Resthome residents (4 of 4): Medical distinctions.

The other week, this one (really old) (white) guy who I change his catheter bag for him was telling me about his gas, and then he started telling me about the last time he was in rehab.

"This nurse," he was like, "got very angry with me, if I went to go to the bathroom, and she took me there, and I farted instead."

Then, after a pause, he was like, "She told me, that I should know the difference!"

Then, after another pause, he was like, "Know the difference between shit and a fart, how can you do that?!"

Then, after yet another pause, he was like, "I told her, that a person cannot know the difference between shit and a fart beforehand, and to assign that task to me at ninety-seven years of age, when I had not been able to learn it before..."

And at that, he let the thought drift off, and then he paused and thought a bit, and then he laughed.

Resthome residents (3 of 4): An artist.

At the resthome where I work for one of my jobs, one of the residents is an artist.

The other week I worked on a day that I usually don't, and one of my tasks was to help her with a shower, whereas I usually just help her with her bedtime routine.

I've only helped one other resident with a shower, and it was absolutely impressive how comfortable she was in her body; it was like that the situation simply didn't matter, and our interactions were normal, and you could tell that she was just so present and so comfortable with herself and her body.

Part of me wondered if it's because artists are so bohemian, and I also wondered if it was because maybe she had nude-modelled in the past or something like that.

Later, the one (older) (gay) guy who trained me asked me how everything was going, and I said that I had helped that resident with a shower.

Immediately, he started gushing about how great it is how comfortable she is in her body, and how he thought it was because she's an artist.

Resthome residents (2 of 4): Movie.

At the resthome, it's very interesting to see how residents' abilities vary day-to-day.

For example, one very old resident has reduced verbal capabilities, and he doesn't really talk or do activities, though he'll have short interactions.

The other week, though, I saw him in the resthome foyer and he said something about "six-thirty," which was the time that the movie was starting that night, and then later another assistant said that he said that he was going to the movie that night.

And he did!

I peeked in, and he was there, though he had conked out in his seat, and was leaning to one side like he always does when he falls asleep in his chair.

It was pretty amazing to see, that he had figured out what time the movie was, and went.  I was so happy for him.

Resthome residents (1 of 4): Careers and pictures.

It's very interesting in the resthome that I work at, since a lot of residents are Jewish.

One used to own a wholesale fish company, and the other week when I was helping another resident in her apartment, I saw a picture of a meat distribution company on her wall, and it had her last name on its side...

Perhaps it was her (dead) husband's company, and her (dead) husband and the other resident were in the same line of work?

A subway story (2 of 2): End.

The next afternoon, I'm taking that same subway into work, only early afternoon, not late at night, and in the opposite direction, and I smell vague BO and see a guy sleeping up toward the end of the car, a wheely bag on the floor beside him.

It's the same (young) (bearded) (black) guy with decent-looking clothes, who I had seen the night before.

A subway story (1 of 2): Beginning.

The other week when I was on the subway, there was this (younger) (bearded) (black) guy with decent looking clothes, but he had a wheely bag and smelled like BO, and at one point he was standing up by the door and got out some poptarts and threw bits of the silver wrapper on the ground ,and then ate the poptarts slow but messily, with big bits falling off onto him and the floor.

Later, he moved to the other side of the car and said something to someone else who also seemed (homeless), then he slumped with his back against the clear plexiglass divider that I was on the other side of, with a bit of his clothes bulging through a gap between the plexiglass and the metal.

At that point, I waited for the next stop, then got up, sidle over to the door, walked out normally, and then hustled down to the next car to ride there.

As I sat down, this (plump) (young) (black) woman on the other side of the car and just a bit down from me is like, "He crazy," to which I'm like, "Yeah, did you see that shit with the poptarts?", but that just makes her make me look at me like *I'm* crazy.

Then, I notice that she has earbuds in with a wire going down to her phone.

"Wait, are you on the phone?", I was like.

"Uh, yeah," she's like, standoffishly.

"Oh!", I was like, "I thought you were talking to me, I just left the next car to come over here, because of the way a guy was acting!"

At that, she laughs, and so does a (young) (black) guy in a cowboy hat sitting across from me.

"I was wondering you saw that!", I added.  "I was like, 'Did she see all that through between the car windows?'".

A political observation.

In my district, I hit some hard-core townies, and they keep asking "Are you from here?", like no answer will ever be good enough.

The funny part is, is that the current representative is in bed with all the special interests that are fucking them over.

It's funny, where people find satisfaction.

I try to leave them with a good impression, and who knows, maybe one day they'll consider me.

"Can't win 'em all," though, in unionization elections or canvassing for yourself as a candidate.