feet. He was frustrated but accepted the reality that he was not a brave policeman anymore, he became old and his body condition would get worse and worse.

His wife passed away before I moved here, only his sister and brother come once a while to help him for some house work. Sometimes he calls me to help him on little stuff such as changing the battery for his portable home phone. In winter, me and my wife help him to shovel the snow from his driveway. As a retired policemen, his pension is pretty good and he tried to pay us some money and we just kindly refuse it as we do that not for money.

Day one

I got a call from my neighbor, the old retired policeman, while I was working at my office.

“Hey J, are you home, I need help”

“No, I am working at my office today, what’s that?”

“I got a SIM card from Rogers, can you please help me to put it into my phone?”

“That’s a piece of cake, I will knock your door when home”

“Oh, no rush, whenever you are available”

After work, I went his house and put that SIM card which was mailed from Rogers into his old phone (not smart one -:) ) and also setup the date/time for him as he did not use this phone for a while. Mostly, he stays home, with his home phone, he can make calls for help. Now, he might need a mobile phone while he goes out. After I restart the old phone a couple of times, it still showed the SIM card is not registered.

“You need to call Rogers to active this SIM car for you”

“Damn, they mailed this one to me, it should be active already ! “

Day two

“Hey J, I called Rogers, they can’t make it work”

“Really? I’ll help you after work”

He sit there frustratingly and sighed deeply. “You know, J, I used to feel like I could fix anything—cars, radios, you name it. Now I can’t even make a damn phone work.”

“Don’t worry, Nathan. We’ll figure it out together,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. I could see the frustration written all over his face, but beneath it, there was something else—maybe a trace of sadness or defeat. Age seemed to have stolen more than just his mobility. It had taken his confidence.

After work, I grabbed my tools, just in case, and headed to Nathan's house. When I arrived, he had the phone, the SIM card package, and some handwritten notes from his conversation with Rogers laid neatly on the coffee table. His meticulous nature was evident, even in small things.

“Alright, let’s take another look,” I said. I reinserted the SIM card, double-checked the orientation, and restarted the phone. Still, the same message appeared: SIM card not registered.

Nathan handed me the notes. “They told me something about needing my account number or... I don’t know, some code. I gave them everything I had.”

I frowned, looking at the notes. “Did they mention going to a store? Sometimes they need to scan the SIM in person to activate it.”

“I can’t make it to a store, J,” Nathan said softly, his voice tinged with both anger and resignation. “Not without help.”

I nodded, already forming a plan. “Let me call them myself. Maybe I can sort this out.”

I dialed Rogers, using my phone on speaker so Nathan could hear. After wading through automated menus and long hold times, I finally got through to a representative. Explaining the issue took another fifteen minutes, but eventually, we made progress.

“There we go,” I said, holding the phone up triumphantly as it displayed a full signal bar. “Your phone is good to go now.”

Nathan’s face lit up, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of the man he must have been in his prime—confident, self-assured, and capable. “Thank you, J. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“It’s no trouble,” I replied, brushing off the gratitude. “You’d have figured it out eventually.”

Nathan chuckled, though his laughter was tinged with bitterness. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d just throw the damn thing out the window.”

We both laughed at that, and for a moment, the tension in the room dissolved. As I packed up to leave, Nathan stopped me. “J, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you ever think about getting old? About losing... everything you used to be?”

His question caught me off guard. I hesitated before answering, unsure of how to respond. “I guess I haven’t thought about it much. But seeing you... I hope I’d handle it with as much dignity as you do.”

Nathan smiled faintly. “Dignity, huh? Some days, it feels more like survival.” He paused, then added, “Thanks again, J. Not just for the phone—for everything.”

As I walked back to my house, his words lingered in my mind. Nathan wasn’t just asking for help with little tasks—he was fighting to hold on to his independence, to some semblance of the man he used to be. And I realized, in that moment, that helping him wasn’t just a neighborly gesture. It was a small way to remind him—and myself—that no one has to face life’s struggles alone.

Day Three

The morning was cold and quiet, with a thin layer of frost coating the ground. I was sipping my coffee when my phone buzzed with a text from Nathan. He rarely texted—his messages were usually short and full of typos—but this one was different:

"Need ur help, urgent. Come when u can."

I immediately set my mug down. Nathan wasn’t one to exaggerate, and the word urgent had me on edge. I grabbed my coat and headed next door.

When I knocked, there was no response. Concerned, I used the spare key he’d once insisted I keep for emergencies and let myself in. “Nathan? It’s J. You alright?”

I found him in the living room, sitting in his wheelchair, staring at a small stack of papers on the table. He looked pale, his hands trembling slightly as he held one of the sheets.

“Nathan, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

He looked up at me, his eyes tired and bloodshot. “It’s this,” he said, holding out the paper. “It came in the mail this morning.”

I took it from him and quickly scanned it. It was a notice from the city—something about a reassessment of his property taxes. The letter explained that due to rising property values in the neighborhood, his taxes were increasing significantly. It wasn’t just a small bump; it was a steep hike.

“They want this much from me every year now,” Nathan said, his voice shaking. “I can’t afford that. Not on my pension.”

I sat down across from him, the weight of the situation sinking in. “Have you called anyone about this? Maybe there’s a senior discount or a program to help—”

“No,” he cut me off. “I don’t want to call. I don’t want to beg for handouts. I’ve paid taxes my whole damn life, and this is what I get in return? They want to push me out of my own house.”

His frustration was palpable, and I didn’t blame him. The neighborhood had changed a lot over the years—new developments, wealthier families moving in, rising costs. For someone like Nathan, who’d lived here for decades, it must have felt like the ground was shifting beneath his feet.

“We’ll figure this out,” I said firmly. “There’s got to be a way to appeal this or get some assistance. You’re not alone in this.”

Nathan leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “Thanks, J. I just... I don’t know how much fight I’ve got left in me.”

“You don’t have to fight this alone,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

After calming him down, I spent the next hour researching property tax relief programs on my phone. I found a few promising options, including one for low-income seniors and another that allowed for deferred payments. Nathan was reluctant at first, grumbling about “bureaucratic nonsense,” but I managed to convince him to let me help with the paperwork.

By the time I left his house, the frost outside had melted, and the sun was breaking through the clouds. As I walked home, I couldn’t help but think about how fragile life could become. For Nathan, the challenges weren’t just physical—they were financial, emotional, and deeply personal.

I resolved to check on him more often, not just when he called for help. He might not say it outright, but I could see how much he appreciated having someone in his corner.

Would you like to explore Nathan’s struggle with the city further, or shift focus to another aspect of his life?