Everyone has that job. The job that causes you to want to pull your hair out, and everyone you work withs, too. Mine happened to be my very first job.

My first job was being a hospitality aid at a local nursing home:

“Oh my goodness, I’m such a good person.”
“I’m going to go to work everyday and help old, helpless people.”
“I’m a saint.”

My mindset changed within the first 20 minutes.

While being trained, I was bit by an old woman looking for her son Frederick. That event would soon become the first of many bites while being apart of this wonderful nursing staff. Being bit, hit and spit on was a part of my everyday life. It became apart of who I was. No one noticed my bite marks and bruises after about a week.

Harlot, dirt, trash

The nickname that kept me from knocking Granny out of her wheelchair was the occasional, “You are such a jingle jangle.” I was good for about 20 minutes until something else bad happened. The stories are true. Being apart of a nursing staff is a drag. Being peed on is not the worst. Believe me.

I had to remember the diets of about 120 residents and orders for every meal of the day. Not to mention twice a day, I had to pass around snacks to all members, and if diabetic Debbie got a honey bun, I was in for it. Needless to say, I gave a lot of people apples to protect the residents, along with myself.

I went through about 50 white shirts while on this job. Cranberry juice stains, along with many other bodily fluids, became a sort of a tie-dye.

The worst part of this job wasn’t actual physical duties, or even my injuries, it was putting my emotions aside. I cared for these people, and according to other “caring” assistants, I cared too much.

If Suzie was about to get off of her shift, and Mrs. Jones needed a diaper change, she wouldn’t take the five minutes to do it. Instead she would rather leave her to sit in discomfort for four hours waiting for another shift assistant, and I wasn’t having it.

I became known as the “tattletale,” but I really didn’t care; I was there to help, and that’s what I did. Finally, the job got the best of me, and I quit. I still make active visits to see my beloved residents, with whom you cannot help but fall in love with.

The first job was bad enough, but my lack of money lead me to look for another job. I have been looking for almost a month, and cannot find anything. I fill out my application, but get no “call-backs.”

When “creeping” on the places I apply for, I usually find someone of low intelligence and rude manner taking my order. This sparks the “Are you kidding me?” thought in my brain, and I can’t help but feel my curse creeping up.

But where there is persistence, there is reward, people. My drive has paid off. I have an interview Monday at a restaurant, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get lucky.

All I have to say is, I pray I do not get bit, and Frederick, please go visit your mother.