Unfiltered Story #120936

, | Unfiltered | September 14, 2018

I’m a man with a big beard at the time, and I was working in a retirement home, when an old lady suffering form dementia, and I had our usual conversations after dinner, but this time her dementia really played a trick on me.

Old lady: “Oh [random female name] you are such a nice young girl.”

Me: “Thanks [her name], but I’m not a girl.”

Old lady: *in a concerned voice* “Are you sure?”

Me: *not sure how to react* “Yes… at least last time i checked”

Old lady: “Are you sure?”

Unfiltered Story #120935

, , | Unfiltered | September 14, 2018

(I work as maintenance/housekeeper in a retirement home. Due to the nature of my work and dealing with dementia, I always think I’ve seen it all. This happens shortly after a resident is transferred to a long-term care home and we are cleaning up the room to prepare it for a new resident.)

Me: (talking to the painter) Glad to see it’s not as bad in here as before. I had sprayed a LOT of air freshener in here just to get the smell out!

(Note, the resident was known for being extremely unhygienic. The room constantly smelled of feces as a result. I had been in the day prior and almost was sick from the smell.)

Painter: (nods) Yeah, it was pretty bad in here. S*** stains everywhere. I had to do the caulking and painting but first we had to try and clean the grill up.

Me: Yeah, I-wait, what?

Painter: (points to the heating/air conditioning unit located right under the window) There was s*** inside of it.

Me: You’ve GOT to be kidding me!

(He wasn’t kidding. Later, the head maintenance guy came around and took off the front covers of the unit. There was dried feces all over the grills inside. It proves to me that I never really see it all at my job, there will ALWAYS be something that surprises me.)

A Different Brand Of Grandma

, , , , | Right | August 5, 2018

(My company does a variety of social service work, including homes for the elderly. It recently changed its name, and not all of our residents are happy about it. I am assigned to a booth handing out shirts, water bottles, and stickers with our new name to residents and visitors. Most people take the offered loot — old people love free stuff. But not everyone…)

Me: “Would you like a [New Company Name] t-shirt or water bottle? They’re free!”

Tiny Old Lady: *looks like a sweet grandma* “[New Company Name] isn’t my home. I didn’t move to [New Company Name]. I moved to [Old Company Name]. This is f****** bulls***, and I want no part of it.”

(I found a water bottle and some office swag with the old name on it and left them in her mailbox. I just wish I could have had her talk to the executives in charge of renaming.)

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Death By Chocolate Is A Happy Death

, , , , , , | Working | December 11, 2017

It was my great-grandma’s 103rd birthday, and the family had gathered for a small celebration. By that point she had several health problems, including having a breast and a leg amputated because of cancer, having a foot amputated because of adult-onset diabetes, general difficulty with hearing and sight, and a tendency to have her mind wander quite badly. At one point, she seemed to notice the party happening and asked for a piece of cake, which my cousin and I cut and attempted to serve her.

One of the nurses who worked there came rushing out, smacked the plate out of my cousin’s hand, smacked the fork out of mine, and started yelling about how our great-grandma couldn’t have cake; she was diabetic, it might make her sick, etc.  

After a bit of a fight, which left my great-grandma crying, the nurse wheeled her away to her room, told us she could only have one visitor at time in there, and we would have to pack up to start leaving. As everyone was packing up, my cousin and I snuck a piece of cake to our great-grandma’s room and helped her eat it, which made her stop crying and start to smile. As we were leaving, the same nurse caught us and gave us a big ticking off, with the final shot, “You could have killed her.”

She’s 103 already; if she wants cake, she can have cake. If she wants a lap dance and some heroin, she can have that, too. It’s better to die of cake at 103 than to sit in your room by yourself crying on your birthday!

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The Non-Residents Need More Assistance Than The Residents

, , , | Right | September 18, 2017

(A woman and one of our residents come back from an outing, and the woman comes up to my desk.)

Me: “Hello. Welcome back, [Resident].”

Woman: “Do I need to sign the thing saying she’s back and…” *trails off*

Me: “Yes, just put down the time next to where you signed her out earlier.”

Woman: “Okay.” *walks away*

Me: *blinks* “Orrrrr I could do it…” *writes time in*

Woman: “Oh… did you want me to…” *turns back for a second and then walks off again*

Me: “Am I speaking English?”

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