Millennials are the "I can't be expected" Generation

Millennials are the “I can’t be expected” generation

Millennials are the “I can’t be expected” generation. Most of them have a general sense of entitlement which is frankly quite baffling. They behave as though everything is someone else’s responsibility and they balk at the very notion of having to do things for themselves, clean up after themselves, and take responsibility for their own choices and behavior. I never did like this quality in people in general, and I certainly cannot be expected to like this quality in millennials.

Before you get your crusty panties in a bunch (I know – too late and “no, you”) and start defending yourself because you don’t do this or you’re not a millennial just because you’re young, let me start off by talking about my daughter who also thinks she’s not a millennial and doesn’t do the things they do (except, as it turns out, she does). Pretty much the only quality pertaining to millennials that my daughter does not possess is the tendency toward tardiness and truancy. Parents might be surprised to learn that if they model responsible behavior such as being on time, that their children might also pick up this habit. Additionally, my daughter has experienced first hand my irritation at people who are late and the resulting domino effect of this tardiness. The following paragraph illustrates my point.

A few days ago, my father’s caretaker was 30 minutes late. It was her first day dealing with my father, who, unbeknownst to her, is an asshole. He expects everyone to automatically know what he wants without being told. To make matters worse, he is extremely particular about just about everything under the sun and it would behoove a new caretaker to try and learn about these idiosyncrasies, especially when dealing with the elderly. Had this caretaker been on time, I would have had 10 minutes to warn her about my father and brief her on some of his preferences. However, since she was 30 minutes late, I had to leave as soon as she arrived and let her sink. And she did sink. I subsequently was 17 minutes late to work. So, then her sorry ass excuses of “this was a last-minute assignment” (she knew about this assignment the day before when she agreed to take it) and “child care issues” became my problem and my excuse. Remember the daughter I mentioned in the last paragraph? I am not removed from understanding the responsibility of being a parent, and in fact have been a single parent for the past 6 ½ years, but my problem is not my employer’s problem. Repeat after me millennials: My problem is not my employer’s problem.

My daughter has been bugging me about wanting a cat for as long as I can remember. There were a variety of reasons why I could not get one for her for the longest time, but this past July, we adopted a kitten. If you guessed that I ended up being the one to take care of the kitten, you would be right. She cannot be expected to clean his litterbox it seems, because she never does. The only time the box gets cleaned is every other weekend when she goes to visit her dad and I find the time to clean it myself. The last time I cleaned it, it was absolutely disgusting. She also cannot be expected to get up and feed her cat early in the morning, or to stop playing video games long enough to do so either. About the only thing I can say that she does is spend time with him because she is home all day every day sleeping, eating, and playing video games while I am away at work all day and often gone in the evenings for various reasons including auditions, rehearsals, work-related events and Tuesday night movies.

One of the requirements for getting the cat was to clean up her room, which was not too much different than how it looks now. Her room was a cluttered, messy fire hazard. My kids always blamed each other for the mess and clutter, or they blamed the fact that they had to share a room, but now it is just her and the cat. She had it clean and organized for a little while, but now it’s back to being a cluttered, messy disaster zone that looks like it was in the path of Hurricane Maria. Guess who she blames now. Of course - the cat.

Things are not too much different at work, except for the fact that I like my job, I like my bosses, and I like some of my co-workers. All but one of the co-workers I’m not as fond of are millennials. They seem to think I’m the maid, while the one who is not exactly a millennial, but just as annoying, seems to think the office cleans itself I guess. We do have a cleaning crew, but they only come once a month. If I let the office go until then, the office would be a mess and I would have an unhappy boss.

There are notes all over the place in the office that are based on things these millennials have done. Above the sink in the breakroom is a note that says to not put trash in the trash can if there is no bag, and tells them where the bags are. There is another note on the microwave that says that if your food or drink explodes all over the microwave, to clean it up (I had to clean up exploded oatmeal). There is another note on the bottom of the refrigerator door that says not to put items there because it is not a shelf. There are other such notes in the office. And this past week, a co-worker complained that one of the other female employees had peed on the floor.

I am admittedly a messy eater. I try not to be, but it is just the way I am. I have accepted it and I subsequently take responsibility for it as well and clean up after myself. After cleaning up after these millennials for the past several months, I no longer feel bad about my being messy because I don’t hold a candle to them. From what I hear, they get upset when their parents ask them to do things also. I guess, like my daughter, they can’t be expected to not eat like a pack of ravenous wolves, to not pee on the floor, to clean up after themselves, to pitch in with housework at home or work, or do too much of anything else. Well, don’t expect to make as much money as I do anytime soon ladies.

Personal venting aside, there is additional evidence in the news that millennials are a strange breed of humans. Besides some poor life choices like marrying my ex-husband or racking up student loan debt obtaining a few master’s degrees, some of the dumb things I did as a young person was shaving the hair off of my arms (arms, not arm pits) and flipping an illegal U-turn on a railroad track. Dumb things millennials today do include eating tide pods and driving blindfolded as part of something known as a Bird Box challenge. I guess they can’t be expected to use good judgment either.

I use the phrase “can’t be expected” because this is my daughter’s favorite thing to say whenever I ask her to do something. I can’t be expected to keep my room clean when my brother who no longer lives here and my cat keeps messing it up. I can’t be expected to get a job because I applied at Starbucks a year ago and they didn’t hire me. I can’t be expected to apply other places. I can’t be expected to take the bus. I can’t be expected to turn on the porch light when you’re coming home late. I can’t be expected . . . fill in the blanks. Well, I can’t be expected to like millennials.

My Aunt Carmen

My Aunt Carmen

When I was nine years old, my mother had to go back to Mississippi for a while to fight her ex-husband for back child support. Being as my father was not really equipped for taking care of a little girl, particularly one with very long, curly hair, my mother sought to find a good family member for me to stay with. Their first choice was my Godparents, Sid and Alice Sanchez. In retrospect, they were probably not the best choice for this need or perhaps even as Godparents. Don’t get me wrong; my uncle Sid was a wonderful, kind, and loving man. Even my own children thought he was absolutely wonderful and had grown quite close to him before his death in December 2015. They never met my Aunt Alice, who had died years prior. While my children and I were always close to Sid, I was never really that close to Alice. She did not get along too well with my mother and was not really suitable for taking care of young children anymore by the time I came along needing a long-term babysitter. I had a bruised face and gums as early as the first night at their home because I had run into something trying to find my way back to bed after going to the bathroom. They had turned off all the lights in the house and being as this was my first time in their home, I did not know where anything was and could not see where I was going.

Their second choice was my Aunt Carmen and Uncle Ray, who my mother said she probably should have chosen to be my Godparents. Given my experience at their home when I stayed with them for a month while my mom went back to Mississippi, and my subsequent interactions with both of them, I would have to agree. My Aunt Carmen and Uncle Ray took very good care of me. I slept in my own room on a Queen-sized bed that could easily have held four of me at the time. There was a T.V. and VCR in the room and it just so happened that my first night there, the movie Nadia was going to be on. I loved that movie. I loved gymnastics. My Aunt Carmen recorded the movie just in case I fell asleep. For years I had my very own copy of the movie that I could watch as often as I wanted.

My Aunt Carmen made it a point to ask me what kinds of things I liked to eat and she often prepared my favorites for me. Every morning she would make a delicious breakfast for me. Sometimes it was something like bacon and eggs or pancakes, and other times it was Chocolate Malt-o-Meal with marshmallows. She also kept the freezer well stocked with ice cream, probably as much for Uncle Ray as for me.

She made clothes for all of my Cabbage Patch Kids and little pillows for my dolls’ bunk beds.

There was a makeshift swing in their yard made of rope and what looked like the end of a mop that I loved to swing on every day. There was also a makeshift stage made out of plywood that I could jump off of for greater lift.

Two children my age, a girl and a boy, lived next door. I quickly made friends with them and found myself playing with them just about every day. Aunt Carmen took all three of us to plays, puppet shows, Sea World and the San Diego Zoo. My Uncle Ray was around when he was able to be, but he had to work, so he was not usually with us on these excursions. I often would play next door at my new friends’ house and spent quite a bit of time in the girls’ room playing with dolls and her toys. Unfortunately, I ended up getting sick and because I was afraid I was going to be sent to my grandma’s house, I tried to pretend like everything was fine when it wasn’t. I guess their mom could sense that I wasn’t feeling well and told my Aunt Carmen, who asked why I hadn’t told her that I wasn’t feeling well. She assured me that she wasn’t going to send me to my grandma’s and she took care of me herself and nursed me back to health.

I was even able to spend time with some of my cousins and grow closer to my cousin Nicole as a result. We went to the beach and I had a sleep-over afterward. This was also the first time I ate a sandwich with alfalfa sprouts in it (not exactly a delicacy to a nine-year-old).

Uncle Ray died several years before my Aunt Carmen, who lived to just past her 98^th birthday this past June. I remember him as being kind, funny, and smiling – just as I remember my Aunt Carmen. The month that I spent with them while my mom was away in Mississippi was one of the best months of my entire life. They treated me with absolute kindness and the greatest level of hospitality and I have long held this time with them, and with my other family in the San Diego area, as a very fond memory.

So, when I ended up missing my Aunt Carmen’s service yesterday because I relied on someone else to take me to the service and they were over an hour late picking us up and did not get us there on time, I was deeply upset. With each passing minute, I knew that we would not make it, and when I told my daughter that we were not going to make it on time, I got jumped by the mother of the person who was going to be driving us because apparently I am not entitled to be upset about missing one of the most important funeral services. I wasn’t even talking to her. I was talking to my daughter. Furthermore, I have every right to be upset about her son being over an hour late to pick us up for a two hour drive to a funeral service I never made it to. Why should I be grateful for missing my Aunt Carmen’s service? In retrospect, I wish I had driven myself or found some other way of getting there, and had I known who was taking us (or who all was going on this bus/van), I would have. I guess that’s a question I should have asked. I have learned my lesson. I will ask questions. I will drive myself if necessary, even if it does end up making me anxious the entire time. I will not travel with people with a notoriety for being late to everything. And I will most certainly avoid this super extra woman as much as possible because I am quite frankly pissed, offended, and not ready to forgive any time within the next 98 years.

I love you Aunt Carmen. I am sorry I missed your service. I wish I could have been there and I am massively upset that I wasn’t. I had hoped to tell you goodbye one more time. Fortunately, I got to say goodbye while you were still alive and asked you to say hello to my mother when you get to heaven. Say hello to Uncle Ray too.

M*nty Pyth*n's Ice Cream Wars (not used with permission - hope that's ok)

M*nty Pyth*n’s Ice Cream Wars (not used with permission – hope that’s ok)

I also considered “Freaky Friday – Monday Edition” and “My Life the Sitcom”.  The latter would have been the safest choice probably, but I doubt Terry Gilliam will read my silly little blog anyway.

Sometimes I’ll read on Facebook about the silly things my friends’ kids say or do. Sometimes I am one of those parents who post silly things my kids say or do. Today’s excerpt however has a lot of extra innings and a whole sitcom-length script that sounds like something out of Monty Python or Cake Wars. Additionally, there are a few other interesting things that happened today also.

My brother sent me a text message earlier this evening telling me to make sure my doors were locked because there was police and SWAT activity near my home. I wasn’t home, but my daughter was, so I sent her a text message telling her the same. A little while later, I came home to find that all of the police and SWAT activity was on my street and I would have to show an officer my ID in order to get to my house. Apparently, they were in pursuit of an armed suspect. So, yeah, that’s a thing that happened.

Backtracking a bit, my father fell late Friday night. I happened to be up still and heard him, so I picked him up (he weighs no more than a minute) and put him back on his bed. I asked him if he wanted me to call 911. He said no. Later on that morning, he changed his mind because his pain was great. I called 911, which in retrospect I wish I had done the first time, and the ambulance came and took him to the Emergency Room. He had broken his hip and fractured seven ribs and his scapula behind his right shoulder. His whole right side was a mess. He would need a hip replacement, and ironically enough, his orthopedic surgeon is also my orthopedic doctor for my right shoulder. My father was in good hands, but he will likely be in the hospital for a long time.

Due to this unfortunate event, and others last week, my laundry was in dire need of being done. I gathered all the laundry and put the first load in the machine and attempted to turn it on. Nothing. I pushed the button again. Nothing. I opened and closed the lid and pushed the button again. Nothing. I checked all the knobs. Nope; nothing out of the ordinary. I unplugged it and plugged it back in. Nothing. I checked the circuit breaker. Nothing out of place. I hit the reset button. Nothing. I tried the other plug in the outlet. Nope. I turned off the kitchen light. Bingo! We are in business! In order to do my laundry, I had to keep the kitchen light off. Apparently running the air conditioner, the washing machine and the kitchen light all at the same time is quite literally a deal breaker.

I decide I want ice cream. Here begins the part of the episode known as “ice cream wars”. I decide that warming up the hot fudge in the microwave might not go so well considering the earlier kitchen light incident, so I put the hot fudge in a small pot and warm it up on low heat on the stove. When it nears melted, I look for a bowl to put my ice cream in. There are no bowls. What the hell happened to all our bowls? Where do these silly caretakers put things? Wait. I know where they might be.

Here begins “my life the sitcom”.

Me: Lauren, do you have any bowls?

Lauren: I have a few.

Me: I need a bowl. There are no bowls.

Lauren: I only have a few. There has to be bowls.

Me: There are no bowls. Zero bowls.

Lauren: I don’t have any bowls with the colored rims.

Me: I’m not looking for those bowls. I’m looking for bowls like what we put cereal in. There are none up there, not in the cabinet, not in the sink, not in the drain board. No bowls! Zero bowls. Like, negative bowls. Negative 100 bowls. The complete and utter absence of bowls. I need a bowl!

Lauren (finally looking for the few bowls she has): I only have a few (she hands me two bowls).

Me (looking at the two bowls): Do you have any other dishes in here? I might as well do them all at once.

Lauren (handing me two more bowls): A bunch of spoons and stuff.

Me (blank stare): All of the dishes.

Lauren hands me a handful of silverware.

Me: You need to start bringing your dishes out and washing them. This is not a few bowls. This is four bowls and a bunch of silverware, all of which is needed in the kitchen.

Lauren: You already told me that.

Me: And yet, here we are. I have to come hunting for a damn bowl.

I exit the bedroom and return to the kitchen with a bunch of dishes. Meanwhile, my hot fudge is burning and the spoon has gotten hot and I need a pot holder now to stir the chocolate. Fortunately, unlike the nuts on Cake Wars or Cupcake Wars or Nailed It, I had the sense to put the fudge on low heat, so it wasn’t a complete disaster. I wash the bowl and Lauren comes up to look in the cabinet herself.

Lauren: There are these bowls.

Me: I was looking for these bowls, all of which were in your room. Those bowls, like this one I just washed, are also dirty (the caretakers suck at washing dishes). As I said, there were no bowls, and now they’re all in the sink.

When I told someone else about this Monty Pythonesque conversation between Lauren and I, with the addition of the hot fudge issue, he said it sounded like the cooking shows we watch. I thought it sounded like a Monty Python meets Seinfeld sitcom. Hence, Monty Python Ice Cream Wars.

Unbridled Anger at the Separation of Families

Unbridled Anger at the Separation of Families

Some people say that the eyes are the window to the soul. Sometimes when I look in people’s eyes, I can see warmth, or honesty, or intelligence, or some other desirable characteristic. Other times, I see nothing. Sometimes this nothingness is indifference. Sometimes it’s what I saw today when I looked at a picture of Ann Coulter. The nothingness is a deficit of soul.

This same nothingness can be seen in Donald Trump, Jeff Sessions, Tomi Lahren, Steve Bannon and many others. It can be seen in much of the GOP, present day Republicans, Trump supporters, and so-called Christians. The Trump Administration has been on a roll since their campaign with fostering hate, division, fear, and inhumane policies including cutting insurance programs for children, the elderly, and the poor, complete disregard for the U.S. territory Puerto Rico, and now the separation of families. For a party that claims they are pro-life and pro-family, they are certainly participating in the very opposite. Taking young children away from their parents is neither pro-life nor pro-family. It is sad, heartbreaking, despicable, and an embarrassment to the United States. Any person believing this is normal or acceptable is blind. They have forgotten every instance in history in which this very thing has taken place. For some, they are the same people who said they would not have complied with Hitler or that they would have helped the Jews. They think they would have been smart enough to not fall prey to McCarthyism. They fail to see the parallel between what is happening now and what happened to Japanese Americans during World War 2 or what happened to Armenians during the genocide of 1915. They are either blind or they are turning a blind eye and pretending that none of these travesties exist.

I am angered and sickened by all of these travesties, including the one taking place now in our country. We cannot say we are pro-life or pro-family and believe that separating families and torturing young children because they are not like us, or because their parents brought them here seeking asylum, or even because they are here illegally is acceptable. What they are doing to these young children is torture, pure and simple. Assholes like Corey Lewandowski (I wonder where he thinks his ancestors are from?) and Donald Trump who mock the disabled and bitches like Laura Ingraham, Tomi Lahren and Ann Coulter who are out of touch with reality or any sense are soulless. If there is a hell, they are all headed there. I generally try not to use foul language in my writing as much as possible, but these people cannot be lumped in the same category as humans because they are not. These terms are the closest I can come at this time to describing their inhumanity. Agree with me or not – it really doesn’t matter to me because which side of this issue you are on tells me all I really need to know. Blind, stupid, or inhumanely soulless are the only three reasons I can think of that a person would feel that separating families and torturing young children is OK. Don’t tell me they’re not tortured when they are being caged up like animals, separated from their families, and in some of the worst cases, molested by monsters like Jose Nunez (a Texas deputy who sexually assaulted a four-year-old detainee).

This is all going down in history and someday students will read about these incidents and what we as a nation did, or did not do.

Keep Guns Away from Children and the Mentally Ill - Should Be Common Sense

Keep Guns Away from Children and the Mentally Ill – Should Be Common Sense

America has a long-standing love affair with guns. Ever since our founding fathers wrote it into the Constitution that we have the right to bear arms (2^nd amendment), we have almost been obsessed with collecting guns. I wonder, however, how many of those who are citing the 2^nd amendment as giving them the right to bear arms really know what that amendment actually says. The purpose of that amendment was to provide for a “well regulated militia” for “the security of a free state”. Nowhere in this amendment does it state that the average person has the right to, or even the need to, bear weapons such as the AR-15 (ArmaLite Rifle). Weapons such as the AR-15 may be necessary for the military and for certain sports such as hunting, but these weapons are making it into the hands of disturbed children and adults. This needs to stop.

We have had a problem with the mentally ill being able to easily access guns for decades. In 1963, John F. Kennedy was shot by Lee Harvey Oswald. In 1980, John Lennon was shot by Mark David Chapman. In 1999, two young gunmen took 15 lives at Columbine High School. In 2007, Seung-Hui Cho killed 33 people at Virginia Tech. In 2012, Adam Lanza killed 20 children at Sandy Hook Elementary and James Holmes killed 12 and injured 70 others at a movie theater in Colorado. These are just a few of the most infamous incidents involving gun violence since the 1960s. When President Barack Obama sought to do something to lower the number of gun-related deaths by imposing stricter laws governing the sale and distribution of guns, gun enthusiasts and conservatives created panic by saying that he was going to take away their guns. Name one person whose gun was taken by Obama or his administration.

Last year, Donald Trump, as part of his agenda to undermine everything that Obama’s administration did during his 8 years in office, revoked a regulatory initiative that made it harder for the mentally ill to purchase guns. Since Trump took office, gun deaths have increased, including over 400 mass shootings (Mass Shooting Tracker; Business Insider; Gun Violence Archive). There has also been an increase in officer-involved shootings, particularly where persons of color are concerned.

Recently, while most of the United States was exchanging valentines, chocolate hearts and flowers, 17 children breathed their last breath at Stoneman Douglas High School. When the brave survivors of this mass shooting decided to step forward and say enough is enough, they were attacked by the NRA, NRA supporters, Laura Ingraham and others. False propaganda began to be circulated about these brave children and other March for our Lives supporters, including a photo-shopped image of Emma Gonzalez ripping up the Constitution when in fact she was ripping up a target. Is this what America has become? We are actually attacking the victims of a horrific tragedy?

I support the right of responsible, mentally fit and informed individuals to own guns. I do not support the right of irresponsible, mentally ill and untrained individuals to own guns. Let me explain what I mean by responsible, mentally fit and informed. A responsible gun owner should keep their gun(s) secure from their children, their children’s friends, or other persons, preferably locked up. A mentally fit gun owner will not have a history of severe mental illness that can create a potentially hazardous situation should they be armed with a weapon. An informed or trained gun owner will actually know how to safely use and clean their weapons. We need to reinstate the gun regulations that call for stricter background checks for criminals and mentally ill persons. I realize that these people can still get their hands on black market weapons, but at least they will not be legally handed a gun with which to commit mass murders as easily.

Victims do not deserve to be villainized for standing up for their right to live. Our children have a right to feel safe at school and not wonder every day if some nut is going to shoot up their school. Parents have a right to drop their kids off at school each day and expect that they will see them again at the dinner table. We all have a right to go to school, to the movies, to a concert, or to any other place without having that be the last event we attend due to a nut with a gun. And while this entry has been mostly about the issue of mass shootings and the right of children to live, I wish to add that police and civilian violence toward persons of color also needs to stop. Many of the worst perpetrators of violence toward persons of color and/or antagonism toward March for our Lives supporters have been those who claim to be pro-life. How can you be pro-life and yet not believe that all persons have a right to live? Stop making it so easy for the mentally ill to purchase guns. Stop making it so easy for your children to get their hands on your guns. Stop villainizing victims. Be a part of the solution instead of being a part of the problem.

Poor Treatment of Veterans

Poor Treatment of Veterans

Last week, I wrote about Time Management and the sense of responsibility that people should feel when they are expected to do something or be somewhere at a certain time. I could very well write a whole other blog entry about responsibility, especially after this past week, but instead I am going to continue discussing the matter of my father’s caretakers. Last week, Home Instead took three hours to replace Saturday’s caretaker. Meanwhile, because I had promised my son that I would take him to see Black Panther, my daughter Lauren had to watch him for those three hours and she does not feel the same sense of duty to actually take care of him that caretakers do. This week, they sent a brand new, young, inexperienced caretaker.

I am not sure what happened to his regular Saturday caretaker whom he has had for a very long time, but now he is yet again faced with having a new caretaker and I am once again faced with having to train a new caretaker. If places like Home Instead cared about their clients, they would not put them through this frustration. Yet, here we are. I have to explain to yet another person how particular and difficult my father is and that even though she considers his water cup to be full, to fill it anyway without arguing with him that it is already full. This was his chief complaint to everyone who stepped foot in the house from that moment forward. Places like Home Instead give preferential treatment to customers who are paying out of pocket for their services. Veterans like my father, whose services are largely paid by the Veteran’s Administration, are treated like second-class consumers, almost like the difference between flying first class and flying coach. In my opinion, they should be treated the same, not different.

A few years ago, my father was hospitalized at the VA Hospital before being moved to another facility to rehabilitate. I noticed several things about this VA Hospital. First, the parking sucks. There is inadequate parking available for the number of visitors who come to this hospital. There is inadequate handicapped parking considering that this is a hospital which services veterans, who might likely also be disabled. There are stairs, curbs, hills and uneven ground leading up to the hospital which make it difficult for disabled and elderly patrons and visitors to navigate. On one occasion, my mother (now deceased) fell and got hurt trying to get back to my car after visiting her husband. They are severely understaffed, which means that visitors like myself who are lost and don’t know where to go can’t find anyone to help them and persons who are in the hospital often have long waits before their needs are met. The bathroom was disgusting. Veterans should not be treated like this when they need help.

Several years ago, I worked as a volunteer for a non-profit organization which helped veterans, disabled and elderly people. It was then that I began to see the ways in which veterans, disabled, and elderly persons are mistreated and often taken advantage of. Not much has changed. I still see multiple ways in which society as a whole, and individual business could improve the way in which they serve customers who are elderly or disabled. For example, the Bank of America branch that my father frequents has its handicapped entrance on the other side of the bank from where the parking lot is. Meanwhile, the entrance nearest the parking lot has stairs leading into the bank. On what planet does this even make sense? Why should someone have to travel that distance just to enter the bank?

We need to do better. Veterans served in our military. They fought for our country and for the freedom of people they have never even met. They sacrificed time with their families in order to fight for our country and some of them made the ultimate sacrifice. They sacrificed their sanity and their well-being to serve. We may not always agree with what they are fighting for, or who they are fighting against, but we have to keep a few things in mind about them nonetheless. I too am a conscientious objector. I don’t like that war is sometimes a necessary evil. However, it is exactly that sometimes; a necessary evil. Some of these veterans fought in wars that were truly part of our American history and without their contribution, we would not have the freedoms we have today. Others served because they believed it was the right thing to do. Perhaps their parents or families have served and they wanted to be part of that tradition. Perhaps they were trying to get money for school. Perhaps they were just trying to figure out their place in the world. It is really not up to us to determine the morality or ethics of their choice. Their choice cost them time with their friends and family. Sometimes their choice costs them their health and sanity. Other times, it costs them their lives. Veterans exhibit bravery and with the exception of a few, honor. They deserve some respect, not verbal tirades from misinformed and opinionated teachers who feel that the belittling of a student is above the education of that same student. They deserve respect, not impossible red tape, diminished benefits, and terrible treatment by VA hospitals and caretaker agencies. They deserve better.

Time and Responsibility

Time and Responsibility

In past blog entries, I have written about the various obstacles I have faced in taking care of my elderly parents and the various incidents involving caretakers. Today is yet another example of the types of bullshit I have had to contend with in taking care of my father. His caretaker was supposed to arrive at 2 p.m. She called in last minute and it took the company, Home Instead, three hours to find a replacement. Unfortunately, I had promised my son that I would take him to see Black Panther. My daughter took care of my dad for three hours while she waited for Home Instead to provide a caretaker. While my daughter loves the money she gets for doing this, families should not be placed in this position. Calling in at the last minute is irresponsible. Not providing a replacement caretaker in a timely manner to an elderly patient is irresponsible. This is not the first time this sort of thing has happened with this company or with their employees. I have had numerous conversations with this company regarding their incompetence, their failure to provide caretakers in a timely fashion, and the tardiness of their employees. The caretakers they send on the weekends are always late. We have had caretakers from this company who have shown up to work hungover, on drugs and starting fights with other caretakers, or who have failed to show up or call in at all, leaving my father without a caretaker. If it were up to me (and not my brother), I would have already replaced Home Instead with another company.

At the movie theatre, there were several patrons who came in late, cell phones blaring with flashlights, looking for a seat. This happens every single time I go to the movies. This causes patrons who were on time to have deal with these Johnny Come Latelys being in their way, blocking the screen, blinding them with their flashlights and forces them to have to move from their comfortable position to let these people pass to get to a seat. If you have a cell phone with a flashlight, undoubtedly you probably also have the Fandango app or access to it, or perhaps you simply looked up the movie times on the Internet. You know what time the movie starts! If that time doesn’t work for you, come to a later showing.

I have noticed also, that when I go to my hair salon to get my hair done, that the stylists often have clients who are late to their appointments, cancel last minute or never show up at all. I was once late to an appointment because I was stuck in traffic, but when I realized I was going to be late, I called the salon to let them know that I was stuck in traffic. I asked my stylist once how many of their clients were like me and tried to be on time to their appointments and she answered approximately 15%. 15%! That is ridiculous! Why do their clients not understand that their time is valuable too? They have other clients they need to see, or else they denied another client an appointment at that time because they were supposed to see the client who doesn’t value their time.

At my last job, several employees were routinely late. Nothing was ever said to them. In fact, it seems like the company preferred those employees that were routinely late and lazy as a Sunday over employees who actually arrived on time and worked. This seems to have become an acceptable trend these days. Everywhere I look, there are far more instances of people being late to something than people being on time and we just accept it. When did being fashionably late to a party become something that became acceptable for everything?

There are times when being late is unavoidable. Sometimes traffic causes you to be late. Sometimes other circumstances completely beyond your control cause you to be late. But there used to be a time when if that was the case, responsible people would call in advance to let people know. If you showed up late somewhere, you apologized for your tardiness and set to work doing whatever it was you were supposed to be doing because you have already inconvenienced the person enough. Persistent tardiness either lowered your grade (if in school) or was cause for termination (if at work). Now we just accept it. Ironic for a society that is always seeking to have faster Internet, faster food, faster cars, etc. In a world where everything is faster, why the hell are we so fucking slow?

Written: 02/24/18