Adventures With Mrs. Fossilfuel

She died while I was there.

Just kidding.

First, my morning started with my usual happy, shimmering face that I reserve for getting up at 4:30 after 3 hours of sleep. This face brings to mind Nick Nolte's mug shot with a little Karl-Malden-in-urethral-distress thrown in.

Scott, being the astoundingly nice man he is, came out to the kitchen to see if I wanted company. When I looked at him and little evil, flaming mermaids blasted out of my eyes and shat up both his nostrils, he took the hint and went back to bed.

Probably the precise moment he had gotten back to sleep, I opened the refrigerator to take out my leftover Chinese food (for my lunch at Mrs. F-f's house) and out tumbled a huge plastic container of chocolate covered espresso beans. It exploded onto the kitchen floor, sending hundreds of little entities rolling in all directions like cockroaches under a 40,000 watt bulb.

It was at this moment that I cussed so hard that some of the shingles flew off our roof, and fell, sizzling, into the dark swimming pool. By the time Scott made it back to the kitchen to see what had happened, I was loudly questioning my belief in a loving God. I tend to overreact in the early morning.

Finally I was ready to go. Directions to Mrs. Fossilfuel's house in my bag, along with blazing noodles and tofu for lunch, yogurt and a banana for snacks, and attired in my sickeningly sky blue company polo shirt.

Several dark, lonely miles later, I get to her house. I've been told that the overnight care giver will be there to let me in. But the house is dark. I double-check the address, walk to the curb to see the house number again. This is the right address. I have to knock.

Knock knock knock.

Nothing.

Doorbell.

Nothing.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Still nothing.

Meanwhile, I am freezing. Because not only does Phoenix actually get cold at night, but it is accentuated by not-quite-dry hair.

I have no choice. I have to call the agency and wake up Mavis, the human resources person who is on call.


Mavis:...mumble, mumble, mpthph...Mavis speaking.

Candy: Mavis, this is Candy. Mrs. Fossilfuel is not answering her door, and there's no overnight person here.

Mavis: Oh, she had to leave late last night...she had a death in the family.

Candy: So what should I do? What's the protocol here?

Mavis: Hold on, and I will call Mrs. Fossilfuel to tell her you're outside.

I hear the phone ring inside, so at least I know I'm at the right house.

I listen to Mavis's end of the conversation:

"Mrs. Fossilfuel? MRS. FOSSILFUEL??......yes, your care giver is outside your front door--"

Mrs. Fossilfuel apparently hangs up on Mavis.

Then my call to Mavis is dropped.

I call Mavis again. She tries to call Mrs. F. again. The line is busy. Phone is off the hook maybe? She's gone back to bed?

Mavis: Candy, walk around to the back of Mrs. Fossilfuel's house and bang on her bedroom window.

Candy:

Mavis: Candy?

Candy: Um, you want me to go bang on the bedroom window of a 98-year-old woman?

Mavis: It's OK. That's what she told us to do.

I stumble in the dark to the back of the house. There is not only no way of telling which window might be the correct one, but there is also no way of telling which episode of "Cops" I'll be appearing on. I should've worn mascara.

Candy: Yeah. This isn't going to work.

Mavis: Let me try to call her again.

Again I listen to her side.

"Mrs. Fossilfuel? Yes. YES, this is MAVIS. Your care giver is waiting outside for you to open the door. (pause) No. She's OUTSIDE. (pause) This is when she was SUPPOSED to arrive. (longer pause) No. Sherrie doesn't come back until tonight. (pause) All right, Mrs. Fossilfuel, but you will still have to pay for this..."

Mavis: Candy, Mrs. Fossilfuel says she needs to rest today and she doesn't want anyone to come. So you'll get paid for the whole day anyway.

Candy: Well. This is bizarre.

Mavis: Yes, but she does this sometimes, and usually on Saturdays.

Candy: Good to know.

Thus ends my false start with one Mrs. Fossilfuel of Phoenix, Arizona. Although it was nice to begin my (what will probably be short) tenure with elder care with a paid day off, I felt very sorry for her. Awakened in the middle of the night to be abandoned by her apparent favorite, Sherrie, then struggling with her walker to the phone a few hours later. To talk to Mavis. Who is black, and noticeably so, even on the phone. Mrs. Fossilfuel ain't no fan of the blackies.

I am signed up for another shift with her tomorrow, Sunday, from 1-6 p.m. At this point the whole thing is slightly Hitchcockian. As though there is no Mrs. Fossilfuel. I was lured to "her" house under false pretense, for unsavory reasons. Like a middle-of-the-night Mary Kay makeover party with a forced minimum purchase of $100, or a group reading of Rod McKuen poems. I will get to the bottom of this.

Perhaps.

Tomorrow.

But I will tell you that while I stood outside her door waiting, I was very quiet. And motherly.