Archive for the 'Drunkard' Category

Bob Drunkenly Authorizes a Wandering Bracelet

Wednesday, November 7th, 2007

After the administration transferred Mort to God knows where, a middle-aged schlub named Bob moved into my room. Clearly, Bob didn’t qualify as mentally disabled but demonstrated he possessed the mind of a witless child—which is a semi-polite way of saying he was stupid.* Whenever some nosy CNA asked why he’d landed at the warehouse, he‘d answer simply, “Heart condition.” (“Heart conditions” were extremely popular among male residents.)

One morning at around 6:30 Bob managed to foul up the flushing mechanism in the toilet. He and he alone would reproduce this blunder at least once a week—as a young child I’d figured out how to properly flush. more »

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All Crippled-Up

Wednesday, December 27th, 2006

Freddie expected the CNA’s to unconditionally wait on him even after he’d shown the capability of performing a given task. For example, he easily navigated his wheelchair to the liquor store but took for granted that a CNA would happily drag his drunken ass to the shower room when the stench of his soap-deprived body became unbearable. If anyone questioned the annoying lack of effort he put into taking care of himself, he bellyached like a petulant child: “But I be all crippled up.” Sometimes he’d also remind them: “. . . And I’m a black man.” I never figured out any reasonable correlation between his race and his accidental injury. more »


Freddie Admits He Likes Me

Wednesday, October 18th, 2006

In some older Chicago neighborhoods there’s a ditch in front of residential buildings. Freddie, one of my roommates, claimed to have been sitting on a lawn chair in front of his house when an old friend burst into the yard and slapped him on the back. The force of the slap sent Freddie headfirst into the ditch; the impact broke his back.

He’d demonstrated the capability of walking behind his wheelchair while gripping the handles to support his towering frame, but most of the time chose to plant his skinny ass in the seat. I overheard a therapist ask him why he didn’t walk more often. He whined his answer: “Because I be all crippled up.” Plus he couldn’t stand upright when he was crocked—every day he knocked back plenty of cheap vodka. more »

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Jake Proves He’s Still Got It

Tuesday, October 10th, 2006

Up until I finished the sixth grade, the decorations in my classrooms reminded me and the other students of approaching holidays. Most of my teachers decked out their rooms with cardboard die-cut characters and tableaus: gold and red leaves welcomed fall; skeletons and jack-o’-lanterns meant free candy; two-dimensional Santas evoked unspoken greed; stereotypical leprechauns rollicked until St. Patrick’s Day; a few pompous-looking fancy boys or a damaged bell served as an all-purpose reminder of “patriotic” holidays about which nobody gave a crap, except those grown-ups who got the day off. more »

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Every Day Is Christmas

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006

Some of the staff referred to Jake as “Santa Claus”; his visage and demeanor inspired the nickname. His longish white hair and full beard contrasted with his omnipresent gray knit cap. He carried his bulky frame with assurance though old-age sluggishness had begun to slow his movements. Jake’s arsenal of charm included a dazzling smile cracked as a prelude to friendly conversation punctuated by good-natured chortles. He claimed to have at one time been financially comfortable and married to a stunningly gorgeous Asian woman—he made a big deal about her ethnicity. Once I asked him why he had been relegated to the warehouse. He mumbled something about his heart, then quickly changed the subject. more »

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Drive Time

Thursday, September 14th, 2006

Ambulance service is like medical care insofar as you get what you pay for. A resident in a private nursing home that needs transportation via ambulance to a hospital can expect intelligent, polite, well-trained attendants. The same dumbasses who initially conjectured that recreational drugs and a botched suicide attempt caused my stroke abandoned me in a public warehouse. Like nearly everybody on a state-run medical facility staff, low-rent ambulance attendants delude themselves that they’re “health care professionals” though they’re amazingly stupid, lack even the most rudimentary social skills, and are less conscientious of their work than poorly trained chimpanzees. The ambulance attendants with whom I interacted presented themselves without exception as bumbling dolts. more »

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My Roommate Marks His Territory

Tuesday, July 18th, 2006

Another cherished warehouse memory features Tim getting blind drunk and shitting on the linoleum floor in front of our shared closet.

Tim had been sloshed and passed out after mewling about the unfairness of life. After he had woken from forty-five minutes of fitful slumber I heard him stir, immediately unlock the drawer in his nightstand and fumble for a bottle—undoubtedly a pint of cheap vodka. Then I heard him unscrew the cap and guzzle a healthy measure. more »

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Wussiness Is a Disease

Thursday, July 13th, 2006

I assure you that I think everyone should cut slack for people plagued by involuntary physical, mental, or emotional handicaps. But self-pitying dysfunctional assholes that choose not to help themselves aren’t worthy of my or anyone else’s respect regardless of whether or not they’re handicapped. During my involuntary stint at the warehouse I noticed that many residents did not suffer from an overwhelming condition that required round-the-clock medical attention. more »

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