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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Overheard: “It’s a second wedding for her. And I think it’s his fourth. Don’t you just want to tell her to run away as fast as she can?”

~~ Overheard: “I tell him that prices in other salons are $30.00 to $50.00 more than I spend with Jo Jo, so he thinks I get a deal. I have no idea if that’s a lie or not.”

~~ She asked me if I knew how to use a particular app. I said I’d never heard of it, but if she opened it up, I’d be happy to take a look at it with her. “Oh, I never got the app because I didn’t know how to use it.” Note to app developers: a certain segment of the phone-owning population will never download any app unless the instructions are in the name. In other words, don’t call your app “Whiz.” Rather, call it “Tap the Restroom Icon and Find the Nearest Bathroom.”

~~ In Dementia-ville, accountability is important. Anyone charged with looking at or out for the patient — the aides, agency, nurse, doctor — all have a not on my watch outlook. When a new aide comes to the tiny village, she immediately wants to play a game of tag, thereby declaring the old aide as “it.”

Such was the case earlier this week when the changing of the guard occurred. I pulled up just to see the old/new taxi switch off. My instinct screamed, “Drive away and don’t come back for hours!” I ignored my intuition and went inside to let my dogs out. No sooner was my hand on the back door knob than the voice of calamity beckoned. “Hello, hello! Come here, come here and look!”

I hope my sigh was internal as I turned to face her, but I am not sure. After the briefest of exchanged pleasantries, I was brought to see the patient. Or specifically, her arm. Seems there was a scratch (her skin is paper thin) that had not yet been reported to the agency. “You know I just got here, right? I didn’t do anything yet to her, and that doesn’t look like a new wound, right?” Right, right, right, anything you say — please just let me go away.

I wasn’t fleeing because of the usual reasons. I was extremely shaken by the sight of the patient. (It wasn’t the cut; the case manager can affix blame.) The patient was lying on her bed as I entered her area, and the moment I saw her I gasped (again internally, I believe). She looked absolutely cadaverous.

~~ While phone banking for a local candidate, a man asks why I’m calling his daughter on his phone. I explain that this is the number provided by the party via the Board of Elections, and he erupts with fury. “It’s not bad enough that she takes my money and my car but she has to give out my number at parties for people like you to call?” OK, then. I eliminate her number from the database and say in my most saccharine voice, “Have a great day and please vote.”

~~Speaking of voting:

Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend, and don’t believe anything that the man in the White House (or on the golf course) says. 



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April 2019


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