Page 12 - Unlikely Stories 5

Don Quejarse

He had a well-founded suspicion that new CNAs were always
assigned the patients nobody else wanted; and this was his first day
on the job. So he checked the name on the door before he entered.
Yes, it was Donald Kaiser, 84 years of age, borderline dementia,
advanced osteoarthritis. And a large asterisk hand-written with a red
marking pen on the right side of the computer-printed page. This had
to be Don Quejarse, a nickname he had already heard when he’d
checked in at the nurses’ station. Many of the residents of Casa de las
Trabas were given such monikers by staff, part of a semi-secret
language helping the helpers maintain their own sanity while
following the letter of the laws imposed on state-approved nursing
homes.
It was eight a.m., time to get the old man moving. He knocked
peremptorily and entered the room.
On the hospital bed a wizened face turned toward him “Who are
you?” it croaked. “Where is Picaro?”
“I believe he has been transferred to another facility, Señor. My
name is Oprimido Ordenanza.” He extended his photo-ID as far as
the cord around his neck would permit, assuming the dotard’s
complex of difficult behaviors included paranoia. “You may call me
Primo. I will be assisting you during the morning hours, Monday
through Thursday and Saturday.
“Eh, couldn’t take it, could he? Not much assistance at all. You
look like a fellow capable of carrying out simple instructions. But I
have been wrong before.”
“No doubt,” replied Primo. “But I will be faithful to my duties.
The first one is to get you out of bed and into that wheelchair.” He
lowered the bed rail. “Here, put your arm on my shoulder.”
Don complied, muttering.
“It’s the dragon, you know. They discovered a way to get us: eat
the chemicals we dump and excrete arthrotoxins. Slowly getting into
the water supply, invisible, hiding inside the chlorination and
fluoridation molecules, crippling the warriors. If you’re not affected,
maybe you have immunity. Maybe you’re on their side and they give

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