Fog Flees the Sundowners!
November 11th 2007 06:18
Some years ago, it was suggested that I do volunteer work. I couldn't think of an excuse not to and after perusing the lists, I thought the rescue boat sounded exciting; however, my limitations disallowed the more fancy sounding jobs. So, feeling a little old and unusable, I slightly reluctantly and a little apprehensively, dragged myself to the old folks' home.
Things kept running through my mind.
DON'T talk about the war; they might have been on the other side!
DON'T rant at them about your political bent and try to turn them into capitalists with a social conscience, (I knew that would be a constant battle, especially if someone brought up the news of the day!).
LEAVE religion alone and keep to myself how I loathe what organised religion has done to the world over the last two thousand or more years.
ALLOW them to rave on; with their deluded, bigoted, ill informed prattle, including their denouncement of homosexuality and how “poofters” were all going to Hell!
I started to break into a sweat, my heart was pounding, I felt dizzy, the tinnitus was raging like a fire alarm bell in my ears and it looked like I had just sprinted twenty kilometres to get there, instead of the mere twenty metres I had walked from my car!
As I entered the reception hall area, I took in a deep calming breath, and swallowed the breath mint I had been sucking. It went down the wrong way! I started convulsively coughing. The woman behind the glassed-in reception counter stared as if I was a viper!
"You cannot enter the facility if you have a cold!" (I continued spluttering) "Colds can kill!" She said this, with a well rehearsed, icily precise, pronunciation.
I tried to speak up in my defence, but it sounded worse than the spluttering, during which I could swear I heard her mutter something like, "I know, I've seen it before, that stupid old Father O'Reilly!" That could have been my imagination, of course.
Finally, the lolly sprang back into my mouth with such a force, I thought I might see it explode through my front teeth, sending them scattering across the hall runner like a macabre game of dice. Staring downwards I noticed the carpet looked a little worn.
I then looked up at the woman, tears running down my cheeks, and poked out my tongue, to show her the lolly. She grimaced. I wondered whether my tongue was as green as the lolly I was sucking on.
It was!
I told her who I was to see, and sat quietly, recovering on the awful old Fleur couch, with plastic leather-look covers. The last time I saw one of these was in our lounge room, in 1964. Our boxer dog wee’d on it the day it was delivered. In furniture at least, our boxer was a discerning animal.
More than anything now, my head was screaming for an interior decorator!
The florid bowls of dusty plastic funeral parlour flowers, the absurdly inappropriate gold satin window drapes, that fell too short of the floor, obviously a donation, the vile mortuary green pastel walls, the Pellegrini statue of Our Lady on the small antique side table, her overly garish coloured face staring disturbingly suggestively towards me. It was an old statue, probably painted by some poor Italian mama, in the height of a religious fervour, the unexpected result being ludicrous!
I wanted to scream!
To escape this décor carnage, I began to fantasise about suddenly becoming extremely wealthy, due to some unknown Arabic Sheik who left me a billion dollars, all because I smiled when he passed me by, thirty years ago, when I was a room service waiter.
I was going to use some of that money to book out a resort, put them in, nuns and all! Then call up developers, demolish the entire place and build a retirement paradise; complete with a huge lagoon-like swimming pool with a tropical island, hammocks and a cocktail barman, (maybe mocktails), a Venetian canal system with gondolas taking them to their thatched roofed haciendas, by a romantic gondolier with the voice of an angel, greeted at the door by their own butler and a freshly made Devonshire tea with silver service, the entire complex staffed by lots of gorgeous looking people who are kindly, patient, gentle and fun.
I was nearing hysteria!
“Sister is ready for you now Mister Fog. Room 20, down the hall, on the right."
Reality banged me back from my reverie like a gunshot in a cathedral; and curiously this place did have some stained glass, the front door panels, smothered with smears from unrestrained tiny visitor’s greasy hands.
“Please go straight in!”, concluded the receptionist as I stood up.
I looked at this wretched ‘Alice’ in her ‘Looking Glass’ box, and noticed her accompanying smile appeared like a rusty nail had been dragged across her face, splitting her chin, to create a crease-line of cheap lipstick.
It occurred to me she exuded all the warmth of a meat renderer staring at the next animal sacrifice.
Hers was the face the poor hapless cow saw last in life, I felt a shudder. I thanked her and made my way up the long hallway. The receptionist’s demeanour, however, had made me more determined to maintain proper manners.
I paused at the door, then gently knocked, all the while desperately suppressing the urge to let out a loud, MOO!!!
END PART ONE
Things kept running through my mind.
DON'T talk about the war; they might have been on the other side!
DON'T rant at them about your political bent and try to turn them into capitalists with a social conscience, (I knew that would be a constant battle, especially if someone brought up the news of the day!).
ALLOW them to rave on; with their deluded, bigoted, ill informed prattle, including their denouncement of homosexuality and how “poofters” were all going to Hell!
I started to break into a sweat, my heart was pounding, I felt dizzy, the tinnitus was raging like a fire alarm bell in my ears and it looked like I had just sprinted twenty kilometres to get there, instead of the mere twenty metres I had walked from my car!
As I entered the reception hall area, I took in a deep calming breath, and swallowed the breath mint I had been sucking. It went down the wrong way! I started convulsively coughing. The woman behind the glassed-in reception counter stared as if I was a viper!
"You cannot enter the facility if you have a cold!" (I continued spluttering) "Colds can kill!" She said this, with a well rehearsed, icily precise, pronunciation.
I tried to speak up in my defence, but it sounded worse than the spluttering, during which I could swear I heard her mutter something like, "I know, I've seen it before, that stupid old Father O'Reilly!" That could have been my imagination, of course.
Finally, the lolly sprang back into my mouth with such a force, I thought I might see it explode through my front teeth, sending them scattering across the hall runner like a macabre game of dice. Staring downwards I noticed the carpet looked a little worn.
I then looked up at the woman, tears running down my cheeks, and poked out my tongue, to show her the lolly. She grimaced. I wondered whether my tongue was as green as the lolly I was sucking on.
It was!
I told her who I was to see, and sat quietly, recovering on the awful old Fleur couch, with plastic leather-look covers. The last time I saw one of these was in our lounge room, in 1964. Our boxer dog wee’d on it the day it was delivered. In furniture at least, our boxer was a discerning animal.
More than anything now, my head was screaming for an interior decorator!
The florid bowls of dusty plastic funeral parlour flowers, the absurdly inappropriate gold satin window drapes, that fell too short of the floor, obviously a donation, the vile mortuary green pastel walls, the Pellegrini statue of Our Lady on the small antique side table, her overly garish coloured face staring disturbingly suggestively towards me. It was an old statue, probably painted by some poor Italian mama, in the height of a religious fervour, the unexpected result being ludicrous!
I wanted to scream!
To escape this décor carnage, I began to fantasise about suddenly becoming extremely wealthy, due to some unknown Arabic Sheik who left me a billion dollars, all because I smiled when he passed me by, thirty years ago, when I was a room service waiter.
I was going to use some of that money to book out a resort, put them in, nuns and all! Then call up developers, demolish the entire place and build a retirement paradise; complete with a huge lagoon-like swimming pool with a tropical island, hammocks and a cocktail barman, (maybe mocktails), a Venetian canal system with gondolas taking them to their thatched roofed haciendas, by a romantic gondolier with the voice of an angel, greeted at the door by their own butler and a freshly made Devonshire tea with silver service, the entire complex staffed by lots of gorgeous looking people who are kindly, patient, gentle and fun.
I was nearing hysteria!
“Sister is ready for you now Mister Fog. Room 20, down the hall, on the right."
Reality banged me back from my reverie like a gunshot in a cathedral; and curiously this place did have some stained glass, the front door panels, smothered with smears from unrestrained tiny visitor’s greasy hands.
“Please go straight in!”, concluded the receptionist as I stood up.
I looked at this wretched ‘Alice’ in her ‘Looking Glass’ box, and noticed her accompanying smile appeared like a rusty nail had been dragged across her face, splitting her chin, to create a crease-line of cheap lipstick.
It occurred to me she exuded all the warmth of a meat renderer staring at the next animal sacrifice.
Hers was the face the poor hapless cow saw last in life, I felt a shudder. I thanked her and made my way up the long hallway. The receptionist’s demeanour, however, had made me more determined to maintain proper manners.
I paused at the door, then gently knocked, all the while desperately suppressing the urge to let out a loud, MOO!!!
END PART ONE
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Comment by Ash
Flashes of memories
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
I had some fun writing it!!
fog
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
Brilliant!!!
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
Thanks so much for reading my stroy, only you and Ash could be bothered. It always pains me that I can post a short bit of nonsense and gets lots of response, but when I work hard, virtually nothing!!
Oh well...I should pull on my thick skin again, and just get on with it!!!
cheers...and thanks for your lovely compliment!
fog
P.S. My pug is unwell...saw the vet..all seemed ok this afternoon, then tonight, about an hour ago, another attack, this time jelly like with blood...
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
I hope she's a bit better soon,
Tracy
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
Stella is doing ok...but no number twos today...so far...some blood last night...
Just have to wait and see what the vet says tomorrow, Saturday.
Thanks for asking, I appreciate it.
cheers
fog
Comment by Tracy
Movies and Life
It sounds like a nasty virus (if that's what it is). My vet said to keep Fergs hydrated, get lots of rest and just keep an eye on him. Well, I kept both on him as you can imagine and as I'm sure you are doing with Stella.
I hope she's better soon and that seeing the vet tomorrow helps,give her a pat for me.
Tracy
Comment by Mountain Fog
Infognito
Screen Trek
QUOTE ME NO QUOTES!
she is snorkelling away under my desk, lying on my toes, she seems good at the moment, but still cannot eat her usual food.
Hey, I voted today!!
You can do it early now, with no questions asked, which is great, but, I am worried about what I discovered there...I posted about it an hour ago...tell me what you think? And go check out the pre-polling day place in your area and see of they are doing the same thing, and if so, ask why??
It really makes me wonder, are we all being conned??
cheers
fog