People are people, no matter their age. Some will be kind, curious, rude, condescending, bitter, or funny, and so on. I’m an “old people chef,” and this is my journal.
--
Plates are stacked. The steamtable holds buttered vegetables and rice and slabs of fish. The constant whir of the oven and the overhead fans mingles with banter on the radio. That's when the phone rings.
"Kitchen, Emily speaking."
"Emily!" excitement radiates from the voice on the other end. It's one of the residents, who I'll call Elf (like the movie). She's 50-something, but because of some developmental issue has remained about seven years old in her heart and mind.
"Hi, Elf," I reply, a grin growing on my face as I wait for a flood of questions, a whimsical change of mind, or an attack of joyous gusto. I am met with all three.
"It's mahi mahi today, Emily."
"Yes it is."
"I love mahi mahi. Do you love mahi mahi?"
"Yeah, it's pretty good."
"Well, I'm excited, Emily. You guys make the best mahi mahi. My sister makes it, too...last time I was at her house..."
And five minutes later, still smiling, I hang up the phone. What a refreshing change from bitter and cranky and demanding.
Unfortunately, even Elf is not immune to the bitter judgment of the people we serve.
Here's how it was told to me.
It was about a week ago at supper. She was seated with a stellar team:
Crankster, a bitter impatient resident who becomes incensed at the drop of a pin.
All-Star, the self-appointed chairperson of all things that are and are not her business.
Crafty, a manipulative and spoiled person who loves to stir the pot.
So there's Elf, eating an enchilada, raving about its gloriousness, asking questions and sharing stories like any happy seven-year old might do. She doesn't read the condescension on All-Star's face or the sheer hatred and rage of Crankster at being seated with her. Crafty no doubt is beginning to circle, like a vulture patiently waiting for a carcass.
Then she asks for seconds of the glorious enchilada, and that's when the hyenas pounce. She's raving again about this cheese enchilada when Crankster loses what little patience she had with her.
"Shut up. Just shut up. You are an idiot. You are a slow moron and you should not be living here with us," she declares to the seven-year-old heart of the woman next to her.
I wish I'd been there to tell Crankster to go to her room and think about what she's done and to look Elf in the eyes and tell her that none of that is true and don't believe it. It's like a kindergarten class in there.
But the hatefulness didn't end with Crankster's declaration of spite. No. It was just getting started. All-Star decided it was her place to advise Elf on her dieting choice (eating two enchiladas! oh no!!) and Crafty assisted. They followed her back to her room and lectured her at her apartment door for a while before trying to wedge their way in the door after her to continue their advisory committee on her life choices.
It's like we need lunchroom monitors and hall monitors to make sure residents are respecting each other's choices, privacy, and safety. The way they do in elementary schools and high schools.
Elf was completely destroyed. She hid in her room for the next week. Our administrator approved her for room trays at all meals, no charge, so she could avoid the bullies at her table. And then I believe Administrator had each bully into her office (the Principal's Office) to discuss their completely inappropriate behavior.
I wish they could get detention or get charged for verbal assault or be required to do community service. Something.
Elf's back in the dining room this month, now that we're on a new seating chart. She's placed at a table with Mr. and Mrs. Claus. They are so gracious and twinkly-eyed, so good natured and patient. They'll be sweet to her.
I saw her a couple days ago in the hallway before lunch.
"Emily!!" she called. "I'm so happy I can come down to dinner now." As in, so happy she can go without worrying about getting attacked.
"And look at this treeee!!" she exclaimed, gesturing to one of the ten or twenty glittery pines in the building. Her voice held so much reverence, like she'd never seen a Christmas tree before. "Wooow," she murmured, eyes wide, studying the lights and poinsettias, seeming to forget last week's hurts.
No comments:
Post a Comment