Ep. 28: I Am Resident

In recent work news, we've somehow survived The Casserole Apocalypse of 2017, in which All-Star and a vengeful coworker together turned a slightly-dry pasta-based casserole into the End of Days...

Overshare has been seated at an all-male table this month, because apparently his creepy antics have been extended not only to staff but to his fellow residents...

Sir Talksalot has made unrest his prime goal at every breakfast...from heckling the sausage links to screaming about waiting 40 seconds for me to rush to his aide in a "Vitamin Emergency"...

I tried unwisely to "fix" a client complaint by explaining how I don't read minds and must be told there's a problem...I shouldn't have to overhear it...and that circular conversation left me so frustrated I practically threw Sweet and Low packets at Sugarfree when she requested them. Clearly my unchecked work-related emotions are beginning to interfere with my job performance...

To top it off, I had the GREAT PLEASURE of serving former resident Mr. Placemats at our free community breakfast last Friday. "Honey," he called me in that slurred, drunk-sounding voice of his, eyes glazed over like a hungry seagull stalking a piece of wonderbread. Ick and double ick.

Then my "dream menu" got about 25% finished before I stopped operating in denial and faced the fact that it's never gonna happen...because no matter what we do our residents will never be content...

I hear them ranting about the election and politics...and then confessing that they didn't bother voting. So why do you get to complain, I wonder?

I hear them complaining about cold oatmeal. If you leave it sit while you yak, and then pour cream all over it, it's bound to get cold. If you want it reheated, tell me. But if you make no move to change things, you should not get to complain!!

And that's when I realize...that I'm just like our residents in this respect. I Am Resident. Here I am, complaining about having to serve these people, but making no effort to change the situation.

The dream menu will never happen.
And even if it did, people would still find something to rant about.

So maybe the solution is that I need to not work there anymore. Or I need to work there less...

"If you always do what you've always done, then you'll always get what  you've always got."

Time to break the cycle?

Time to formulate an escape...

--

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.

Ep. 27: Overshare

She stops by to pour him coffee, and one thick hand instantly finds the small of her back. She wriggles away and moves to another table.

At breakfast, the server clearing dishes finds his hand cupped around her bicep, caressing it as he asks her how she manages to stay warm in short sleeves. She yanks her arm free and scurries away.

At Halloween, workers dressed as hippies or witches or cats. He eyeballs one costumed lady and tells her, "well, you look sexy."
 


Getting the picture? This guy has no idea where the line is...that, or he doesn't care where it is and intentionally crosses it.


I was on my break the other day, hiding in a corner of the coffee shop, considering myself safe, when he wheeled his way in and said hello. I figured we'd each say a few words and he'd leave. But no. He stayed for 40 minutes. At one point during that time, he thought it would be funny to leap from a discussion of his children into a sex joke involving him and his late wife. And I didn't know it was a joke at first, so I was extremely uncomfortable and hurried to change the subject.

Still. Joke or no joke, talking sex with a stranger and one of the opposite sex is just awkward, especially when there is a client-employee dynamic at play.

This is why I am dubbing him Overshare. Sir Overshare? Mr. Overshare? Oversharington the Third? Anyway...

Crossing. The. Line.

He's still pretty new at the facility, so most of this information is just starting to travel. The combined stories make for one creepy picture. And I wonder what is next and when we're all going to start drawing that line for him, since he can't apparently find it on his own.

--
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.

Ep. 23: Elf's Advisory Committee

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.