THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 20
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THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S --
The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation
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Gee, this is episode 20 already and we have a mystery on our
hands. Last week my pinch-penny change purse -- the one the
moths fly out of if you don't shut it quickly -- disappeared. It
went bye-bye with all of 95 cents in it a day or so before they
shipped Miss Potty Mouth off. She went to some tardfarm in San
Francisco where they can watch her more closely and possibly
"help" her with her caffeine problem. Dunno if they can help her
with her klepto problem.
There are things they ought to tell you on admission such as
watch out for Steely Dan over there who will nick the fillings
from your teeth, and be aware of Hoo Flung Dung who will do just
that. Today I reached for my Bearcat scanning radio receiver and
it wasn't there. I got this little $300 toy back in days when I
had bucks working for Uncle Sugar. I have made a career of
ripping off the taxpayers by not working very much. Then it was
in the local Naval establishment which is now kaput. Now it is
by lingering in tardfarms at state expense.
This being first of the month, I confirmed that my pension has
been wired to my checking account and wrote my share-of-cost
check payable to St Timmy's and took it to the office. My share
of cost is about $25 a month more than I get deposited, yet I am
told the figures allow me to keep $35 a month for hatpins and
rose water. A dollar a day won't even buy a soda and a packet of
chips I'm not supposed to have.
On my way out with the check I ran into Miss Ralph and mentioned
the loss of the radio. I filled out a "concern form" which
basically stated I'VE BEEN RIPPED OFF AND HERE'S WHAT IT LOOKS
LIKE [DRAWING]. My first suspect, now that Miss Potty Mouth is
no longer here, is Johnny, the younguy who got shot in the back.
He and George seem to be awfully palsy-walsy lately. Therefore
he has access to this room and can see the toys I have. Miss
Ralph said she went and looked in his room to see if the scanner
was there but didn't see anything.
As I am coming back to my room, I see the head maintenance man
poking around in here. Oh, he says, I hear you lost something.
I said, Gee, news sure travels fast around here. Oh, he says,
they always tell me and I look around for stuff when it's
missing. So he's poking around in my closet and under my
furniture and opening my boxes and shit like that and I am
getting steamed.
He asks me if the scanner had my name on it. Oh sure, like my
name scrawled on it is going to stop a thief. I suppose
somewhere I have the serial number recorded, but those records
are in storage and Glub knows what box they're in, so forget it.
I do have the serial numbers of the computer and peripherals
registered in the business office in case they grow legs. Now I
have to find out if Miss Ralph actually told the maintenance
people about this incident. If not, then Danny is going to have
some explaining to do about how he knew what was missing.
Fuck whether Miss Ralph told the maintenance people about the
sticky fingers in this place! The shit started at four-thirty
this morning with some asshole nurse-type shining a flashlight in
my eyes. I am never in a good mood when awakened before my time.
You should hear the things I used to call my alarm clock. Now
with a flashlight blinding me, I am not only pissed as hell, I am
frightened to boot. I roar such goodies as, Who the FUCK are YOU
and WHAT the HELL do you WANT?
George wakes up and starts yelling JesusChrist JesusChrist again.
I yell at George, Nevermind, George, we have a burglar or
something. The burglar gets all, Oh, no, I'm not a burglar; I'm
just here to check on you. I get all, You're here to check on me
and you wave a GODDAM FLASHLIGHT IN MY FACE?! WHAT THE HELL IS
*THAT* FOR? Nurse-type is all, I'm sorry I'm sorry. George is
all, Stupid, stupid. I'm all, Yeah, George, Stupid is right.
Nurse-type flees in terror (I hope) as I continue ranting about
all the goddam incompetence sure as hell starts early in the
fucking mornings these days!
Coincidentally, other nurseypoos are cleaning up the Chink next
door. Now he's yelling his ass off. He loves to talk to and
boss people who aren't even there. I can't be sure what language
it's in. It's very poorly pronounced Chinese if it's that, and
it sure as fuck isn't English. This nonsense goes on until after
six o'clock. I am looking for something or somebody to kill.
Next interruption of sleep comes when the nurseypoos get done
with the Chink and come over to see if I have any doodoo. They
ought to check George's ass first. He's the one I see walking
around in here with HerseySquirt on his Jockeys. One of them
takes my pussy-shaped urinal to empty. They never rinse it. I
tell nurseypoo to go back and rinse it so it won't smell. What
do they teach these people in CNA school? Don't they ever get
around to the common sense niceties?
The next in the morning's plague of irritations is the dumbest
licensed nurse in the world they bring in to work relief on the
overnight med cart. She's here to do my morning finger stick.
At least I have her in deep fear of waking me before six o'clock.
Now she shows up as close to seven as she can to avoid my wrath.
I must really make her nervous because she dropped everything.
Thank Glub I can get along without insulin. How would you like a
klutz like this coming at you with a sharp needle?
She dropped the meter (ouch!), the testing strip, the paper thang
with the pill in it, and she never brings me any water. I should
count a minor blessing. She doesn't offer me this synthetic
cranberry drink or -- are you ready for this? -- EGG NOG to knock
it back. While I'm washing up, in comes Danny, the maintenance
man, through the patio door. He doesn't call out or knock or
anything. He just walks in. I hope he got a good look at my
tits. I should have shaken them for him. Are we finished with
this salvo of idiocy? Nooooo...
Next comes the after seven med cart nurse. She wants to give me
my vitamin pill. If you want to give me a vitamin pill, then why
have you got a little plastic cup of goo and a spoon? This looks
exactly like the parley used to get tranqs into raving betsy-
wetsies. I offer a succint question: Lady, if that's a pill
it's in the wrong form. And if you don't know what form I take,
then how do I know if you're giving me the right stuff? She had
no answer, turned on her heel and left with a great squeal of
rubber on tile.
A while later, here I am internetting away and I feel there is a
presence in the room. Sure enough, Danny has slipped in and is
fooling around with my teevee behind me. I ask him what the hell
he thinks he's doing. He's all, Oh, I'm just looking to see if
your teevee is marked. (Why, asshole, so you'll know if you can
fence it real fast?) He wants then to know whether I want it
marked with my Social Security number. No, I do not. The idiot
doesn't know that, in this state at least, you should mark items
with your driver license number. I tell him to get lost and not
to be in my room or around my stuff without permission.
Lunch is called. I'm not participating in this dingdong social
dining any longer. My wagons are circled. I'm staying in my
room as much as possible and I am not taking any announced trips
elsewhere, and I'm not staying long when I do go. They bring my
tray to the room. The social dining attendant asks why I am not
going in there. I tell her because there is a thief on the
premises.
Not long after, Miss Ralph shows up with the property list I
filled out when I moved in. The scanner isn't on there, but we
fixed that. I added it to the list in the same ink (an unusual
color) as I used to make the original list. Miss Ralph dated it
back and noted that she'd seen the radio in my possession many
times. I asked if she had mentioned to Danny that the radio was
missing. Miss Ralph wasn't sure if she'd blabbed or not. I'd
like to know how he knew about it so fast. I also told her I
didn't want to see Danny anywhere near me and my stuff without an
express invitation. While I didn't come out and say I now
suspect him as well, I think Miss Ralph got the message.
This ain't a done deal yet, babies...
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