The Old Man

I sit here at my desk, in my lobby, all night long just waiting for something interesting or exciting to happen.. The majority of the time, nothing ever does. My nights are spent playing solitaire or doodling on a small, cheap, notepad that the company issued to me when I began working here. Then some nights, things happen... Strange things.... Things that make me laugh, but then as I laugh, I choke and almost throw up my last meal because I feel so badly about laughing. The following is one such incident.

Saturday, October 11, 1:00AM: I sat at my desk, tediously doing a crossword puzzle that I found stuffed behind the commode in the men's restroom. The lack of things to fill my time with forces me to go to extremes for entertainment. The urine mist that had dried onto the pages and cover of this little crossword booklet only made for a better writing surface as it sat on my lap. My night was about to get much more interesting.
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He pushed his wheelchair through the large, sliding double-doors in front of the desk where I sit. His spindly arms struggling to push the large chair that appeared to be quite rusted as well as very much out of date. (As far as wheelchairs go) As he crossed the threshold and braked to a stop with the ear-piercing screech of ancient wheelchair brakes, he coughed a hoarse, but productive cough that filled his mouth with whatever mucus was hiding in his disgusting lungs. I couldn't help but stare at this man. He was decrepit and old and his face shined with enough grease to deep-fry potatoes (figure 1). Suddenly I noticed how hungry I was... Specifically for some potatoes. I remembered how I hadn't eaten since noon the previous day and my stomach rumbled loudly. I'm not sure if there's anything better in this world than crisp, golden-brown potatoes on a Sunday morning at the....... I was rudely torn from my thoughts of fried, hash browned potatoes by a raspy voice, demanding my attention.

"Please sir", the disgusting old gentleman asked me, "Do you by chance know of anyone named Susan Hatfield?"

I looked at the man in disgust. Surely, this sorry excuse for a soul had more sense than to come to me, begging for a free hand-out.

"No! Can't you see I'm busy?" I retorted. "Go beg for table scraps somewhere else!" I'm a kind man.. a good man.. but you have to draw the line somewhere.

"But sir, I only wish to find and talk to Mrs. Susan Hatfield.", the revolting old creature pleaded.

"Get away from me you garbage-rat!", I said with as much distaste as I could muster. "I know if I give you money, you'll only use it for booze or drugs!"

"But Sir....What are you talking about? I'm not asking for any food or money.. I just need to talk to Mrs. Hatfield. It's very important." The pathetic wretch droned.

I was beginning to get very angry at this disgusting man who looked as if he'd been squeezed directly from bowels of society.

"Not only will I not give you my spare change, but I am tempted to search your pockets and take what little change you have, if any!", I yelled at the man, "I am getting very tired of sitting here having to look at your putrid face! I'm not giving you anything, you hideous leech!!"

"Sir... I know she works here. She's a very close relative and friend of mine and I desperately need her help.", the old man begged me.

This old geezer had apparently never heard the word "NO" before in his life, but still he begged for my mercy. The ancient man's hands were resting on the desk in front of me and, with rage, I picked up a heavy phone book and slammed it onto the man's fingers as hard as I could and with a stern, angry voice said, "Listen here you sorry excuse for a man! I will not give you food or money so you might as well save your horrible breath! If you want a drink of water, give me 2 minutes to go empty my bladder into the toilet and then feel free to drink until your shriveled belly is full, but other than that, you will leave this premesis now!!"

Mission accomplished... I saw tears welling up in the old man's eyes. I could see that he finally realized that his tricks wouldn't work with me and that if he wanted his drug "fix", he'd have to search elsewhere. I planted a smug grin on my face and motioned as if I were going to punch the man in the face, my fist abruptly stopping inches from the elderly man's eye. He cringed and let out a startled yelp. I then emptied the last drops of my coffee onto the man's horrible, bulbous head and went back to my crossword puzzle. People can be so inconsiderate.

The next night, Susan Hatfield came to my desk. She was furious and asked me who had been on duty the night before. She sputtered that her dear Uncle Morton had somehow wandered away from the retirement home and gotten lost. The only place he knew to go was to her workplace and he was badly in need of his medication. Apparently, she said, someone had been extremely threatening and cruel to this poor old man. So, terrified and disoriented, he had left our facility only to lose control of his chair, roll down a large, steep hill, and plunge into the river. They'd found him early that afternoon, looking like a waterlogged rat, about 25 miles South of here. She demanded to know which of us guards had been on duty at the desk when Uncle Morton had come by. Calmly, I blamed it on Phil, the guy who had called in sick. He's an alcoholic so they'll never believe him anyway.