One thing’s for certain at The Home For Senior Delinquents. Every day is a new adventure. Breakfast this morning. We have a buffet breakfast that starts at eight am. Some of our folks get there ten to fifteen minutes early, so that,1) they get their fair share,2)they can get their fair share and load up their walkers for later, or never, or for the cat. 3) They have important stuff to do. Like napping.
This morning, Fran, our wonderful cook had to hand out two pieces of bacon per person. See, the people hovering in line are like vultures. Waiting to strip the bones of their prey. Somehow an entire pan of bacon can disappear within minutes. It’s bad enough when the inmates load up their walkers, but, the highest flying and deepest diving are the caregivers. See, some of our inmates are somehow infirm. They hire people to assist them in various ways. Some of these caring individuals swoop in and take enough food for the inmate, themselves, and their seven starving grandchildren. It seems that bacon can turn people into pigs. How’s that for irony?
I could fill a lot of pages describing our various people. Today I’ll concentrate on: The Villain, The Driver, Three Housekeepers, and The Hero.
Walking out of the dining room, I heard Joan. raging at Ronnie, our driver.
So as not to give the wrong impression, I understand that Joan was happy and said nice things. Once upon a time. It could have been when Truman was president and the world changed. “That’ll fix ‘em “ she might have said.
To describe Joan as a vicious, vituperative harridan might be extreme. Or not.
It’s been said that if her walker could fly, they might reconvene the dunking in Salem. Massachusetts, not Oregon. And not donuts.Sorry if I misled you.
As I walk to the elevator Joan is still barking at Ronnie. He’s getting her wrath because for the last six weeks we have had no one on the front desk. Hey, bacon ain’t free you know.
“ I got a call that my housekeeper is sick, she screeched. Time to check the rabies tag? You gotta tell them that I demand that somebody come up and change my sheets and make my bed. Towels. I want clean towels too. And my floor. They gotta clean it. I got rights. I pay my rent. You tell them to get up there now. And another G.. D… thing, tell the kitchen not to let anyone sit in my chair in the dining room. I’ve been here…
Elevator door opens. Inside are three housekeepers, rolling carts, and all. As they start to get out, I, the hero after all, block the door, walk in, backing everyone up, and tell them they are all being kidnapped. For their own good.
I explain that Joan is on the warpath and wants all of your heads. So, up to the fifth floor we go. Three Housekeepers, three rolling carts, and one hero. We all go our separate ways. Another potential disaster averted.
Just another day at the Home For Senior Delinquents. Hey, I just had a thought. Maybe I should have gone over to Joan, opened her walker and handed her eight or nine pieces of bacon to calm her down. What do you think?
Fred Prout
You do make my mornings brighter!
Cafeterias can be complex and byzantine enterprises, and their patrons even more so.
Back in the proverbial ‘day’, when I was on single status in Riyadh, we ate company provided meals, (prepared by international contract workers, almost all of whom were unfamiliar with the proverbial North American diet), in the refectory.
At one point the Canadian Compound Manager advised us that a new group would be taking over the food preparation, and asked for suggestions as to what ‘we diners’ might like – several ideas were presented.
Day One of the new regime had Cheesecake, for dessert, written on the chalkboard……..and it WAS cheesecake, after a fashion….a sponge cake..adorned with Kraft slices.
Not too long thereafter….Fruit Salad, (presented in a huge stainless steel bowl) – first guy up peered into the bowl for a minute or two and then beckoned to the guy in charge……there ensued pointing into the bowl, (none of us, from where we sat, could hear the conversation), and obvious queries being verbally submitted.
Big smile, and a “Wait here” signal, from the counter guy who disappeared for a moment and returned, still beaming, carrying a large can of ‘Sweet Corn’.
(I can still envision the staff, conversing in their own language beforehand, shaking their heads and saying “Well, if THAT’S what they want…”)
You’ve done it again, Fred. Every senior living place has its share of Karens, er Joans.
This is not funny, it’s sad. Shame on you Fred.
Oh Fred … You sure do know how to tell it. Love your stories!