Three residents at my now-quit job:

1) A (pleasant) (very thin) (ninety-year old) lady who can't keep food down anymore, who was married to a nuclear plant operator, who is wasting away and knows it, but doesn't know when she'll finally die.

(I won't be there for her death, now.)

2) A (hunched over) (very sweet) (dyed red hair) hoarder who has piles of stuff on her chair and bed and around her room, and who often keeps food on her table, who was married to a local laboratory sciences prof, and who was always chit-chatty to talk to when I would come in to take her vitals, and who would always say, "Oh, hon."

3) A (thin) (big-eyed) (older) (white) (woman) with a tendency to get overemotional who I met once to take vitals for, and who I assisted on my second-to-last shift, who had one or two full shelves of hippo cookie jars in her room.

"Now why do you collect hippo cookie jars?", I was like, and then she told me that when she was young, her dad went back to school for art and was required to make a sculpture of some kind of animal, and so he did one of a hippo, playing.