OL' PEOPLE

One day, I got a call to do some work at a unit in an apartment building housing seniors, and the place was crawling with old people, many of whom looked like death warmed over. Several were in a meeting room drinking morning coffee and the conversation was mostly about aches, pains, and the type of meds they were taking. Except for the lack of a "Mickey D" sign, it looked like any other McDonalds dining room in the morning.


As I waited for the elevator, an ol' guy using a walker shuffled up next to me and pointed upwards. He said to me what sounded like, “Boss?” I didn’t quite understand what he was saying, so I asked him to repeat himself. Again, he pointed up and mumbled, “Boss?” The elevator doors opened and I said, “Yes,” in an effort to make a gracious get-away. Well, he starts shuffling towards the open elevator doors with his walker taking about two inch steps at a time. After rigor mortis sets in on my arm from holding the doors open for him, he finally made it into the elevator. I ask him, “Which floor” and he replies, “What floor are you going to?” “Seven,” I say. “Me too,” he says. As we are exiting the elevator on the seventh floor, he says, “Boss?” By this time, I’m completely confused, tired of holding the door open while carrying my heavy tool box and reply, “No Boss.” He promptly turns to get back into the elevator, all the while spewing expletives and other unintelligible words. I did not stick around to see if the doors pinned him before he made it into the elevator.


As I'm doing work in the unit, a couple of elderly, no make that really old women stopped at the doorway and asked me what was I going to do with all the stuff left in the apartment. I said, “The owner will probably pick up the rest of his belongings at a later date.” “It ain’t gonna happen because he’s dead,” was their reply. "They found him that way and just hauled him off not too long ago." This was news to me, and I spent the rest of the time talking to his ghost while making repairs.


When I finished, I returned to the first floor and when the elevator doors opened, I heard a woman screaming at the top of her lungs at an old guy, saying, “I hope you die and when you do, I’m going to spit on you and step on you.” “Wow, that’s harsh,” I said. Big, big, stupid mistake. I ran as she started in on me spewing trash big time, and all the while coming to realize that I'd never ask her for a date.


I cornered the resident manager outside and told him about the yelling woman. He said, "You should be around to see her when she's having a bad day. I also asked him why he didn’t tell me about the guy dying in his apartment, and he said, "It spooks some people if they know." I made a mental note to jack up my labor cost by ten bucks an hour.


Needless to say, I was depressed for the rest of the day, because the thought occurred to me that this is probably the sort of place I’ll be heading towards real soon. That is, unless I can convince my neighbors to change my "Depend Diapers" when needed.