I met the new guy. At breakfast they seated him at his assigned table but no one else was there. Seemed like a bleak breakfast for one's first morning here. Our table mate does not come to breakfast so we sent a care giver to invite new guy to join us for his first breakfast.
His name is Fred. Yes, he has a computer, but, No, there will be no additional blog from the old folks home. He says he knows nothing about his computer. Well, we can have fun anyway, even though he won't be publishing a journal.
But poor Fred. What an introduction to the old folks home he got. I started by telling him that I had lived here for eight years and was happy. But my table mate, Miss Congeniality, was in rare form.
Miss C: Breakfast is the best meal of the day.
Fred: Oh, yes.
Miss C: But it goes down hill all day. The evening meal is LOUSY.
Thanks, Table mate. for helping Fred adjust to his new home. Fred mentioned that he had lived at Hampshire House before he broke his hip. Oh, oh. Mentioning Hampshire House to Miss C. is like waving a red flag at a snorting bull. Without seeing what Fred had thought of Hampshire House, she began: "That snooty place. They think they're better than anyone else. Don't they realize that this is Merced...not San Francisco, or New York society?" And on, and on.
Whatever I complimented, Miss C. found fault with. I invited Fred to listen to George on the piano this evening and Miss C. pointed out that SHE would be playing cards, not listening to music. To make matters worse, Fred's new table mates showed up after all, but he was getting brain washed at our table instead of meeting his new table mates.