Rainy Days and... Tuesdays??
I think the rain is f'ing with everyone's heads today.
I'm having a good ol' chew on the lining of my stomach over our director's obsession with my office. She told me last week she'd authorize me to get paid for an extra three hours if I came in on my own time and cleaned my office. Since my office is the repository of all Unwanted Donations, and it is 98% cleaner than HER office, I confess to feeling a bit miffed. I've made reference before to the phenomenon that happens: as soon as I make a trip to Goodwill with the latest batch of donated crap, someone will leave another six grocery bags of 30-year-old jigsaw puzzles, mildewed books, and cat-scented afghans that very night.
So, I made another valiant effort to get rid of another Subaru-load of items. We had about 20 old nursing textbooks that were culled from the nurse's office, moved into the conference room, then uncermoniously dumped in my office, I also packed up a pair of old boots, several baskets, and some hideous artwork. Then I moved a clutter-collecting filing cabinet and got rid of a folding table. I have a superflous desk against one wall that I hope to replace with a bookshelf. And then maybe this space will look tidier.
The director seems to like the progress I've made so far. But then she opened the doors to the untidy closet and said, "Do you need help with this?" I pondered the closet for a few moments, then shut the doors again. "Look! Problem solved!"
* * * * *
The crossest, most trying folks keep calling here today. I got a call from a woman wanting to speak to the daughter of a recently-deceased resident. I went looking for this person, found her talking to our director, and let her know this friend had been trying to reach her. I then returned to the caller and explained she was talking with a staff person and I had let her know the caller wanted to talk to her.
"Hun Knee," she said in a broad accent from the East of here. "You listen to me. I NEED to talk to her. Her voicemail on her cell is full. She is sleep deprived and just lost her MOTHER. I want you to pin a note on her blouse to call me AS SOON AS POSSIBLE."
My gut response was, "No, you daft cow, I will do no such thing. Bugger off. This woman is hanging out with her mother's dead body. I doubt her interest in talking to you is as great as your perceived need to talk to her."
Instead, I said, "I will make sure she gets the message that you need to speak to her." "If you don't," Daft Cow responded, "I'll be calling you back in 15 minutes."
Thanks for the warning.
Sure enough, she called back 14 minutes later. "Yes. I called earlier (like I could forget her dulcet tones). I NEED TO TALK TO ____."
"Why, yes!" I answered sweetly. "Let me put you on hold a moment!"
"Wait..." but I put her on hold, told the woman she had this caller and offered to bring her the cordless phone.
"I'm transferring you now!" I sang to Daft Cow. "Just a min..." she started, but too late! She was on hold again. I do get great pleasure from these phone antics. Hopefully now that her desperate need to speak to our family person has been met, we shall never have to speak again.
* * * * * *
A little bit ago, one of my volunteers came into my office. She is 83 (not the one who flipped me offm but a different volunteer) and she has very clear ideas on how the world should be run.
"I need to clarify something with you," she started.
Oh good, I thought. I've done something else wrong. "What's that, Winnie?"
"That Ahmed. The one that lives here. Last week he was a tall black man with a gotee and he walked with a cane. Now you are telling me that Ahmed is that little white man with the hood."
"Well, Winnie," I said. "There's only been one Ahmed here. Ahmed is the man at the table. He looks white because he is an African who happens to be Albino."
"No," she insisted. "Ahmed was tall and black last week. I saw him walk with a cane back to his room. A staff person was with him."
"Perhaps that was a visitor," I suggested. "Ahmed does have visitors who stop by."
"All I know is last week Ahmed was someone different than who you tell me is Ahmed now," she answered. "This little man with the hood is not the same person."
I don't know who she thought she saw, but we've only had one Ahmed. We only have 13 beds, so it's not like we lose track of folks. Thankfully, the phone rang before we had to debate the matter further.