(no subject)
Warning: This entry contains whining.
Just need to get this off my chest before I go to bed.
I was working the evening shift today, meaning that I start at one in the afternoon and get off at ten in the evening. Since mornings and I don't like each other very much, these are my favorite work hours. I was having a pretty good day, driving around to check in with the old people, helping them out and making sure they were all right. Everything was going fine until the last visit.
This old man in question, is a interesting character. He's an old sailor who have seen larger part of the world and raised his three daughters by himself. You can tell that he's been a real charmer with a killer smile and a way of sweet talking you like he knows you're going to give in. Unfortunately he is also one of the most stubborn and in denial men I have ever meet. And he's not even demented.
So even before I get there I know it's going to be hard work. As I park the car outside his house, my phone rings. It's one of my coworkers who's asking how it's going and I tell her that I just have the old man left. "Is it okay if I leave then?" She askes me. I'm not much of a fan of running off early, especially not at the evenings. Not so much for the "you are payed to do this job" as "you don't leave people behind." It's the unwritten rule that you always stay to make sure that everyone makes it back okay. But we are three people working and I know that she has small kids that won't let her sleep in tomorrow so I tell her to go ahead.
I go into the house and as soon as I open the door I can smell that this will not be fun. The whole place stinks of shit. The plastic gloves goes on right away.
The old man is halfway onto the floor, having slipped out of bed while trying to do god knows what. He's tangled up in blankets and plastic bed covers. There is shit, piss, chewing tobacco and what I hope is jam all over the place. He tells me that he just wants help back into bed so that he can go to sleep. Yeah, like that's going to happen.
And here the war starts. He claims to be a full grown man who can make his own decisions and I can't force him to do anything. Technically he's right but I can be a bitch if I have to and I make a great impression of the iceberg that took down Titanic.
But there is a lot to do. The man needs to be moved, cleaned off and changed. The beddings needs to be changed, everything he has touched with his sticky and alarmingly brown fingertips needs to be cleaned. The duvet needs to be washed so it doesn't start to smell too bad, he needs something to eat and the medicine needs to be sorted. And while this is going on, his crazy cat who's in heat is running around all over the place, literally climbing the walls and pushing over burning candles that the man has spread out all over the place.
I could use some back up.
So I call the third person who's working. And get his voice mail. This only means one thing. He's gone home early too. To say that I'm a bit annoyed is to state the obvious. I'm on my own but I get the job done. Not going to give you any more details but I can tell you that it wasn't pretty in any way.
Tired as hell, I get back to the office, lock up everything, document everything out of the ordinary and turn off all the lights. Then I put on every single piece of clothing I have to prepare for the walk home. It usually takes me about forty minutes to get home but today is something special. It's windy and -18 degrees. It's not so cold it hurts to breath but it's close. To make things worse the two people who left both drive by my house on their way home. I was not in a happy place as I started walking.
Half way home a though hits me like a fist of ice.
Did I turn off the stove?
I can remember making the old man hot chocolate, I can remember pouring it and washing the pan. But I have no memory of turning the stove off. There was a lot going on, the cat was jumping all over the place, the old man kept calling me over to do everything from getting him blankets to moving flower pots, not to mention all the things going through my head.
I'm 99 percent sure I did do it, even if I can't remember doing it but I'm not a 100 sure and I don't trust myself. I turn around and go back to the office, get the keys, drive over to the old man's house and let myself in. There I can se for myself that of course I turned off the stove. I make small talk with the old man and get the pleasure of taking out the lovely trash bags that I had forgotten to bring with me the last time. Yes, because that was just what my evening was missing.
Fifteen minutes passed midnight I finally get to close my front door behind me. I'm cold, hungry and so tired that I'm sure that there's so many spelling mistakes in this that I will be embarrassed to re-read this tomorrow.
Sympathy?
Just need to get this off my chest before I go to bed.
I was working the evening shift today, meaning that I start at one in the afternoon and get off at ten in the evening. Since mornings and I don't like each other very much, these are my favorite work hours. I was having a pretty good day, driving around to check in with the old people, helping them out and making sure they were all right. Everything was going fine until the last visit.
This old man in question, is a interesting character. He's an old sailor who have seen larger part of the world and raised his three daughters by himself. You can tell that he's been a real charmer with a killer smile and a way of sweet talking you like he knows you're going to give in. Unfortunately he is also one of the most stubborn and in denial men I have ever meet. And he's not even demented.
So even before I get there I know it's going to be hard work. As I park the car outside his house, my phone rings. It's one of my coworkers who's asking how it's going and I tell her that I just have the old man left. "Is it okay if I leave then?" She askes me. I'm not much of a fan of running off early, especially not at the evenings. Not so much for the "you are payed to do this job" as "you don't leave people behind." It's the unwritten rule that you always stay to make sure that everyone makes it back okay. But we are three people working and I know that she has small kids that won't let her sleep in tomorrow so I tell her to go ahead.
I go into the house and as soon as I open the door I can smell that this will not be fun. The whole place stinks of shit. The plastic gloves goes on right away.
The old man is halfway onto the floor, having slipped out of bed while trying to do god knows what. He's tangled up in blankets and plastic bed covers. There is shit, piss, chewing tobacco and what I hope is jam all over the place. He tells me that he just wants help back into bed so that he can go to sleep. Yeah, like that's going to happen.
And here the war starts. He claims to be a full grown man who can make his own decisions and I can't force him to do anything. Technically he's right but I can be a bitch if I have to and I make a great impression of the iceberg that took down Titanic.
But there is a lot to do. The man needs to be moved, cleaned off and changed. The beddings needs to be changed, everything he has touched with his sticky and alarmingly brown fingertips needs to be cleaned. The duvet needs to be washed so it doesn't start to smell too bad, he needs something to eat and the medicine needs to be sorted. And while this is going on, his crazy cat who's in heat is running around all over the place, literally climbing the walls and pushing over burning candles that the man has spread out all over the place.
I could use some back up.
So I call the third person who's working. And get his voice mail. This only means one thing. He's gone home early too. To say that I'm a bit annoyed is to state the obvious. I'm on my own but I get the job done. Not going to give you any more details but I can tell you that it wasn't pretty in any way.
Tired as hell, I get back to the office, lock up everything, document everything out of the ordinary and turn off all the lights. Then I put on every single piece of clothing I have to prepare for the walk home. It usually takes me about forty minutes to get home but today is something special. It's windy and -18 degrees. It's not so cold it hurts to breath but it's close. To make things worse the two people who left both drive by my house on their way home. I was not in a happy place as I started walking.
Half way home a though hits me like a fist of ice.
Did I turn off the stove?
I can remember making the old man hot chocolate, I can remember pouring it and washing the pan. But I have no memory of turning the stove off. There was a lot going on, the cat was jumping all over the place, the old man kept calling me over to do everything from getting him blankets to moving flower pots, not to mention all the things going through my head.
I'm 99 percent sure I did do it, even if I can't remember doing it but I'm not a 100 sure and I don't trust myself. I turn around and go back to the office, get the keys, drive over to the old man's house and let myself in. There I can se for myself that of course I turned off the stove. I make small talk with the old man and get the pleasure of taking out the lovely trash bags that I had forgotten to bring with me the last time. Yes, because that was just what my evening was missing.
Fifteen minutes passed midnight I finally get to close my front door behind me. I'm cold, hungry and so tired that I'm sure that there's so many spelling mistakes in this that I will be embarrassed to re-read this tomorrow.
Sympathy?