DELICATE ISSUES
Dear Diary,
Oh ho hum. Just your average incredibly dull and boring day up on my favorite dementia floor of ALL. FREAKIN. TIME.. ROAM (Random Occasional Accidental Memory). Why yes. Yes— I do believe that IS the shrill pleas for help I hear emanating from somewhere in the vicinity of my MIL Ru’s bedroom. Now shhhhhh. If I listen really carefully from where I stand at the faux bookcase door I can almost make out what she’s s-a-y-i-n-g..
“I NEED TOILET PAPER. I NEEEEEEED TOILET PAPER! COULD SOMEONE BUY ME TOILET PAPER OR AM I JUST GONNA STAND HERE ALLLLLL DAY AND DRIP DRY?”
Yup. That was my girl.
This is the part where you look at me and say.. don’t just be all lolling around. Do what any normal person would do and FIND a roll of Charmin and get on with the rest of your unbelievably life affirming DAY. Hey, there’s a staff person. Ask THEM if they can perhaps SELL you a fist full at black market price. Ahhh— if it only were that easy. You see.. there WAS no toilet paper on the dementia floor at Happy daze Assisted Living. You heard right. They were O.U.T. I mean it’s only toilet paper right? It’s not as if it’s actually something NECESSARY like.. hand soap or DEPENDS.
Meanwhile Ru is getting tired of the same PEOPLE magazine she’s been reading for… GA. I don’t know.. the last thirty, maybeeeee FOURTY minutes. I catch her sneaking looks at the stack of brown paper towels generica in the holder next to the sink reserved exclusively for wrapping up last minute hostess gifts (for the neighborhood all night shindigs) or shoving residual food stuffs in for future nourishment.
“Granny.. I talked to the head guy and he said that they had a supplies ordering glitch and the toilet paper you requested should be here anytime.. within two to three working days. That gonna work for you? Now I k-n-o-w this might be a slight inconvenience but the nurse said we have to be flexible. So please carefully maneuver back here (walking straddle legged) and sit down and let me think this out.”
Breathing heavily and sweating profusely I nervously motioned for the male nurse to join me in the deserted back kitchen area. First, making sure that no witnesses existed.
“Mildred. Pssssst.. Mildred. You mind (tilting head towards the door)?”
“No. I don’t mind at all. I mixed Metamucil in there so be careful..it’s POTENT (handing me her glass).”
You’ve HAD enough prune juice.. please don’t make me do something (else). Take your walker and make yourself scarce would ya?”
I explained our situation calmly. One might even say that I appeared to be RATIONAL.
“What the (KAPow!) d-u-d-e is going ON in this joint? I need you to score me some good sheet man. I’m willing to pay you major (KAPow!) cash. (pulls out a dime with gum smooshed on it and Kleenex fuzzies adhering) Think you can get some? I’ll be your best friendddd.”
After the goods arrived and were put to use— Ru and I hastily pushed our way through the unruly throngs that had formed at her door. Stopping only momentarily to nod, smile and collect.. the mandatory SUGGESTED tax-deductible donations from each and every one of the girls (and Walter) who had been dancing in line— BEFORE dashing out to purchase bulk TP for our new start up venture.
Have a square to spare?
-A
Copyright © 2009-2010 My Sandwich Generation. All rights reserved.
Wow, you could make a killing on toilet paper in that place! If you play it right, you could end up retiring to a place that actually supplies toilet paper and even (gasp!) kleenex! LOL
Tell me Kat.. I’m still in shock over the whole thing. If I could do it over, I’d buy a YACHT a-n-d Ru could live on THAT. PLUS.. I’d throw in TP;)