Tuesday In Purgatory

I haven’t had any stories to tell for the last few days, so I haven’t told them. Either that, or I’m getting used to the ineptness and general ineffectiveness that plagues most institutions, big and small.

I’m ready to graduate (as the head nurse put it) so that I can get my meds once a month without having to sit through the hysteria of the dispensary waiting room where people sit and look at the number they’ve drawn and try to figure out who goes next.

It is especially complicated because some people don’t know that 29 follows 28. This morning, I let the Chinese woman with 29 go ahead of me (I had 28) because she was already up and is not adept with consecutive numbers. If you don’t prod her at just the right point to get up and go into the med room, she’ll just sit and stare at her number forever.

So I let her go in front of me.

That disturbed the dispensing crew who came out with her number and gave it to me, so that things would be back in order.

Of course, as usual, last night I was told they were out of Baclofan (sp?) for my back. I take it twice a day. Without it, my back aches much worse than normally.

I looked in the little medicine cup with pills this morning, and said did the Baclofan come in.

Now, the nice thing to do would have been to tell me before hand, that the Baclofan hadn’t come in. But they are a little too hard-hearted for that.

So no, the head dispenser said. I am beginning to dislike her.

It’s been ordered, though, says the 30 year old.

How will I know when it has arrived, I ask? Will someone call my room? Text me? Alexa me?

Answer: We’ll let you know.

I suppose there is a tendency to become sadistic handing out pills all day.

I have finished fighting with them for a while. At least I’ll try.

Yesterday, I got a message during lunch (it’s a lot warmer there now) that FINANCE wanted to see me.

I arrived here April 25th, and they were given a check for the first month’s rent (May). The door to the finance office is nearly impossible to open with a Rollator – and as I was struggling to get into the office, the manager/bookkeeper came out from behind a maze of bookcases, and plants and finished opening the door for me.

Mr. Beckerman. There’s an issue with your rent payment.

She disappeared behind her maze and I tried to wend my way through it and she screamed at me not to come in from behind the barrier.

Oh, I said. Okay.

Because, she continued in a frantic scream, there are all sorts of personal information here…

I interrupted her to say, that’s alright, I’ll wait out here…

But she continued at the top of her lungs, because of Heppa Laws, I’m not allowed to — I just wanted to explain that to you, sir.

Once they call, you sir, you’ve crossed to the wrong side.

So she says, you still owe for May rent. Me: no you got a check from my sister a few days before I moved in.

She’s thumbing through receipts.

No, we did not receive a check from your sister. I don’t have it in the records.

Then call my sister, and she’ll send a copy of the cancelled check.

She picks up the phone and of course my sister doesn’t answer it. So she shouts a long message to the effect that I owe for May rent.

Then I repeat to her that the check was given in April. She finds the receipt. And calls my sister back. Another message. Okay, this is so-and-so, we found the payment.

So my sister, thinks everything is cleared up. But really, it’s not. Because my social security check comes in on the 2nd Weds of each month, and even then it’s not certain whether it will go into their coffers (she tells me it can take 2-3 months for SS to make the change) or into my old account.

But as I do with a lot of things here, I just try and let it go.

I’m actually going to remove this blog from Google search so hopefully nobody can find it and I can write a bit more honestly. If you subscribe you’ll still get notified.

Published by Dave

My name is David Beckerman. I am a fine art photographer working in New York City. Or I was before I had two strokes. I now write from a Nursing Home. https://dave-beckerman.pixels.com

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