Hey, good looking.
A resident enjoying the view back in December out the 5th floor window of a Skilled Nursing Facility (SNF).
I first started working in senior care in high school, after classes and on the weekends, as a server in the dining room. I took the job not because I was interested in geriatric care at the time, but because it had a flexible schedule and was an easy job for an immature high school student. The first month or so was pretty difficult due largely to the people I was serving meals to. I learned quickly that they had no filter. I was too fat, too tall, too manly-looking, could stand to drop a pant size, and too old to find love. As this was my first foray into senior care, I was entirely unequipped to handle the situation. All of a sudden I found myself, a size two, taking a long look at myself in the mirror and thinking, ‘Oh my gosh, am I too fat? Should I drop a pant size? Is it too late for me to find love?’ Pretty ridiculous thoughts for a 17-year old, but that’s what I was hearing! And those comments drowned out any and all compliments.
It took me about a month to get past this and realize these comments were ridiculous and completely inaccurate, and then it was like a walk in the park.
‘Oh Tracy, no date tonight? Working again?’ ‘Yes, that’s right, Shirley. All alone. More coffee?’
‘Well, those pants are fitting a little tight, aren’t they?’ ‘Sure are, Mary. Would you like dessert tonight?’
I still get those comments, but they honestly don’t bother me anymore. It can be awkward, definitely, but I’m not really phased. Recently I was touring a memory care unit with a marketing director and he introduced me to a sweet gal named Irene, and she shook my hand and immediately said, ‘Oh wow, don’t you ever dry these?’ I have pretty clammy hands and dear little Irene saw fit to call it like she saw it…very loudly, to everyone in the room. I tried (and failed) to make a joke out of it, but at least the director I was touring with got a good laugh.
The other thing I deal with on a fairly consistent basis is being hit on by men who are usually about 50 years my senior. Just a few weeks ago a conversation with an 82-year old gentleman named Richard started off normally, and somehow ended with him rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt and asking if I wanted to feel his biceps. He also asked if I was married, and said he’d always treated his wives (all three of them, I gathered) very well, and would be happy to have a woman to provide for again. The conversation felt like one of those moments that parents must experience when their child says something ridiculous and they have to try not to laugh.
It usually doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but I have to pay attention and draw a hard line. For example, Richard was pretty harmless, but he made enough comments that I took precautions the next time I met with him. He was in his room lounging on his bed with his shirt off, and instead of crouching by the bed to make sure he could hear me, I stayed near the door (which I kept open), and spoke very loudly. Anytime he made comments about me being single or pretty, I smiled, ignored him, and re-directed the conversation back to his care. It’s crossed my mind to lie and say I’m married to a big, handsome, successful man, but I doubt that would entirely stem the comments, and it’s never gotten to the point where I’ve really felt like lying is necessary.
To be honest, I really don’t mind it. Usually it’s pretty flattering, and I can tell there’s no harm meant. Plus, if we can banter back and forth a little, I know it means a lot to them. If I can make Richard laugh and he gets to make me laugh, maybe that’s a bright spot in his day. I still laugh when I think about him rolling up his sleeves, so clearly he was a bright spot in my mine.
