When did the Matlock joke leave the public consciousness?

I had to go to the bank today. That sounds unimportant, I know, but the side street the intersects with College Avenue emptying into the BoA parking lot was under construction, forcing me to park next door at Eckerds. The banking experience went smoothely, and there was nothing to report other than there is an Indian woman teller who has an awesome accent.

The big news is on the way out, I had a frantic flashback to my homeland, Florida, as I was pulling out of the Eckerds parking lot. The reason for this flashback is because of the sorts of patrons that the drug store has during the middle of the day: old people. This alarmed be because I think it means I'm spending too much time away from the Sunshine State. Let me explain.

When people on the road complain about old people, I explain to them that where I come from, old people are like officials in football -- just part of the field. If you can't navigate around them, you have less business on the road than they do, just like the free safety who complains that his view gets blocked by the umpire. This is important because it keeps you on your toes and ready for anything, because old people are unpredictable. Slow, but unpredictable. For example, you never know if an old person riding in the left lane of US1 with the left blinker on for the past mile and a half traveling at 26 mph is preparing to turn left at the next intersection, preparing to turn left another half mile down the road, simply forgot from when s/he changed lanes, or is preparing to merge into the right lane.

While in the Eckerds parking lot, old people would appear seemingly randomly (but slowly) from behind various Mercurys and Buicks in the lot, making me wait longer and be more paranoid than I ordinarily would when leaving, say, a Wal-Mart in Florida where old people congregate to buy shoes and gawk at electronics they don't understand. I wonder if I'm losing some of the sharp edge I honed my driving instincts in the proving grounds of old people that is Volusia County. It'd be like cutting Samson's hair; without my Spideysense for detecting old people's insanity in public places, I'm just like the rest of you people.