What did I do to you?

First time I met Bertha, she was hiding behind her boyfriend, behind a chain locked door. Second time, shopping with her, her boyfriend and a co-worker, about a week before her boyfriend dies. Co-worker gets fired, now I'm next up to bat for Bertha. But, can you believe it, she hates me.
My supervisor advices I trick her into lab work, I do. Imagine my surprise when she stops going places with me. Stops leaving her apartment. While screaming obscenities at me from her window I wonder, 'does she remember she wasn't always this way?' Perhaps she does, that is why she is always so pissed. Soon she is working with a different staff.
About half past noon, months later, my line rings.
"You in your office?" It's my supervisor.
"Yeah."
"I just saw Bertha and she is looking for your blood. Lock your door?"
"Certainly will." I lock the door and take a seat at my desk, I watch out window until she storms safely past.

Sad Reality of Politics

I must regretfully break the news that there has been a change. A change in the way that my days flow and my thoughts are created. Watching the social misfortune is now the past for me. Apparently, the agencies set up to help the under-privileged and mentally unwell, are a sham. They do not care for client or advocate's well being. Social agencies are more a machine than corporations.

I will continue to post the memories of time spent with the "children of God", as some claim they are, as the thoughts trickle back into my mind. And I will also be unveiling the inside scoop on the dirty laundry that the non-profits wish to keep locked tight in their hampers. So please stay tuned for the most delicious details I know. And in the meantime check out the other writings of mine... hrbrown.blogspot.com

Sunburns

A client's boyfriend had passed. We held a memorial service and served refreshments to guarantee a turn-out. Chips arrived on his bike, button-up shirt not buttoned. Out of respect, my supervisor asked Chips to button up and he happily obliged, but his skills lacked and he was off by one, his shirt hung crooked. Everyone wanted to offer advice on the right way to button. Far too overwhelmed Chips rips off his shirt and tosses to the ground. “Fine everybody! I just wont wear a shirt!” He screams out in frustration and turns to leave. I follow after him with his shirt. “Chips take your shirt, you'll get a sun burn if you don't wear it.” He calls back to me while climbing on his bike, “I don't get sunburned on my bike!”

Best Friends Forever

Bertha calls. “I'm feeling down today, no one comes around.”
I must respond sympathetically but I am in no way surprised. She often threatens death upon me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, having to encourage devolution. Can't have a suicide on our plate of things to take care of. This is social work. We are always short handed.
“I just really miss him, you know. I still can't believe he is gone.” She lost her boyfriend just over a year ago.
“Yeah it is tough to loose a loved one.”
“I never saw it coming.”
“Well, over time it will get easier.” I reassure her.
“He called me once when I was thirteen, you know.”
“Bertha,” I was confused at this point. “Who are you talking about?”
“M.J.!” Her voice raises to a yell. “Micheal Jackson!”

Bones

Before Stuart was my client, we got to know each other one day. He had a doctors appointment. The sun was warm and we had the windows down while I drove. Stuart starts talking about cheese and tuna. Starts saying how he's a real man, “can handle lady business.”
He is a younger client. Likes to listen to the local pop station on the radio and alter the lyrics while he sings out loud. It almost always has to do with sex and drugs. But despite the content, he does a good job.
Coming down the slope towards his appointment he looks over at me. “You know,” he says. “I believe that even the spirits in the graveyards still make love. They climb into each others caskets and do the bone thing.”

First Time Breakdown

I'm following around a veteran staff. It's my first acquaintance with Judy and it's a big day. Judy pouts in the car at the grocery store, I'm reassured it's just an act on my behalf. We wait 15 mins before she moves an inch. After errands she gets a haircut and now she's stoked. Then it's clothes shopping. By the time we're done it's late in the afternoon, we head back to Judy's apartment. Right up the street from her place she starts screaming. Packed in the back of a 2 door sedan my blood pressure rises rapidly. There is a 215lbs, 6' women pounding her fists on the dashboard and I have no way out. My co-worker pulls the car over, steps out and I follow suit. We stand at the back bumper of the car. While I shake the veteran says calmly,” If she fucks up my car, the agency pays for it.”

Rubber Ducky

Chips is a small man with a whole lot of stamina. About 5'4”, he has a skip to his step and a stuttery high-pitched voice. He's an easy client, asking only for praise. I drove him to his favorite grocery store to do his weekly shopping. Around the corner of an isle, he got the cart on it's side two wheels and said into his invisible C.B. radio, “Roger that rubber ducky. 10-4, over and out,” and laughed. His laugh can break any human's concentration. Everyone always looks. I met the eyes of a man at the checkout who studied the two of us. I could tell he wanted to know who let the crazies out. I looked back at him, wondering the same thing.

Grocery Shopping

I have to take Judy to the grocery store alone for the first time. I know she loves a scene and I'm nervous, but everything seems chill and I'm at ease until the walk away from the car. She finds something to complain about and is in a hissy in no time flat. We get to the carts and she screams, “You push it!” shoves the cart into me. I put my hands up and let her know I'm out. I turn to leave and she starts chasing me. I run. She is big compared to me, and she hits. I go around the outside of the building and enter through a different door. I'm back in the store lurking around and I run into a friend who asks me what I'm up to? I tell him, “hiding from my client.”

The Halls

Every other week, Stuart goes in for a shot of psychotropic medication. The clinic is in Gresham off the max line in a 1970's building, very retard chic. There's cushioned chairs that have seen their days of struggle and urine, freak-outs and hysteria. The woman behind the plexy glass are nice enough. I stand in front of the speaking hole while my client lurches over into my bubble. We wait for her to fill out the slip and he speaks to me soft and low, “Welcome to the halls of medicine, where you come in feeling anxious and leave feeling relaxed.”

103 degrees

These last couple of days the temperature has been well above average. Everyone is miserable. Judy knows I'm on my way and she has to go to the foot doctors for a nail removal. She's already crying. I enter her basement apt. and it's a refreshing 72 degrees. “I can't go," she screams. "My socks don't match...I haven't finished my shopping list...it's too hot!” I'm getting close to calling the appointment off. We' have 20 mins to get there when her paid neighbor comes down, toting his cat and says,” I got bad news, your not getting an air conditioner today.” The bad news pushes her over the edge. I excuse myself to make the call.