Ya know, two days in assisted living make me appreciate memory care all the more.

I always foolishly think of my weekends in AL as a mini-vacay.  The residents are much more self-sufficient, more communicative, better able to tell you their wants/needs.  Easy street, right?

This feeling lasts right up until midway through breakfast.  Imagine waitressing, and the room is filled with +/- 60 on the rudest, most entitled customers in the history of ever.  They wave their coffee cups at you when they want a refill, which is every two seconds (I swear, it's like being at an AA meeting, the way they go through coffee)  They tap their water glass to get your attention. Or snap their fingers.  Or yell, "Hey, girl!" across the dining room. Every table has at least one person who sends you back to the kitchen a minimum of three times.  Inevitably, several come in right as you are closing or have closed service, and get hateful because they don't get what everyone else had.

(Tiny food service worker in the back of my head screams "And the fuckers don't even tip!"    TFSW has yet to fully comprehend that not all positions where you serve food are tipped positions)

I told Nikki (MOD and the world's greatest med tech) that, after this weekend, I am not answering to "Alicia."  I will only answer to Bob, because I am sick of the sound of my own name.

Of course, Nikki said, "Oh, don't worry, Jo.  Or is it Felicia?  Alice?  Emily?  Amelia?"  Basically, when I work memory care, I answer to anything other than Nikki, Kenya, or Angel, which most of the rresidents use interchangably for the African-American staff members (including the men.  And may I just say there are some fragile male egos that DO NOT LIKE THAT.  Apparently, the implications that all people of a race look the same pales in comparison to being misgendered.  Oy)

And, of course, there was a scheduling cock-up and I left and hour and fifteen minutes late.  It's scary that I work a four day week and routinely go into overtime.

Of course, it wasn't all bad.  One of the residents got a surprise visit from the son she hasn't seen in  couple of years, and he also brought along her grandson AND the great-granddaughter she's never met.  She always hangs out in the sunroom, singing to her dollbaby.  To see her cradling a live baby, her own great-grandchild....I almost lost it (okay, I did lose it.  But I managed to wait until break so I could lock myself in the employee bathroom with the water running, damnit!).  She had that same enraptured look I remember on Granma's face when she held Liam for the first time.

And to be witness to that connection between generations is so powerful.  And humbling.

I'm still glad to be headed back to MC tomorrow.  And will be gladder still for Tuesday, which is both my day off AND payday.  I can't get our checks until after two, but I plan on leaving the house at around 7:30.  I'm taking my notebook and settling in at The Root Cellar for coffee for about two hours, so Kent can say I'm not home and has no idea where I went without telling a lie if they try to call me in.