I found out about the agency
when I went to my school's employment office. I met with the Director, a woman
in her early sixties. The agency was dedicated to helping independently living
elderly, and it seemed ironic that the agency director seemed to need a little
help, too.
The office was in an
industrial area north of downtown. It was very disorganized, with a variety of
cleaning supplies, papers, books and a collection of mostly useless stuff. On
one wall, a slew of glass sheets rested, for example, and in another, were
several shovels. A second room contained many file cabinets, and stacks of
newspapers. The director had a desk in another room, the smallest in the
office. She was the only person to work there, except for me from time to time.
Mostly, though, I worked in
the field. I would call in every morning to a secretary, who worked in a
separate office on the other side of town, and get my list of assignments for
the day. I would usually visit three or four clients in a single day, and
perform a variety of mundane chores that they were unable or unwilling to
perform. The agency had a lawnmower, for example, and I would cart it around
and mow lawns. Shoveling snow and raking leaves were also common seasonal
chores. Another common chore was grocery shopping. Many of the clients talked
amongst themselves, a fact I discovered when one of them decided to use the
service to flip her mattress. Once I completed the chore for her, she called
her friends … and I ended up flipping 14 or 15 mattresses that week.
It was the clients that made
the job interesting. Each new client was a window into the lonely world of the
elderly. I saw some clients frequently, others I saw once and never again.
Everyone I served was a character, but a few stood out.
One man I worked for hated
having me buy groceries. Before I joined the agency, it was common practice for
the service worker to give the client a ride to the store, but an accident
ended that policy. One time, he walked to the store by himself, bought a bunch
of groceries and then called the agency to have me come pick him up 'like he
did before.' The director of the agency was convinced that I was giving him
rides despite my denials. It was sad to hear him explain his health woes,
especially the untreatable condition that was going to eventually kill him.
One woman was in her
nineties, and spent an hour talking about a trip she took to the Chicago World
Fair of 1892. She was only 4 at the time. I used to cut her grass a lot, and
she would complain of the snakes that would invade her house. It was sad to
hear the lawnmower go "Rrrp" when it ran over a snake.
When assigned one client, I
was advised to not eat there. After completing my chores, I was invited to a
nice lunch by the somewhat blind client. I looked forward to a hearty meal of
soul food … until I noticed the bread she gave me was moldy.
I was called to one house,
but was warned beforehand that the client would most likely not let me inside.
She was a longtime occasional client who was badly in need of services, but
unwilling to take advantage of them. I used my social skills well, and easily
gained her confidence. With that, she allowed me into her home.
It proved to be very
difficult to enter, both because of the multitude of stuff she had accumulated
and the stench of her home. The client was blind, and rarely moved from a chair
in what must have been the front room. She also had an elderly poodle, which
was also blind. The rest of the house was extremely disorganized, with
furniture and random objects strewn about. Often, when going from room to room,
I had to locate a clear path, or move furniture or items. Scattered throughout
was various puddles and piles of dog waste. I never did much work for
her--there was way too much to be done, and the house itself had structural
issues.
The director was very
similar to many of the clients. She was, as far as I could tell, a spinster.
She hailed from the Boston area--in fact my New England roots helped me get the
job--and had settled out west years before. She had a Boston accent, strong
enough that some people thought she was English.
After working with clients
for a while, the director had me come in and work in the office. Instead of
having me clean up the general mess, she would then assign me simple typing or
organizing tasks. She would go through several newspapers every day, and clip
out items she though would be interesting or useful to the agency. She would
then put them into a file folder and file them away. By the time I was there,
she had been doing this for about 15 years.
She also had a thing about
typewriters. There were several in the office, but they were old and needed
repair. She had me repair them, and would give me typing assignments, and then
complain when the machines wouldn't generate what she wanted. She also
complained about the secretary's typing.
Once, I went to the office
where the secretary worked. It was two rooms in a senior center. I found the
secretary, a scratchy smoking old woman in one, in front of yet another
dilapidated typewriter. A few minutes later, I went into the second office,
which was used for storage. In there, on a desk, and under a carefully draped
towel, was a new IBM Selectric 2. It was in fine shape, and ready to go. I asked the secretary, but she told me she
was forbidden to use it. I asked the director about it a couple of days later
why it was there. She said "There's a really good reason why we don't use
it. I'm not going to tell you that reason, but it's a good reason." I
eventually brought it to the main office, but it remained unused.
