Seniors Behaving Badly

The seniors had a Valentine’s Potluck on Tuesday, hosted by Activity Director.

After yesterday’s workout, I popped in.

Walking through the Community Room door, greeting the room with a hearty “Good morning folks”, I was greeted in return with dead silence.

Brrrrrrr.

Making my way around, snapping photos, I greeted folks at individual tables.

Still nothing, lol.

I don’t think it was personal, had anything to do with me. Folks were either deep in conversation, deep in stuffing food into their faces or the vibe in the room was down because The Seer was present and sending out bad energy.

The Seer can bring a room down with her always looking angry, since hooking up with Shadow, and her thinking and sometimes saying out loud that she hates everyone in the complex.

She may be particularly aggrieved at the residents because one of them was rude to my little 12 year old friend ─ The Baker’s granddaughter, at last week’s bingo.

The Baker tells me someone in the room yelled at my little friend saying, “Why are you here? You don’t belong” and that my little friend was so hurt that she won’t be coming back and Baker is so hurt that Thursday’s Valentine Bingo will be her last involvement in helping the Residents Volunteer Activity Committee host events. Which probably means ─ no egg coloring, no community breakfast, no cupcake or cookie decorating events in future.

The Baker said she doesn’t know who in the room said it, but I can’t believe no one stood up and called the speaker out. Baker herself should have read the room, saying “I don’t know who said that but BLA BLA BLA BLA!” given them the riot act but said she didn’t because she was afraid of what she’d say.

That’s bull. Instead, she’s walking around upset with plans to do one more bingo ─ because she’d already purchased party supplies, then she’s out. 

I’d be petty about it ─ bow out of bingo immediately, leave the seniors high and dry, toss the party supplies in the trash because you don’t reward bad behavior, and the entire room behaved badly by not challenging someone being rude to a child ─ especially a helpful child who, along with her GG, have done so much for the residents here.

I can see how knowing this would further alienate The Seer.

Back in the days when The Seer was nice/interesting/fun ─ before she hooked up with Shadow, we’d talk and she told me of how lonely she was when she first moved in ─ had no friends, no one talked to her. She said the Baker was the only person to reach out and befriend her, so the Seer is grateful and protective of the Baker.

The way I see it now, things have regressed to The Baker once again being the Seer’s only friend, other than Shadow who’s brought the Seer down, chased everyone away.

At any rate, for whatever reason, the vibe in the room was brrrrrr.

I stayed just long enough to take photos and get caught up a little, but forgot to ask Apache, who was present, why so much moving out/in activity because the Baker blew me away by not only telling me what was done to hurt my little friend at last week's bingo, but also saying Apache got a lap dance at the bingo before last.

That’s right. You read correctly. He got an unsolicited lap dance.

That new resident I’d blogged about making, at the decorating party, what I was sure was meant to be an X-rated cupcake, got up from bingo and danced in front of and on Apache’s lap.  

So obviously I read her correctly at that time.

I didn’t learn what, if anything, was said by others in the room watching the spectacle, but Baker said, “If you don’t think THAT got reported to the office” and left it at that.

Before I exited the room I teased Apache with, “So, I hear you got a lap dance”.

He giggled.

“Did you have to pay for it?”, I further teased.

“No ...... she paid me”, said he.

ROFLMAO!

That resident, a married woman I might add, is making quite a name for herself as the rumor is she’s coming on to all the guys.

She’s not old and she’s not ugly so who knows. Just saying.

I’m off the laptop and outa here in a few minutes because the doctor has ordered a non-fasting blood test.

The wind is down today, and there’s no word of an outbreak of the Coronavirus in the area, so I’d better get going, get it done, while the getting’s good.

Goings and Comings

Noticed a lot of activity on the grounds recently ─ residents moving out/residents moving into the complex.

We only had one death that I know of ─ a woman who’s been here some 20+ years, so no idea why so many other openings, which appear to be quickly filled from the waiting list.

I’ll have to catch up with Apache and the Baker for an update as to why people are leaving/where are they going. LOL.

I do know the woman I saw moving out on Friday wasn’t happy here and had talked about getting out for some time. When speaking of her discontent, she never really explained to me WHY she didn’t like it here but, judging from her bourgeois appearance, and the way she tried to make us bourgeois, I think we were too slow for her, too normal ─ much like the complaints my next-door neighbor had the first few years.

How did she try to make us bourgeois you ask? 

Back in the day when we had Rummage Sales in the community room, she'd set up her table with fancy expensive purses, jewelry and dresses no one here could afford or would wear. That having failed, she set up a nail salon in a corner of the Game Room.

I myself never frequented her short-lived nail salon because, judging from the appearance of some of my neighbors ─ and I know that’s wrong to judge a book by it’s cover, but it’s also a safe way to live .... at any rate, I didn’t feel comfortable with the hygiene factor involved in her doing nails of other residents then doing mine. Others gave the salon a try but didn’t go back because her work was just too fancy, too ghetto fabulous for us common folks.

So she’s gone and hopefully management will at least paint and put in new carpeting before a new resident is pulled from the waiting list.

I question their doing so because, the unit where the long time resident died is visible from my bedroom window, and I never saw paint and carpeting happen before the new resident moved in a few days ago.

The February calendar shows a Residents/Management meeting on the 24th. If this is a session where we can ask questions, I might ask if they paint and newly carpet.

As for Next Door Neighbor, who also tried to bourgeois us up and, as a result got herself impeached as President of the Volunteer Residents Activity Committee, she’s still here and seems to have settled in nicely because she’s made a social life for herself elsewhere.

Next Door Neighbor (NDN) is socially conscious, has gotten herself involved in local politics and has turned out to be a far better neighbor than I.

The resident living downstairs across the quad, next door to Nosey, has declined considerably since moving in ─ bad luck and whiskey. First hit by a car requiring hip surgery, recovering, then breaking an arm due to a fall in her unit. When I saw her at the market last month, trying to juggle a grocery bag, her walker and with a cast on her arm, I gave her a ride back and noticed her shopping bag looked extremely light on food but heavy with bottles of whiskey.

She was having her groceries delivered, but I don’t know if the market won’t deliver whiskey and that was the reason she’d struggled to get there that day.

On Friday, I saw neighbor across the quad being helped out of NDN’s car.

”Where are you two ladies coming from?”, asked I.

”The market. I drove _____ to the market. I’m her uber”, said NDN.

That’s a nice thing to do, a nice way to be ─ better than I. Neighbor across the quad can call NDN when she needs a ride to the market.

When Nosey could get around, but appeared to be having difficulty, I’d stop by her place to see if she wanted to ride with me to the market, but I’d have felt put upon if I wasn’t planning to go and she’d called for a ride.

I’m feeling a little guilty at not being a better neighbor. I could ask Neighbor Across the Quad if she wants to ride to the store with me next time I go, but she’s got NDN to help with her whiskey runs, so I’ll stay out of it and live with the guilt. Should she ever ask, however, I don't believe I have the heart to say no. I'd suck up feeling imposed upon and give her the ride.

I Got Nothing

If anyone has been wondering why so little blog updates from me lately, it’s because I’ve got nothing. With no fun 5Ks on the horizon, and not much going on around here at the complex, this dry spell is looking to turn into a dirt road in the desert.

This month’s activity calendar does indicate a Valentine’s Potluck on the 11th (“12 noon – 2:00 p.m., sandwiches, chips, drinks provided: bring your favorite dish or dessert”).

Never having been lucky in love, Valentine’s Day is not a favorite of mine, and these potlucks the seniors are so fun of are not my thing but, with nothing else on the horizon, I’ll pop in after that days’ pain cave workout — putting me there around 12:20 to see what if anything is going on.

Other than that, my life has been the pain cave, grocery shopping, cooking, needlepoint and Court TV — watching the Harvey Weinstein trial — or at least as much of it as I can handle before the prosecution witness testimonies gets so disturbing that I have to switch the channel to something else.

What was allegedly done to some of these girls against their will, and what other girls allegedly allowed to be done in furtherance of their careers is beyond gross.

Takes me back to a time when my career was thus impacted, and I wasn’t an actress, just a secretary.

I was singled out for promotion from secretary to legal secretary, with a huge bump in salary, contingent upon my accepting a transfer to a newly formed legal department, working for an attorney and a deputy attorney, learning on the job while taking certain classes.

With two kids to raise, I saw it as a great opportunity — accepted the transfer, took the classes.

Everything worked out and when time came that my attorney submitted a change in my title and salary to the council, the Director of Personnel (DOP) — who’d always tried to date me and whom I’d refused because he was ugly and disgusting, approached me and indicated he now had leverage. If I didn’t give him what he wanted, he’d make sure I didn’t get the title or salary.

When I reported him, told my attorneys and a member of the council I was close to what DOP had said to me, my attorneys said DOP didn’t have that kind of power. The council member as much as called me a liar with “There’s no way a professional man like him would say something like that”.

While the approval process was going on, DOP would do things like stop in the door to my office, swivel his hips suggestively or roll his tongue around his lips at me. One time he didn’t realize the law clerk was standing on the other side of the file cabinet when he did something disgusting.

“Did you see that?”, I asked her after he’d walked away.

She had a stunned look on her face and replied, “Yes. But if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d have never believed it”.

Still nothing was done about him, as the request for change in title and salary wormed it’s way through the council. The end result being I was granted the title, but not the bump in salary because, as the council member who I looked upon as a friend told me, the decision was made because he, and others on the council, “owed DOP”. He’d done favors for them — hired family members and friends, and he'd asked my title and salary not go through in return. Because the council wanted to please both my boss, who’d submitted the request, and DOP, who'd asked it be denied, is why I was granted the title but not the salary.

I told my boss, who was apologetic because he didn’t believe DOP could or would do it for the reasons I’d stated, that I was disappointed in everyone and, though it might take me months, I’d be seeking employment elsewhere.

I submitted my resume elsewhere, and was hired as a Legal Secretary with a nice bump in salary, in less than two weeks.

Some of the Weinstein accusers walked away from Hollywood, but some allegedly swallowed what happened to them and soldiered on for sake of their careers, while still others allegedly allowed themselves to be humiliated on a continuing basis for jobs in the industry.

I have a hard time with those allegedly allowing and figure the jury will also.

Believe it or not, the end of DOP came about as a result of my leaving.

My attorney was so angry at losing me that he, in what can only be described as locking the barn door after the horse was stolen, hired a private detective to look into my allegations.

The detective tracked me down in at my new job, said it was uncovered that DOP had a pattern of giving jobs to and withholding jobs from other women, contingent upon giving into his demands, and requested a statement from me to bolster the case building against DOP. I’d moved on, was happy with my new job, had put the whole thing behind me, had no interest in what if anything happened to DOP, so politely replied, “They didn’t help me when I needed them, so I’m not helping them”.

I later heard DOP was fired.

Evacuation Day?

That’s what came out of yesterday’s Community Meeting, which turned out not to be a management/residents meeting, but a complete snooze fest when Community Manager (CM) started off saying it was a “Resident Safety Meeting”, there was an agenda, with emergency preparedness presentations by representatives from various agencies, and we’d be sticking to topic.

Keeping seniors focused and on topic is like herding cats, but I have to give it to CM that he mostly managed to do so.

From the few cats that managed to get loose, before CM could herd then back in, I learned I’m not the only one experiencing smoke detector hell ─ which leads me to believe the detectors here are defective. Probably because, when in 2014, the current management company bought the property and did what they say was a $4.5 million “complete renovation”, the renovation consisted of using cheap labor to replace old things that worked perfectly fine with cheap new things (so corporate bigwigs could cheap their way into squirrelling away money for their bonuses). Cheap new things that quickly ceased working and which, to this day, is the bulk of what the maintenance guys do ─ run around trying to keep those cheap things functioning.

The cats that interrupted the fire department presenter to say their smoke detectors would go off at odd times were quickly dismissed with “You were probably cooking”.

I wasn’t cooking at 3:15 in the morning, nor was I cooking the other times the beeping began driving me crazy. In fact, the one time I forgot to turn the burner off under a pot, and was so engrossed in needlepoint that I didn’t realize the room had filled with smoke, the detector never issued an alert. LOL.

No matter, I’ve solved my smoke detector problem.

I’m hoping the fire department gets in and sees this while doing their detector check, so I can tell the fire department the detectors are defective and management knows it, before management gets in to do its pre-inspection, realizes I’ve solved my own problem and MacGyvers it back up to hide the problem.

There would have be no point mentioning it at yesterday’s meet. CM would have herded me back in with “We will look into it”, which is what he told me the last three times I told him there appears to be a problem with my detector.

Another thing that came out in yesterday’s meet, which I heard just as I was walking out the door ─ because the meet had run over into 11:20 and I needed to head for the pain cave, was that a flight from the epicenter of the coronavirus was scheduled to land at the Ontario Airport.

WHA WHA WHAT?!

Fortunately, the news this morning is the flight was diverted to the Air Reserve Base.

Good for us, not so good for them, and still too close for comfort, prompting me to cancel Friday’s appointment at the medical center to discuss what if anything can be done about reoccurring gut issues, even though I’ve limited myself to safe foods.

With the appearance of so many signs we're living in the final days (the evil men are flourishing, the fires) and now mysterious plaques, like the new flu and coronavirus, I thought better of putting myself in a hospital setting.

I also won’t be getting my nails done any time soon, because I don’t know which of the nail technicians have travelled to China or have relatives who’ve travelled.

Better safe than sorry.

Before I had to leave the session, we were handed maps of the property indicating which exits we are to take in case of a fire emergency, and told to memorize our exits because we’ll be having an Evacuation Day.

WHA WHA WHAT?!

An alarm will sound, we are to go to our designated spot and wait to be signed in.

Seriously?

Not only does this strike me as unnecessary but, considering the condition some of our residents are in, not possible to pull off.

But so long as the alarm doesn’t sound before I’m dressed for the day, make up and all, I’ll play along.

I’ll be taking my lawn chair and a cup of coffee to my designated location, to watch in comfort what is sure to be a spectacle.

There Goes the Neighborhood

Construction of that Starbucks, going up within walking distance of the complex, is in full swing.

Hearing the faint sounds of construction all the way over to my quad, I felt for the neighbors nearest the wall between our complex and the construction site. The all-day beep beep beep of equipment backing up, the clanging and banging must be driving those residents nuts, but the end will be Nirvana, thought I ─ waking up to the smell of Starbuck’s coffee wafting over the wall, and interesting people watching while sitting on one’s patio during the day.

On the other hand, perhaps not Nirvana but Hell because, heading out Friday morning for an appointment at the nail salon, I noticed from my parking spot that the top of the structure was now visible and it did not look like the colors in a Starbucks logo (green, white, a circle with a mermaid).

On the way out of the area, I detoured through the market parking lot to get a closer look and, sure enough, it’s a 7-Eleven, which we definitely don’t need in this neighborhood as it attracts a different kind of clientele, and this one with a gas station even. We do need a gas station, but next door to the complex is not ideal.

We already have a 7-Eleven, end of the long block in the opposite direction and, judging by the characters hanging around outside, it’s a troubled area to be avoided. The thought of another 7-Eleven, right next door to the complex, seems to me to put us seniors in a vulnerable position.

Instead of smelling coffee and people watching, residents on that side will smell gas fumes and be witness to early morning/late evening robberies.

What happened?

Why did the plans change?

And the plans did change because I went online to research and whereas there previously appeared a giant Starbucks, now appears a “joint 7-Eleven”.

It would be great if “joint” meant also a Starbucks, and there is another long building indicated as “site”, but I can’t imagine Starbucks would build next to a 7-Eleven. I think “7 Eleven” is the gas station portion and “site” is the 7-Eleven building.

At any rate, as a result of the original plan, there was the Starbucks Effect ─ the rent went up. I don’t imagine it will happen, but would be fair if the increase gets rescinded.

Tomorrow is the Community Meeting, formerly titled “Residents/Management Meeting”. Because Community Managers kept getting fired or quitting, this will be the first such meeting we’ve had since June of 2018.

The meet is scheduled for 10:00, which gives me time to attend.

I don’t have any complaints and, hopefully, the meet will be non-contentious with other residents, over by 11:00 because, if things drag on, I’ll have to walk out by 11:20 at the latest to grab my gear and head for the pain cave.

As I’m typing this update, I’m noticing my new manicure is already chipping away. From my needlepoint work no doubt but, oddly enough, the young lady that usually does my nails ... the one I requested ... the one who does such good work that, regardless of needlepoint, the polish looks fresh for like forever, didn’t show up so, without telling me she wasn’t there, without asking me if I even wanted to keep the appointment, a girl I didn’t recognize came over to where I was seated and began working on my nails.

As this girl I don’t recall ever seeing before began, she asked, “You don’t want your cuticles cut, just pushed back, right?”

“Yes!” said I with surprise. Then inquired, “How did you know that?”

“I’ve done your nails three times before and I remember”.

Really? When did THAT happen? And did the polish immediately chip off those times as well?

Oh well, it’s only two fingers on my right hand, so I’ll stop by the drugstore after today’s workout and find a red deep enough to mask the chips.

Dry Spell

With no interesting 5Ks on the rise, no further activities on this month’s calendar here at the senior complex, having not run into Apache ─ to fill me in on the latest, I’m experiencing a dry spell.

With nothing interesting to occupy my time, I’ve managed to log in quite a lot of hours on the latest needlepoint.

Progress: August 2019 - November 2019

Progress: November 2019 - January 2020

Still days, weeks, months away from completion, but it’s always exciting when I see the picture come into being.

Also, with time on my hands, I made a run by the library to drop off all those books I read last year about No. 45.

Those hardcover books aren’t cheap, and with the books being fairly new and relevant, one would have thought the library would be happy to receive and offer to its members. That being said, maybe it’s just me but I found it off putting when I drove up to the drop box, as the library was closed, and saw this sign.

Seriously?

If they expected me to turn around, go back home, return at their open hours convenience, they were sorely mistaken. I dropped the books off in the drop box.

You librarians can’t be so busy that this is that much of an inconvenience to you. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

And while we’re on the subject of librarians, a little known fact is that was once a goal of mine when considering a career. Mom nixed my first choice ─ to become a nun, by forbidding me to continue to attend the catholic church with a neighbor girl, and decided for me that I’d be a teacher. Mom not being a woman to be defied, I somehow had the inner strength to oppose her, researched library sciences but, in a hurry to make money and get independent, I learned to type, and began my secretarial career immediately out of high school as a clerk typist.

Technical College, continuing education classes at various colleges and evolving work experiences, while marrying, bearing twins, divorce, raising twins on my own, I finished my career as a legal secretary.

Notwithstanding experiencing racism, sexism, and abuse of authority in work situations, it was a fun ride. The atmosphere not always easy, but the actual work aspect was always fulfilling and fun.

There have been no signs of that dream of trainer and I having a dispute coming into fruition, thank goodness. So I’m writing that one off not as precog but, as Barbara commented, influenced by what happened with the two women seeking training.

Speaking of which, trainer did sign up one of the ladies. This newest client, at 51 years of age, signed up for boxing.

When trainer started me off by assessing my capabilities, I was exposed to those bags and was worn out within seconds. So, to me, boxing ─ though a faster track to getting fit over all, rather than cross fit which focuses on individual areas over time, is also harder than cross fit, so kudos to her for going that route.

Trainer tells me she’s since said to him, “I bet I’m your oldest client”.

HA!