The other week I had a mandatory training session for my one assisted living job helping the one woman with disabilities, and then afterwards I headed down to the campus where I did my Ph.D. in order to catch a lecture for an ongoing research project of mine and to use the library there as well.
Then, I had dinner at a place I like, and I popped into a few neighborhood bars that I hadn't been to in a while.
At the (black) neighborhood bar, I just missed the one bartender that I usually see, but I got re-acquainted with another one who I had met before.
When I mentioned that I was working in assisted living, she started opening up about how her son had disabilities and had started living in a home, and then she started saying about how she suspected that a nurse was stealing money from him.
"You know, I just went to a training on this today," I was like.
Then, I turned around and bent down and picked up my backpack from the floor and put it on the barstool next to me, and I opened it up and pulled out my packet of training handouts.
Oddly enough, my stapled packet was open to the very page listing all the numbers that you can call, if you suspect abuse.
Then, she got me a cocktail napkin and a black marker and I wrote those numbers down for her, and I also went over the list of abusive behaviors with her.
She felt that our meeting like that again was providential and set up by G-d.
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