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The Vixen At The Senior Center

Wednesday, February 6th, 2013

The Senior Center. Can You Spot The Vixen Who Is ‘A Bitch’?

It’s 2:30 PM and I am taking a nap. I am sleeping so hard and deep that I am slobbering on my bed pillow.

Here is why I have slung myself across the bed and slammed into sleep in mid-afternoon when I should be working.

It’s because today I went to lunch at the local Senior Center.

Why? Because the lady who took care of my mother when she was ill, is between jobs.

“I’m scared,” she says. “I need a good Care-Giving job or I won’t be able to keep living in your mother’s house and I am even having trouble buying food.”

One of the problems with Care-Giving is that the old people you care for, often die. Then, you ‘re out of a job.

But, guess what.

I have a ‘Brilliant’ Idea.

“Let’s go to the Senior Center for lunch,” I say. “Mom went there and she had friends and I know some of the people. We can talk to folks and tell them how wonderful you are and that you’re looking for work. They may know someone who needs your help.”

Sonja thinks this is a terrific idea.

However, she can only go this Friday and that is the day they are having beef tostadas, rice, beans and a kiwi. Ugh. Oh well. I was hoping for a fried chicken day with mashed potatoes and fancy iced cake.

“OK,” I say. “They have generally great food and it’s only $4.00. Let’s do it.”

It is 80 degrees and Sonja wears a pink fluffy coat that pleases her platinum blonde hair. She is from Michigan and it’s winter and in winter you wear coats.

Sonja is a very pretty woman.

The lady at the desk in the Senior Center takes my $4 for Senior Lunch and says to me, “Are you a Senior?”

I fall in love with her.

I almost want to pay her the extra dollar for the Younger People’s Lunch.

We survey the room but are directed to a table at the back. The bridge players get the best tables.

On our way to our table I introduce Sonja to the Man Who Runs The Place.  I mention that she is looking for a Care-Giver’s position. He asks for her card.

I whisper, “He knows everyone here. He can get you work.”

When we get to our table it is our misfortune that we are sitting with a man who yells every word he says and slaps every sentence with a blistering laugh and a holler.

I get a headache almost immediately.

We introduce ourselves to our table mates and mention that Sonja was my mother’s Wonderful Care-Taker and that she is now looking for work.

A woman I happen to know at the next table, over hears me and trots to my side.

Grabbing the back of my chair, Kelli leans toward Sonja and says, “You’ll never get any work here. The Guy Who Runs The Place is having a ‘Thing’ with Carrie Smith. She gets all the work.”

Really?

“Who is Carrie Smith?” I ask.

Kelli hisses and points to a plain, older and stooped lady at another table. She doesn’t look like a vixen to me.

“She’s a Bitch!” Kelli hisses. “She’s dumber than a sack of rocks!” (more…)


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