I Smell a Rat

It’s inspection time here on the complex. The landscapers are tidying up the outside, the Maintenance guys are changing out the A/C filters, the Assistant Manager is inspecting units to make certain everything works in advance of the State and Federal inspectors.

The most recent Assistant Manager is a cute little young lady that seemed to be enjoying seeing inside our units. When I opened the door, she immediately said, "Oh how cute".

"Wait until you see my Next-Door Neighbor’s unit. Mine is a mish mash of things I like. Hers is like a museum", said I.

I was actually heading out when she and the Maintenance guy arrived — on my way to Pizza Tuesday in the Community Room. So, I told her to feel free to inspect, lock up when they leave.

Arriving at the Community Room, I found Kesha was hosting a Resolution Conflict session with a few seniors — reading from some handout, and the counter free of pizzas.

I positioned myself at a table next to them, whereupon the Baker leaned over, whispered "There are no pizzas …… from now on".

"Why?" asked I.

"We don’t know".

I smell a sabotaging rat.

It doesn’t seem coincidental that, after all these years, when we get a Kesha as Activity Director, all of a sudden the tradition of free pizzas on Tuesday comes to an end.

Not only that, but the Calendar indicates Kesha would today be hosting "Social: Chips and Salsa Social" 12:30 to 1:30, but that too wasn’t happening because Management didn’t give her the money for the chips and salsa.

I definitely smell a sabotaging rat. Kesha’s days are numbered.

Before I arrived, the ladies said they were asked to fill out a Needs Assessment Survey, which is to justify Kesha’s position.

Uh huh.

So, nothing that was schedule to happen this morning came to fruition, no fault of Kesha’s, but the newer resident (Crafty Lady) that occasionally hosts crafts for us, had us making art out of cut up paper towel rolls.

First, Crafty Lady provided us with strips of paper cut from paper towel tubes, and circles cut from a cardboard box.

Then we folded a strip, nestled the folded strip inside the unfolded strip to produce a flower like design, hot glued the designs around the cardboard circle however we saw fit.

The Other Wheelchair Lady is trying to make a bunny.

I didn't stay long enough to see her finished bunny, or the finished product of others, but inasmuch as the session is to continue tomorrow, I'll get to see how the projects turn out, and will post the results.

I'm a crafter, so I was quick to position my little designs in the middle of the board, paint and be out, back to my needlepoint.

As we were crafting, Kesha (who had been working on something in the office) came back into the room, began taking pictures of our craft session.

"She’s going to turn those photos into Corporate, take credit for what we’re doing", said Crafty Lady.

"Doesn’t matter", said I. "Won’t help her" (because I see far, know her position is about to be eliminated and there’s nothing she can do to save it).

It’s great to be retired, not have to worry about downsizing, layoffs, and sabotage because you’re Black.

In fact, last Sunday, September 7, marked my 15th year of sliding the chute.

Other than discussing the obvious impending dissolution of Kesha’s position, conversation at the table was how those of us who are familiar with Not Dead Nancy, from the old days, were shocked at her appearance; all saying, like I, that they did not recognize her, and how sad it is.

Someone finally asked me about that photo of my sitting on Meat Man's lap — it was Crafty Lady. She said she’d been browsing the photos of last Friday’s event, posted to the residents’ FB page, saw the photo and wondered what’s going on with him and I.

"Not a thing", said I. That H_____ (Meat Man) is just someone I like to clown around with.

She said she’s run into him a few times, he told her he was single.

Those of us who have known Meat Man for years — the Baker and I, laughed.

I didn’t go into detail — that he actually has an off-site fiancé, just said Meat Man is like a dog chasing cars, goes after every new woman on the complex, and I'm surprised he hasn't already pitched himself to her.

"He’d be wasting his time", said she.

"He usually is wasting his time", said I, "But that doesn’t stop him from chasing".

That’s pretty much all the news, except there was a box set up in the room where we could drop topics for the upcoming Community Meeting.

Had I known, I’d have brought down a typed complaint about lateness of the Monthly Calendar. However, seeing sticky note paper available, I printed out my complaint — how frustrating it is to receive the Calendar after an event or on the day of and, while others said they didn’t sign their name to whatever issue they dropped in the box, I signed mine.

Bring It On.