Post by Rob on Jan 28, 2020 16:08:44 GMT -6
"Hello, Mr. Henderson! How are you today?" said the annoying orderly (I know they're called "CNAs", but I'm too old to give a damn anymore) as he brought my lunch into my room. I only ever get to see but four of them, two during the day, two at night, on whatever day they're scheduled, I guess. I never have bothered to learn their names, they'll probably be gone in another month or two, some other dumbass kid taking their places. I call them: "the annoying one, the blonde lady, the dumber-than-shit one, and the nervous lady".
I give the tray a skeptical look, then gave the annoying one the same glare. "Really," I said. "You just saw me a couple hours ago when you gave me my bath. Are you trying to be the dumber-than-shit one? Anyway, what do we got?"
"Oh, we've got a special meal today" he said, ignoring my jibe (really, he is a true dumbass) as he lifted the lid from my plate. Staring up at me from the plate were four mushy glops of what they call "puree"...baby food, more like. "Today is Meal of the Month! Steak, potatoes, baked beans, a roll," said the annoying one (goddamn it, why does he have to sound so damned cheerful?!) as he pointed at the brown glop with gravy, the white one, a sort of brown-orange one, and the pale tan one. It didn't matter, they all tasted the same anyway: like shit.
I gave the orderly my best snarl, despite it not being very intimidating. After all, how intimidating is a snarl with no teeth? The idiots lost mine a month ago. Still ain't took me to the dentist yet. But, anyway, he blithely pretended to not notice my expression as he finished setting my tray up, then went back into the hall. Unfortunately for me, he came back, carrying my roommate's tray. "Okay, Bob! Time for lunch!" he chirped...honest to God, he chirped!...and sat down next to the senile old fart's bed and began to spoon-feed him. I ignored the two of them as I stirred my own pitiful slop around.
When the annoying one got through feeding Bob, he took the tray out to the hall and came back in, asking if I was done yet. I waved him and the tray away, turning my attention to the television. Andy Griffith. Pfah. I don't want to watch that feely-good shit. I want me a Western. The clicker, though, was on top of the TV. Damn, I can't get up to reach it with these legs so damned weak. So damned weak...like all of me anymore. Still, at least I'm better off than my roommate. Bob, as I thought of him, as if I had somehow pushed the "on" button, began his chant. "Help me. Help me. Help me." That's all he says. "Help me. Help me." That's all he ever says. I dream it. Every time I go to sleep, it's there. "Help me." Every time I wake up, it's there. "Help me." All day long. It's. THERE. "Help me."
I know he can't help it, but damn it, I'm going nuts. With a yank, I pull the cord that makes the light outside my door blink and beep for attention. The annoying one comes back. "Yes, Mr. Henderson?"
"Turn up the TV," I said. "Or give me the clicker."
With that damned empty smile, he gave me the clicker, turned my signal light off, then left the room. Bob, still muttering his 'Help me's'. Fine, I turn the TV up until I can't hear him anymore.
-----------------------------------
"Mah-mah-mah-Mr. Henderson?" said the small, mousy stammer from the nervous one after supper. I glare up at her to make her duck her chin to her chest, just for laughs. "We-we-we-we need-to-move-Bob,-that-is-if-you-don't-mind,-sir!" she managed to spit out, rapid-fire. I roll my eyes and wave her in. Of course, she doesn't enter herself, she ran down the hall back to the nurse's station. Two burly orderlies that I haven't seen before come in with pleasant enough smiles and nods, then begin to load up and take my roommate's stuff out of the room. That meant only one thing, bad off as he is: Room 101. See, I've been here long enough to know that, when you move to Room 101, your time is getting close. In fact, the closer to Room 101 you were, the closer you were to kicking off. They don't know that I figured it out, but I did, a long time ago.
My room was 102.
I'm actually sort of proud that I've been in this room longer than any other resident in the history of Gentle Hills. That's the name of the place, forgot to tell you. "Gentle Hills Retirement Home". Pfah. Anyway, yeah, I've been in this room for six months now. Still feel like I could go one more round in the ring. Heh, maybe against a balloon, but still! Finally, some peace and quiet.
-----------------------------------
"Help me. Help me. Help me."
It did not give me peace or quiet.
-----------------------------------
Even without the quiet I wanted, I fell asleep. Some time in the middle of the night, though, I woke up. I look around, trying to figure out what it was that woke me. After a few minutes, it hits me. It's silent. Bob didn't last long.
-----------------------------------
I couldn't sleep the rest of the night. It was too quiet when I was awake, too many 'Help me's' in my dreams. Grumpier than usual, I barely grumbled a "Morning" to the annoying one when he brought my breakfast. Shittier than normal I thought, barely able to even touch the oatmeal. Not worth the bother.
As I push my tray away, the annoying one pops his head into the room, "You have visitooo-oo-ors!" he sang, then waved to whoever-the-hell it was. "Hi, dad," said a stranger. My son said a little voice in my head, but I didn't care to listen to it anymore. "Hey, old-timer!" said another stranger, this one a woman. My daughter...
They sit with me, sad looks on their faces, and talked about inconsequential things. My last doctor's visit. The tests. I didn't care. I've gone this long, I got more in me. I grunt in what seem like appropriate places, but don't even pay enough attention to know whether to grunt once or twice for yes or no. Andy Griffith's on again. It's got my attention.
"Come on, dad," says the man. "Let's go for a walk." ...Was that supposed to be a joke? A walk? Really?
He lifts me easily, easier than the annoying one or the dumber-than-shit-one. Puts me into my wheelchair and begins to push me down the hall. Like I can't push the wheels myself. Pfah. Less work on my arms. Too tired to do it anyways, so let him make himself useful.
The man and woman talk behind me some more, about what I don't know. All I know is that I'm missing Andy for this. I look around. At least they're taking me around to places I don't get to see much anymore. I remember vaguely about being brought here almost a year ago, but I don't remember what room I even was in. It don't matter, it seems these two are intent on taking me all over the damned facility while they blather along.
They finally take me back down my hall again. I don't know how long they've had me out. Wait, ain't that my room we're passing? Well, maybe not, the room's empty. Probably not. They push me toward the next room. That must be it. So tired. Wonder if Andy's on? What room number was that?
Room 101.
Help me. Help me. "Help me. Help me! Help me!"
I give the tray a skeptical look, then gave the annoying one the same glare. "Really," I said. "You just saw me a couple hours ago when you gave me my bath. Are you trying to be the dumber-than-shit one? Anyway, what do we got?"
"Oh, we've got a special meal today" he said, ignoring my jibe (really, he is a true dumbass) as he lifted the lid from my plate. Staring up at me from the plate were four mushy glops of what they call "puree"...baby food, more like. "Today is Meal of the Month! Steak, potatoes, baked beans, a roll," said the annoying one (goddamn it, why does he have to sound so damned cheerful?!) as he pointed at the brown glop with gravy, the white one, a sort of brown-orange one, and the pale tan one. It didn't matter, they all tasted the same anyway: like shit.
I gave the orderly my best snarl, despite it not being very intimidating. After all, how intimidating is a snarl with no teeth? The idiots lost mine a month ago. Still ain't took me to the dentist yet. But, anyway, he blithely pretended to not notice my expression as he finished setting my tray up, then went back into the hall. Unfortunately for me, he came back, carrying my roommate's tray. "Okay, Bob! Time for lunch!" he chirped...honest to God, he chirped!...and sat down next to the senile old fart's bed and began to spoon-feed him. I ignored the two of them as I stirred my own pitiful slop around.
When the annoying one got through feeding Bob, he took the tray out to the hall and came back in, asking if I was done yet. I waved him and the tray away, turning my attention to the television. Andy Griffith. Pfah. I don't want to watch that feely-good shit. I want me a Western. The clicker, though, was on top of the TV. Damn, I can't get up to reach it with these legs so damned weak. So damned weak...like all of me anymore. Still, at least I'm better off than my roommate. Bob, as I thought of him, as if I had somehow pushed the "on" button, began his chant. "Help me. Help me. Help me." That's all he says. "Help me. Help me." That's all he ever says. I dream it. Every time I go to sleep, it's there. "Help me." Every time I wake up, it's there. "Help me." All day long. It's. THERE. "Help me."
I know he can't help it, but damn it, I'm going nuts. With a yank, I pull the cord that makes the light outside my door blink and beep for attention. The annoying one comes back. "Yes, Mr. Henderson?"
"Turn up the TV," I said. "Or give me the clicker."
With that damned empty smile, he gave me the clicker, turned my signal light off, then left the room. Bob, still muttering his 'Help me's'. Fine, I turn the TV up until I can't hear him anymore.
-----------------------------------
"Mah-mah-mah-Mr. Henderson?" said the small, mousy stammer from the nervous one after supper. I glare up at her to make her duck her chin to her chest, just for laughs. "We-we-we-we need-to-move-Bob,-that-is-if-you-don't-mind,-sir!" she managed to spit out, rapid-fire. I roll my eyes and wave her in. Of course, she doesn't enter herself, she ran down the hall back to the nurse's station. Two burly orderlies that I haven't seen before come in with pleasant enough smiles and nods, then begin to load up and take my roommate's stuff out of the room. That meant only one thing, bad off as he is: Room 101. See, I've been here long enough to know that, when you move to Room 101, your time is getting close. In fact, the closer to Room 101 you were, the closer you were to kicking off. They don't know that I figured it out, but I did, a long time ago.
My room was 102.
I'm actually sort of proud that I've been in this room longer than any other resident in the history of Gentle Hills. That's the name of the place, forgot to tell you. "Gentle Hills Retirement Home". Pfah. Anyway, yeah, I've been in this room for six months now. Still feel like I could go one more round in the ring. Heh, maybe against a balloon, but still! Finally, some peace and quiet.
-----------------------------------
"Help me. Help me. Help me."
It did not give me peace or quiet.
-----------------------------------
Even without the quiet I wanted, I fell asleep. Some time in the middle of the night, though, I woke up. I look around, trying to figure out what it was that woke me. After a few minutes, it hits me. It's silent. Bob didn't last long.
-----------------------------------
I couldn't sleep the rest of the night. It was too quiet when I was awake, too many 'Help me's' in my dreams. Grumpier than usual, I barely grumbled a "Morning" to the annoying one when he brought my breakfast. Shittier than normal I thought, barely able to even touch the oatmeal. Not worth the bother.
As I push my tray away, the annoying one pops his head into the room, "You have visitooo-oo-ors!" he sang, then waved to whoever-the-hell it was. "Hi, dad," said a stranger. My son said a little voice in my head, but I didn't care to listen to it anymore. "Hey, old-timer!" said another stranger, this one a woman. My daughter...
They sit with me, sad looks on their faces, and talked about inconsequential things. My last doctor's visit. The tests. I didn't care. I've gone this long, I got more in me. I grunt in what seem like appropriate places, but don't even pay enough attention to know whether to grunt once or twice for yes or no. Andy Griffith's on again. It's got my attention.
"Come on, dad," says the man. "Let's go for a walk." ...Was that supposed to be a joke? A walk? Really?
He lifts me easily, easier than the annoying one or the dumber-than-shit-one. Puts me into my wheelchair and begins to push me down the hall. Like I can't push the wheels myself. Pfah. Less work on my arms. Too tired to do it anyways, so let him make himself useful.
The man and woman talk behind me some more, about what I don't know. All I know is that I'm missing Andy for this. I look around. At least they're taking me around to places I don't get to see much anymore. I remember vaguely about being brought here almost a year ago, but I don't remember what room I even was in. It don't matter, it seems these two are intent on taking me all over the damned facility while they blather along.
They finally take me back down my hall again. I don't know how long they've had me out. Wait, ain't that my room we're passing? Well, maybe not, the room's empty. Probably not. They push me toward the next room. That must be it. So tired. Wonder if Andy's on? What room number was that?
Room 101.
Help me. Help me. "Help me. Help me! Help me!"