When I woke up at 10AM this morning and saw the bleak light bleeding through the curtains, I knew it was going to be yet another cold and rainy day. Robins bounced around in the wet grass and fallen leaves for food, large drops of rain mixed with fluffy tufts of snow came down on my windshield in juicy splats, and MJ texted telling me that it was going to be so cloudy that I needed to turn on the sunlamps. The woman I am seeing has so many potted plants on our dining room table that I've dubbed the place Longwood Gardens II. I taught her about full-spectrum bulbs and even bought her a few, so now that's what's keeping our house green and lively.
Sometimes I go to work. Today I did not. Not as a caregiver. Evidently, old people discriminate against men and we are way short on hours. At any given time, my agency employs roughly 140 people, ten of which are men. Elderly men and women feel more comfortable with women, but for different reasons. Women believe other women are more nurturing and responsible, whereas men just want something pretty to look at. From their mouths to God's ears. Michael is one of those men, a fellow co-worker. I should know - I got him the job. Flags were lowered in honor of the prestigious careers we once had, and here we are. I don't really think about it much. Staying at this job gives me time to write.
So today I wanted to put my strategy of discipline to the test. The idea is to have no distractions. Turn off your phone, forget about getting the mail, screw watching TV, HULU and Netflix. Instead, set aside five solid hours sitting and looking at your laptop. No, not YouTube videos. Writing. Opening a WORD document and actually writing.
It would only irritate MJ to let her know of my new approach. She always wants me to leave my phone on in case she needed something, or if there was an emergency. Of course MJ contacted me wanting something. She worked with a client we call the Greek Lady. The Greek Lady is quite old and doesn't require much attention. She has long, white scraggly hair and looks very much like a witch. She also is stubborn and mean. She spend the whole shift talking to herself in Greek. Caregivers have attempted to put their lunches in her refrigerator only to have her pluck them out and throw them in the garbage. She also won't allow anyone to use the microwave, so all comestibles have to be eaten at room temperature. Still, when it comes to MJ's appetite and food, she will not be deterred. "Don't forget my liverwurst!" she texted twice. For the record, liverwurst is terrible. "Is she turning into my Pop-Pop?" I thought as I filled up a freezer bag full of ice cubes, to add to the tea she made last night. She wanted Pei Wei. So I went out into the freezing drizzle and ordered her up some Pei Wei. I didn't get any for myself. I thought about going to Taco Bell, but given my lack of income, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich back home sounded just as good. That was followed by a couple of baby carrots, a can of Chef Boyardee (is that surname even Italian??) raviolis, and a handful of Doritos (are they even Mexican??). The cook made her food rather quickly and as he splashed and washed a load of water all throughout his wok, I gave him a thankful nod. But on the way out, I looked in her bag and saw that there were no utensils. I pulled over, and dialed her up. Forget texting; this was an emergency. Once she picked up it was only then did I realize she was in one of those homes that didn't get any reception.
"Hello?"
"He... y (*garbled) Ye... Ffff .... nnt shhhht!"
"What? I can't here you. Do you have a spoon or not?"
"Mmmrf.... phhhhhhhhl. (*mechanical noises) "
"You sound like a robot. Just text me whether or not you have a spoon!"
I waited and she never texted. I just said fuck it and drove to the house. I used to work for the Olive Garden, and there's nothing worse than delivering cold food (especially when it's pasta).
"Oh. I had to chase the Greek Lady around. That's why I didn't get back to you," she said.
As I handed her her Pei Wei (is it even Chinese??), I wondered if she was going to kiss me or not, or at the very least, a thank you for helping out.
Luckily I got that kiss.
And what is up with the Greek Lady not cooking or sharing any of her food, anyway? Would it have killed her to live up to the stereotype?
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