Client humor (1 of 2): Computer buying.

My substitute computer broke, and I was telling my one client with disabilities the other week that I think I'll stay away from Hewlett-Packard, since they oversold the abilities of this small portable laptop, and the thing was pretty much poorly-designed junk that should have never hit the store shelves in the first place.

"So I think I'm going to buy a Dell," I was like.

"How much does she go for these days?", she was like.

. . .

(Get it? - "a Dell" = "Adele".)

A nice development through health insurance, for once.

You know what my insurance company is encouraging people to do?

Use this "call a doctor" service for $0 copay, if you have a sudden non-emergency reason to see the doctor like the cold or the flu.

It turns out it's great!

The other week I got something that's going around the city, like a sniffling that settled a bit in my sinus and my chest but I was successfully fighting off, and because I had to call in sick for two days at the resthome, the nurse asked me to go get a note from the doctor to bring in the next time I work to show that I was truly sick.

It was great, I just registered over the telephone, the doctor called me back, then we debriefed without me having to leave my house (looked like I was over it, but I should see my GP in three days if it doesn't improve by then).

Then, she sent a doctor's note to my in-website mailbox, that I was able to print out for my nurse.

I didn't have to leave my house, and I didn't have to pay $20 to see a doctor.

What's not to like?

Honestly, phone consultation of a doctor just makes sense, for situations like mine.

And it probably saves the insurance company a buttload of money.

New legs to the running joke, from an unexpected direction.

The other week at the resthome, the one resident who I joke with about being a lush said something at the dinner table about how I work her about that, though it was more just to mention it and share the jokes with people and have something fun to talk about.

"You better be careful," she was like to me in front of everyone, "If you keep talking about it enough, people are going to start believing you."

"But why would anyone believe that?", the one resthome resident who's a retired music professor chimed in, from his seat at the end of the table.  "The bottle of bourbon under your pillow is obviously for medicine."

. . .

(To be honest, there is absolutely no chance of any kind of rumor taking hold, the whole idea of it all is so ridiculous, knowing the resident, and it's a small place where people know each other like that.)

Cooking with Bacon Grease.

The other week at my one assisted living client's with disabilities, I made some more bacon grease-covered baked potatoes again, but this time, too, afterwards, I asked her if she wanted me to make some bacon toast, where you take a few slices of bread and wipe the pan and then toast them in there.

"Sure," she was like.

"Waste not, want not," I was like.

"Yep!", she was like.

"Make sure you eat up every last little bit of bacon grease," I was like.

"Yep!", she was like, "Makes your veins nice and slippery, it lets the blood through," and then she laughed a bit maniacally at her own joke.

Odd Sound at the Resthome the Other Week:

"Margaritaville" being played on the piano, coming out of the room of the one resthome resident who's a retired music professor and who sometimes practices classical stuff on the piano in his room.

(He must have been rehearsing for some sing-along event that they were having, since he sometimes plays the piano for them for that.)

Addendum: Other levity, with that same resthome resident.

That one same resthome resident who I joke with about having a drinking problem, when she goes to bed at night, she likes having her wheelchair pushed up against the side of her bed, since one time she rolled over and fell out of bed, and now she thinks that if it's there it'll stop her from ever falling like that again, or it will break her fall some if she does end up somehow rolling over and falling again.

So, when she was in bed, she asked me to arrange her wheelchair like she likes it.

"Or maybe I should just pick it up and put it on you," I was like, motioning with my hands on each side of her.  "One wheel there, and one wheel there, there's no way you can fall out of bed if you put your wheelchair like that."

"You're meshugana," she was like.

Resthome Running Joke (5 of 5): Most recent occurrence.

The other week when I went to go pick up that same resident for dinner, she was like, "Is it time to go to dinner already?".

"Yeah," I was like, "Or the corner bar."

At that, she laughed, and so after a beat I was like, "But it's always time for that."

"You got it," she was like.