Ep. 24: Buttered Toast

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.
--
 
There's a golden moment here and there. I push open the dining room doors at 7 and say a "good morning" to the residents who've been waiting right outside for breakfast. I scoop up plates of scrambled eggs and sausage links and toast and place them in front of the early bird residents.

One of them finishes quickly and speeds away, mouth clenched tightly shut as she urges her Hoverround out of the dining room at the speed of light. It was Crankster, the one who bullied Elf last month about being "a moron." I swing by the table to clear her dishes and prepare for the next person.

"She has no patience, that one," says one man from her table.

"Yeah," says Sir Talksalot, sipping on his third giant glass of orange juice, "she was pretty peeved that you didn't butter her toast."

"Well, I only butter toast for people who can't butter it themselves," I say, beginning to fume inwardly about spoiled people. I figure if you have laundry, food, and cleaning all done for you, there's not much left to exercise, and what you exercise (buttoning clothes, buttering toast, dialing the phone) should be left for you to do. Use it or lose it.

Mr. Gentleman had a comment to add as he passed by the table: "Hey, I don't suppose you could put some sugar in my coffee for me?"

"Sugar?" I replied, confused for a moment until I saw the sarcastic expression on his face. I laughed. I threw my head back and laughed. He was making a joke about Crankster being ticked off at having to butter her own toast.

"Mr. Gentleman," I smiled, "you don't need any sugar in there. You are already sweet enough."

He just smiled back and shuffled away with his coffee, shaking his head in amusement at all the crazies in the world.

And that's one of those moments when work is ok. There are kind, funny people in the world. I can stop searching Indeed for remote work. I can stop planning a wilderness cabin for escaping the people and the endless dishes and food. Someone understands. And that changes everything.

Episode 13: Musical Themes

for a preface, see the home page of my work stories: Paradise (aka The Job)


Picture the scene: an entryway flanked by tall white pillars, double doors opening to a wide ballistraded staircase, comfortable couches pulled up near a gleaming grand piano. The mysterious, mellow sounds of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata are floating through the air as a volunteer pianist gives it her best amateur tinkling of the keys. Someone yawns theatrically. Perhaps that's to be expected of elderly people in the boondocks of Minnesota trying to digest classical music. Then in the midst of a melody that calls up images of mist over a full moon, someone makes an announcement to her neighbor, and loudly. "I didn't come here for this kind of music."

Um, you're welcome?

Some people are always ungrateful. It's a lifestyle, nearly.