MeToo Diary

August 7, 2019.

Another blue coat woke me this morning at 7 a.m.

I actually shook from her voice and she asked me if I was alright.

I was asleep, I murmured and it made me think that if I was new here and had a heart condition…

Then I remembered that guy on this floor a few months ago who had just moved in and did have a heart condition. He was found dead by a blue shirt at 6 a.m. From (you guessed it) a heart attack.

Someone should have put a sign on his door the night before: HEART PATIENT. DON’T SCREAM HOW ARE YOU IF HE’S ASLEEP!!

I was thinking that how come it’s okay for young women to come into your room, unasked for, early in the morning or at any time of day without knocking and you a grown man getting dressed, or walking around in your underwear… I suppose it might be okay if you had scraped together all your hidden savings and paid for an escort, but take my word for it, these are not escort material.

If a young man came into a woman’s room without warning, and no way to lock the door and she was dressing… he’d be arrested.

I went down to see if the toaster my sister sent arrived. She conked herself on the head a few days ago while parking at a garage (don’t ask how, I still don’t understand it) and said she had received confirmation from Amazon that the toaster had arrived.

Well, I doubt very much that it arrived here. She should check the address she sent it to. I hope someone with a similar address enjoys their toast this morning.

I never read the signs in the elevator where they try to get you to go to some worthwhile activity. Every month they have a meeting of the food committee. They should call it the gastritis council. A guy from the corporation that runs the Castle says a few words of pure bullshit, and then they start handing the mike around to the mostly Alzheimer-ridden residents. Don’t call us patients. The aides are trained to call us residents.

Well, I went to three meetings. Said my piece. Saw nothing changed and people were still eating crap and the place was still freezing cold (not good for old sickly people) and eventually stopped eating meals there and grubbing for money through FB and Paypal so I could make my own food.

Not what I started to write about.

One of the meetings I missed was for Narcon. You know, there’s an opioid epidemic (I think the word epidemic is overused but that’s another story) certainly tons of people are hooked and overdosing on Opiods, but what in the world is the point of having residents, who are not allowed to have Narcon in their room, or blue shirts, who can’t administer it, at a jam packed meeting about Narcon. I wouldn’t trust most residents to give me an aspirin.

Well H. (a talkative resident) was there, and he told me he goes to all the meetings. Between you and me, give him a microphone and eventually someone will have to take it away.

He is a man with stories. Most of them true, as opposed to mine which I tend to embellish.

I did go to one meeting led by a psychiatrist. H was sitting in front of me. He had something to say about every subject, and I could see the shrink… actually she said but softly to him, there may be other people in the group who want to say something…

He then went into a spiel about trying to make sure everybody was informed…

I gave him a slap on the shoulder, he turned around to look at me. I said, loudly, OTHER PEOPLE WANT TO TALK.

The polite soft-spoken shrink came up to him and he handed the mike back.

Just another day in The Castle.

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.

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