I made a mess of the message!

Hiya, and greetings from Africa.

Oh gosh, I really am a bit embarrassed to tell you about this, but when I saw Sunday Scribblings was asking us to write about a message I suddenly remembered something that happened when I was teenager.

You see, I used to have a little weekend job in an old folks home. We used to call it the home for the bewildered because most of the residents were rather ancient and didn’t have much idea what day it was, let alone where they were! I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but that was pretty well how it was.

As I recall I got a message from my supervisor with a few things I had to do as soon as I arrived at work. Now either I was given the message wrong or I misunderstood it and got muddled up. My first job was to wheel Mrs Grimshaw (I've forgotten their real names now so I'll have to make some up - it was a very long time ago) down to the little hair salon we had in the home, and I was to explain that she was to have a curly perm and a wisteria rinse. I thought at the time it was bit odd because Mrs Grimshaw had longish grey hair which made her look a little like a witch, and I couldn’t imagine why she’d want to change her look. Actually she had what I thought was a crystal ball in her room, but it turned out it was one of those glass things you shake to see a snowstorm! Anyway she wasn’t too keen on being told to change her hairstyle but I explained that it was treat from her son and as he paid for her to be there and was visiting her in the afternoon she’d better have it done. I'll never forget that look she gave me!

While she was being transformed I got on with the next job from the message and gave a couple of old dears an early lunch, I can’t remember why. One of them, Miss Trubshaw was to have a special soup brought in by her daughter. Apparently it was her favourite, not that you’d have thought so because she said it was disgusting, and in any case she told me she was allergic to tomatoes. I laughed and told her not to make silly excuses!

What was next? Oh I know. I had to get Mr Potter to take some pills to calm him down! I know that sounds funny, but the message told me that he gets overexcited on visiting days and has been known to pinch the nurses bottoms! There was one other job. What was it? Oh yes I was to take Mr Bumstead for a walk in the garden to get some fresh air. He really enjoyed it at first. I was a bit shocked though when he slapped my behind and told me what a pretty little filly I was! And then he started sneezing. Not once or twice, but over and over again, so I took him back to his room.

About two o’clock the visitors started arriving. All the residents were sitting in the day room. First in was Mrs Grimshaw’s son, and he couldn’t find her. I pointed to her, and he said that she wasn’t his mother; his Mum had grey hair not blue. I said it wasn’t blue it was wisteria. Well don’t know about wisteria, hysteria would have been a better word! He was not happy when he saw what we’d done to her grey locks. Then it was the turn of the Trubshaws. I saw them clasp there hands over their mouths and I realised what they had seen. Mrs Trubshaw had turned a shade of bright red! And it got worse. Mr Potter was fast asleep and snoring like a good’en and his family were trying to shake him awake. As for Mr Bumstead, he was still sneezing but despite that he still managed to give his daughter in law a goosing.

Then everything began to fall into place. I was asked to go to my supervisors office where I was given a bit of a telling off. I still claim I was given the message wrong. It seemed that Mrs Trubshaw should have gone to the hair salon, and she did have an allergy problem with tomato soup. The soup was for Mrs Grimshaw. As for Mr Potter, he was supposed to go out into the garden for a walk. Those calming pills which sent him to sleep were for Mr Bumstead who was normally kept clear of the garden as he suffered from hay fever.

It was suggested to me that perhaps my talents lay elsewhere and we came to a mutual decision that I should leave and get a job in a shop or something! Whether or not the fault was mine, I didn’t feel I wanted that sort of responsibility at my tender age!

Must go now, I’m running out of change with which to feed this rickety old computer!