I decided to put off telling my boring, repetitive story for the time being. I thought it would be more interesting at this juncture to entertain our readers with some of the things I have heard in and around the house(s) we all inhabit here.
When I first came to this Shelter, I came from a Physical Rehabilitation center in Tampa. Prior to my five week stay there, I was in Tampa General Hospital for about five weeks. I had little short term memory, couldn't walk very well and was just in general, a mess on legs. I weighed less than eighty pounds and ate everything in sight. It was November 26, 2010, the day after Thanksgiving. I, along with my four bags of hospital crap and cast off clothing, landed on the front porch of a beautiful house on one of Tampa's most notorious streets. Various people helped me up the steps with my walker, bags and lovely hospital gowns I was wearing. I was wearing three of them; one facing forward, one backward, so I wasn't flashing my skinny ass all over Tampa, and one forward for warmth. I also had on a pair of those lovely socks with the rubber grid marks to keep one's feet firmly on the ground. Sadly, my feet left the ground years ago, but those are some real stylish socks. I plan to start wearing toe-socks again soon.
The first person I met is the feisty little lady who is one of my roomies. I have two roommates and I tower over them both at five feet four inches. D's four-eleven and O is about the same. Tiny ladies, both. D had me store my "stuff" in H's room, until she could help me. H is five one, another tiny lady and just as feisty. I was in a total daze. I had no idea where I really was, or what I was supposed to do, or where to go. I was trying to use this damned walker and was not being very successful at it. I didn't want to get in anyone's way, so I just kind of parked my sorry butt on the sofa in our front lobby. D was getting dinner ready for the group of folks she cooks for and was tearing around. Someone asked her a question and I don't remember the precise exchange, but her answer was "I don't know his last name. Everyone acts like they're in the goddamned Witness Protection Program here!"
I started to laugh. She did too. There have been several exchanges between other people, that are just plain bizarre and amusing. To wit:
There is a man in our house who is from Cameroon. I don't know his circumstances, or why he is here, but he has been a tremendous source of entertainment. At least for me...
We are all supposed to clean up in the kitchen after ourselves. Mr. C seems to think he is exempt from this little chore. But, if he doesn't get his way, he pouts. Ugh. D went so far as to put his dirty dishes in his bed; he straightened up for a while, then had some convenient amnesia. Well.
D told him "You lazy mother-fucker! I am not the mother-fucking maid! Clean your mother-fucking dishes"! Mr. C is about six feet tall, D is four-eleven. Mr. C called the Tampa Police. The TPD should just open an annex in the back yard and call it a day. These poor people are over here at least once a day. TPD and the EMS units could share a bungalow back there; we have a lot of attention-getting sickness, here, too. The TPD showed up and listened to Mr. C's story, which consisted of some garble about his "right to not be sworn at" or some sort of nonsense. The TPD officer looked at this hulking giant, and looked at little, teeny D. Non-plussed for a moment. Then, the Solonic edict came down.
TPD officer pointed at D. "You, quit saying the F-word." Pointed at Mr. C. "You, do your dishes." On their way out to the prowl car, the officers kindly reminded all on the front porch to "do your dishes." God, I bet they can't wait to come back for a visit. What's next? "Billy stole my marbles, 'cause I called him a doodie-head?" I will add more to this drivel, but this is a hell of a lot more entertaining than reading my organ recital of ills. Heh.
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