A trip by cab to pick up a resthome resident.

Last month, I had to hop in a cab and go pick up a resthome resident who’s a retired professor from a dentist’s appointment, after his ride back to the resthome fell through and he was stranded a ways away in a big suburban mall where his dentist's office is located.

Our cab driver was a(n older) (Nigerian) guy with sunglasses, and on our way out of the parking lot, someone behind him was blowing his horn, probably because our taxi driver did something wrong with the traffic rules.

“Go ahead, blow your horn,” he was like.

Then, after a pause, he was like, “Tire yourself out.”

But, he didn’t say that in a mean way, just as a way of interacting with the person in the car behind him, whoever they were, even though they couldn’t hear him.

Or, maybe it was his way of establishing his presence before us.

Anyhow, later, I was telling the resthome resident about a new news story about a professor in his field who had had a lot of sexual harassment cases that broke out into the news all of a sudden, and the resident was saying how awful it was.

“Well,” I was like, “He was harassing men *and* women, so at least he was treating people equally.”

At that, our (older) (Nigerian) cabdriver broke out in a low chuckle, as we were driving down the highway, since he must have been listening to us.

Pranked at work.

At the apartment of my one assisted living client with disabilities, the dishwasher has a small note on it that says "CLEAN" on one side and "DIRTY" on the other, so that the person who puts it through a cycle last can always let everyone else know how the dishes in it are, so that no one is ever stuck wondering if they're actually putting dirty dishes in a clean dishwasher, or if the dishes in the dishwasher are actually clean and need to be unloaded.

The other week, then, I finished unloading it, but when I went to go turn the "CLEAN" note around, it said -

"[my first name] you're so DIRTY"

- with the first bit added above it in pen.

I laughed, and when my client heard that, she said that her sister did that that morning, and they were both wondering how long it would take me until I noticed.

Soup disappointment that got strangely personal.

The resthome makes up great soups for everyone, and there's only a few that I don't care for too much (asparagus, celery, fish).

Pretty much all the other ones are really good, though, including this nice mushroom soup that they make, that you could just go and eat on and on forever.

The other week, though, they tried a new kind of it, and it was listed on the menu as "Hungarian mushroom."

I was all excited, but then I tried it, and not only was it not as good as the regular mushroom soup, but it also kind of tasted like shit, to the point where I wouldn't get it again, which is the case with only a handful of the soups there.

Too, I felt strangely disappointed by that soup, like somehow Hungarians had failed everyone.

I also didn't quite understand what was so Hungarian about the soup; it wasn't like there was paprika in it or anything.  I could kind of see a few chopped up green things on top, which I guess were herbs that somehow made the mushroom soup more Hungarian?

Subway intervention: Loud cellphone talker.

The other week on the subway going into work, this one (shorter) (nerdy) (white) guy got up and moved toward the end of the car where I was along with this (younger) (black) girl and this (older) (fatter) (black) woman with a purple knit cap on and this (older) (thinner) (white) woman with a purple jacket on, and he just uses his bluetooth to make some really loud business call, talking all the while right in our direction.

And, I noticed the (older) (fatter) (black) lady across from me was eyeing him too, then our eyes met, and she was like, "He is so loud."

"People have been doing that so much lately," I was like.

"Yeah," she was like, "They hold their phones out or whatever and they talk, and they are just so loud."

"Maybe I should ask him to quiet down," I was like, kind of to her, but also to the (older) (white) lady near us, who was listening in to our conversation and nodding along in agreement with it.

So, after a beat I got up and stood and leaned over towards the guy's line of vision and called out to him where he was standing a little down the car, "Excuse me, could you please be more quiet, you're bothering us down here," at which point the (shorter) (nerdy) (white) guy suddenly looked ashamed and nodded and turned around to talk into the wall as the volume of his voice went down suddenly and a lot.

"Thank you," the (older) (black) lady was like.

"No problem," I was like, and I explained that I didn't usually like to do stuff like that because people could go crazy on you, but since he looked normal and was talking business, it seemed okay.

Resthome levity, about wild times.

The other week at the resthome, this one resident who's bald and with glasses and is really a nice guy took some occasion to slip a joke into the conversation and was like, "Yep, I sow my wild oats all week, then I go to temple on Friday and pray for a crop failure."

LOL.

Resthome levity, about gloves.

The other week at the resthome, they were out of large rubber gloves for some reason, so I had to go and use medium rubber gloves all day, which was kind of a pain in the butt since they were just a little too small and would take forever to get on whenever I needed them for whatever I had to go do, though they would fit in the end after I took forever to stretch them out and pull them on and shimmy them on down my fingers.

"Sorry," I was like at one point to this one resthome resident who's a retired advertising executive, "But this is taking me forever, these gloves are too small."

"Or you need smaller fingers," he was like.

A dream of fingernails.

The other week, I dreamnt:

I'm sitting at my kitchen table and looking at my fingernails, and I notice that when I had cut my nails recently, I had forgotten to cut a few of the ones on the middle fingers of my right hand.

And, I sit and I look at them and I muse, and I think about how I have to go cut them.

And then, I wake up.

. . .