The One About I Love My Job

Category: weekleez

 

 

The One About I Love My Job
because old people totally rock the house
unless they are driving
July 29, 2004

hi kids,

i’ve been working at this giant apartment complex for old people. i’m not sure if it’s considered “assisted living” or not. but it’s affordable housing for people 62 years and older. it’s called the Holy Comforter House. it is called that because it is supported by a local episcopal church which is called the Holy Comforter.
coincidence?

what.

anyway, i love working at that place because the other people who work there are very nice and funny and also the old people are a total gas. literally. like today for instance, this old lady was in the lobby and she totally ripped one.

LOUD.

and she looked at me as if to say, “yeah. what of it, bitch?” because she knows that noone (especially me) is going to say ANYTHING about it. she knows that we’re all just going to go along as if nothing happened. and we did. because really, old people farting is just not that funny.

unless of course you live on planet Earth.

and i do.

and i promise you, everytime i hear a fart the size of a Buick come out of a tiny old lady it’s like an act of god that i don’t burst into childlike giggles. why would it be so hard to contain my giggledom? because my father is standing next to me.

and we are 10 years old.

and it’s not like we pick on old people or anything. if a dainty old lady farts that doesn’t mean that her fart is more funny than anyone else farting. basically, if it sounds funny, then it is funny. and we become a bunch of immature chuckleheads… as soon as the lady walks away.

but really, i like working there because the old people treat us like we’re Awesome People. they think that dad and i are Artists. they think we are So Sweet when all we do is our job. we paint things. mostly we paint apartment units that are empty because the old people Move On.

sometimes they Move On to nursing homes. and sometimes they Move On to the other Holy Comforter. and sometimes i guess they just move, to like, some other apartments. who knows? it doesn’t matter. ‘cos when we’re on an elevator with our ladder and paint cart and an old lady get’s on with us she’s always really excited, “oh! where are we painting today?”

they really, really, really like it when we paint a hallway or some place that they all get to see.

“oh! look what a good job they’re doing!”

“that’s really hard work!”

“y’all are doing SUCH a good job!”

and so on and so forth.

we are like movie stars at that place. the only person more “famous” than we are is the mail man. he’s a god. they worship him. they roam the lobby for hours, farting, waiting for him to show up and bless them with junkmail and magazines.

 

 
“when i am an old lady i shall wear purple…and blue and orange and snakeskin!”

 

 sometimes old people can’t see very well. so they don’t realize that they are wearing multiple patterns. but the old tawainese lady to the left has defintely figured out the best part about wheeling is you can wear any size heel you want. “how are you feeling today?” i asked. “my daughter alway uses too much toilet paper when she come to visits.” she replied.

today was a special day at the Holy House. for the past week my father and i had seen flyers around the place advirtising an ice cream and brownie social with entertainment. as if the ice cream and brownie weren’t enough of a reason for dad and i to stop working (we weren’t even working at the Holy House today), one of the residents, a Ms. Willadean Somebody was going to perform her Pageant Routine and her friend was going to play the fiddle.

yeah. like i’m gonna miss that.

it turns out her fiddle playing friend was 12. and i think she learned how to play the violin yesterday.
aw, jaimie, don’t be so mean.
ok. sorry. hey, you wanna know what the worst sound in the world is?
ok. what?
a 5th grader slaughtering the Beach Boys barbarann on the violin.

“and now i’m going to play a rocknroll song called barbarann.”

“what did she say, dad?”
“rock and roll?”

reeree ree ree reeeeee rooo roooo
reeree ree ree reeeeee roo rro rooooo

reeeroooreeerooooooooooooooo
reeeereeeeeroooreerooooooooo

“what is that?”
“i think it’s barbarann.”
“oh. yeah. you’re right. wow dad, you’re a genius.”

reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

“it would be mean to make fun of this wouldn’t it?”
“yeah. still though, it’s bad.”
“oh yeah.”

the little girl did pretty good on the other songs which consisted of amazing grace, twinkle twinkle little star, and i can’t remember the other song she played.

when she finished we were all treated to Willadean’s act. it was easy to pick Willadean out of the crowd because she was the one wearing all black with white gloves and a shiny plastic top hat. and cane.

she proceeded to ‘dance’ i guess you’d call it, to a tape recorder playing tea for two.

dad and i watched in facination and slight horror as we both silently prayed that the 84 year old woman wouldn’t fall and break a hip as she dancewalked this way and that. she even did some tap dance moves. it was very cute. very, very cute.

then we all had ice cream and brownies.

all in all the “show” lasted 6 minutes.

after we ate the junkfood the oldsters got restless and demanded that Willadean do her act again. so she did. i was nervous ‘cos obviously this was tempting fate twice. dad and i watched again as she wobbled around the “stage” which was the kitchen area of the Community Room. this time though, one of the oldest old ladies got up while Willa was dancin’ to get more coffee. so now while Willa’s a dancin’ there’s this moving obstacle in red pants all up in the way trying to get to the coffee maker.
“what is that old lady doing?!”
“she’s danicing, dad.”
“no no. the other one…in the way…”
“oh. how rude.”
“rude?! it’s dangerous! now we’re gonna have TWO broken hips.”
“gosh, she’s like totally in the way now.”
“i can’t watch anymore.”

lucky for all, god was smiling down on the old folks today.

THEN we were treated to a BONUS ROUND OF FUN as Willadean proceeded to play what she called her French Harp. the rest of the world calls it a harmonica.

“what is that song?”
“i dunno. it sounds kinda familiar.”
“oh that’s…Tennessee Waltz.”
“oh yeah! gosh dad, you’re good at this.”

then this old guy in a rascal sitting next to us went, “BRAAAAAAAAAHP!”

“and that was an alabama belch.”
“hee.”

but the old guy went right from the belch into singing the song. “BRAAAAAAAAAHP… with my darlin’ to the Tennessee Waltz…”

i hid my face in my hands, body shaking.
dad pretended to pick something out of his teeth, body shaking.

“dad…sknnt.”
“shhhh. sknnt.”

10 years old.

Willadean played several other songs and hymns that the other oldsters sang along with, and after each song she would demand requests. and everytime someone suggested a song she would say, “oh, i haven’t played that in such a long time!” then she would totally play the song.
she can really work a crowd.

i really love working at that place.

oh but there’s this one guy, and he’s a real sharp dresser. he’s always wearing a dress shirt and pants and a tie. his hair is perfect. he’s really nice.

but he smells strongly of pee.

strongly.

strongly.

and i assume the poor guy can’t do anything about it. but oh man. you try riding down 14 stories in an elevator without gagging or covering your face with your hat or shirt. dad and i stood there, eyes watering, taking shallow mouth breaths (but no! ‘cos you can taste it! d’oh!). when we got off on our floor we both let out huge wooshes of breath.

“woo. that poor guy.”
“fmeh. yeah. that’s bad. he seems so together and with it though. you’d think he could, i dunno, change his Depends or whatever.”
“he’s a sharp dresser alright. but he ALWAYS reeks. i’ve never been around him when he didn’t smell like pee.”
“could be worse i guess.”
“oh. yeah. i didn’t think of that.”

so sometimes it’s sad to be with the old people. but for the most part they are cool and funny and very serious about the mail.

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