On Your Feet or on Your Knees
Vegas, Baby?
My parents are creatures of habit. They eat at some Chinese buffet three days a week (always on the same days), Red Lobster on Sunday, Bill Miller Bar-B-Q on Saturday night after church, etc. Well on Wednesday they apparently eat at a place named Zorro's Buffet with my uncle Ralph. It'd be a shame to break the tradition so Lisa and I load the old man into the car and head over to Zorro's despite the reviews found online. Living dangerously means sometimes you roll the food poisoning dice and lose. We manage to find the place despite my dad's help. The sign outside proudly proclaims that it is a "Las Vegas Buffet."
I confess I've never been to Vegas but this is definitely not what I pictured. The food is a bit lackluster. Sure they have all of your elegant TV dinner favorites like genuine Salisbury streak, tacos, taquitos, pepperoni pizza, and chicken nuggets as well as a plethora of salad types (including green and Caesar), but somehow I expected more. With both my dad and his brother more options equals higher quality. All they could do is talk about how many items the buffet had (which really wasn't all that many). They tended to overlook the potentially unsafe temperature of the food or its generally unappetizing appearance and flavor. There sure was a lot of it though. I would definitely say I had all I could eat. Or stomach.
The most interesting moment for me came at dessert. My dad loaded up ice cream, chocolate pudding, etc. The observant reader might recall that he and his brother are diabetics. My wife brought that up and my dad reassured her by saying, "by the time I check my blood tonight it'll be back to normal." I'm not 100% sure that's how you're supposed to watch your diet but what would I know?
A Long Time Ago…
After breakfast/lunch/dinner we get to the hospital to see how my mom's doing.
Me: Hello, hello. How's it going?
Mom: Fine I guess. Couldn't sleep last night. Do you know they came in at 3am to fix that television?
Me: Your television doesn't work?
Mom: No, the woman in the next bed.
Me: Well I guess that's just when they could get to it.
Mom: She wanted to watch the Spurs game.
Dad: I don't know why anyone would want to watch those Spurs. They're all black.
Mom: I wasn't watching them. She was, so I was.
Me: You've got your own television. Just watch something else.
Mom: I don't know how to turn it on.
Me: I showed you before. Or call a nurse in to do it.
Dad: Your mother and me are from a different era. I didn't have indoor plumbing or a refrigerator until I was 12 years old. Did you know that?
Me: And that's why you can't work a television?
Dad: What did he say?
Mom: You call the nurses and it takes them too long to get here.
Me: You really need a hearing aid.
Dad: What?
Mom: YOU NEED A HEARING AID.
Dad: I don't need no hearing aid.
Me: It's about quality of life. Wouldn't you rather hear what's going on around you?
Dad: Half the stuff people say ain't worth hearing anyway. Wylie Odom paid $2500 for a hearing aid and that thing never worked.
Me: There's so much flawed logic in that sentence I don't know where to begin.
Dad: What?
Mom: HE SAYS YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT.
Dad: So I should pay $2500 for a hearing aid that doesn't work?
Lisa: When was this?
Dad: I don't remember. He's been dead around 8 years now.
Me: Well I'm tired of repeating myself because you refuse to look into getting a hearing aid. From now on I'm saying everything once.
Dad: What?
Mom: HE SAYS HE'S ONLY SAYING THINGS ONCE FROM NOW ON.
Dad: Well nice talking to you then.
Me: I wish I could say the same.
At this point he storms off to find the bathroom. When he finally comes back in he picks up with:
Dad: You know Carl got us some cheap hearing aids and they work just fine in church until they play that damn organ so loud. Why should I spend $2500 on a hearing aid when Wylie Odom's never worked worth a damn?
Me: You got me there.
Dad: What did he say?
I Can't Eat Any of This
After the hospital it's time to eat again (since it's 4pm). These people eat constantly. Tired of eating at crap buffets Lisa suggests Carino's. My dad has eaten there before and liked it. Despite that he insists that he's never been there. Once there he says he can't eat any of the food on the menu and that he'll just have tea.
We finally manage to convince him to order some chicken and make a few substitutions. After eating a couple of salads and most of his food he seems happy enough. He even lets me get the check, after arguing with me for 10 minutes about it.
It's Like a Book for Your Face
The next day we eat again somewhere (I forget where) and head into the hospital. To pass the time I try explaining social networking to my parents.
You see, every time we go out to eat to one of their regular spots the wait staff asks them all sorts of questions: how's your grass doing, do any fishing lately, where's your wife, who are these people with you, etc. I told them that if they got a Facebook account they could broadcast all these small talk updates to their loyal fans and even get them back in return. They could find long lost friends. You know the drill.
Dad: I don't want them goddamn people on that Internet knowing my business.
Me: You only post what you want to. It's not like it finds stuff out about you automatically.
Dad: Well them people don't need to know it anyway.
Me: Then don't post it.
Dad: I don't want strangers in my business.
Me: Your updates can be private. Only people you approve would see them.
Dad: They don't need to know that bullshit.
Me: They're free to ignore it. A lot of people do. Or don't post it. Whatever. You already tell these people this information over lunch. Take that waiter at Red Lobster for instance.
Dad: That's ol' Ian.
Me: He could follow you on Twitter or Facebook or whatever and see that mom's in the hospital. Or that you caught some fish. Or whatever.
Dad: He ain't got a computer. He's a Scotsman.
Me: Wow.
I then went on to try and explain a bunch of the stuff I had just read in the book Socialnomics (highly recommended), but it was all downhill from there. I think my parents must wonder if I'm making all of this stuff up as I go along.
Is That How You Count to Three?
In the midst of all of this my mom finds out that her three days in the hospital is actually four days–the day of the surgery doesn't count since we're playing doctor's rules. This really seems to piss her off. But wait, there's more. She's then told that the doctor doesn't want to send her home after the hospital. It's recommended that she go to a rehab center to help get her back on her feet.
Now, all of the nursing staff is amazed with her progress and insist that she's probably ready to go home. She could also refuse to go to the rehab center but probably shouldn't since she wants this surgeon to do her other knee (probably in 3 months). So she just gets more pissed off and figures she'll have to go. This means our 3 day emergency visit because we don't think my dad can fend for himself has likely turned into a 10 day visit. Score!
Of course the fact that G.I. Joe taught me that "knowing is half the battle" has not escaped me. If she had consulted a doctor besides Dr. Andy, M.D. (not a real doctor) then she might have been more prepared for this. In turn we might have been able to prepare for it a bit more as well. And that would have been a good thing. Maybe next time.
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