Just like Dragnet, the names have been changed to protect the innocent, including everyone who expected that movie to be much better than it was.

I rolled up to the assisted living facility, in my world it’s known as an ALF. And not the ALF that ate cats and was somehow on television for 4 seasons. Why did it have to be cats? Why not cacti? The 1980s and its rampant cocaine use must have led to that show and all that went with it. But I have veered heavily from my lane. My deepest apologies.

I pulled my SUV into the ALF and entered the building. It was plain to see by the rando elderly people seated, heads sagged down and asleep in the lobby, the place was about to get lit. And even though the BINGO games were about to get crackin’, I had another purpose thus forcing me to acquiesce. 

I turned the corner into the hallway. I passed a gentleman and we exchanged head nods acknowledging one another with this, the highest form of respect between an old white guy and a regular white guy that is considered acceptable under social distancing guidelines. He continued toward the dining room, surely on a quest for some tapioca pudding. Much like the blood of the unicorn kept Voldemort from death, so the pudding does for the geriatric population. But that story is for another time.

Shortly, I reached my destination. I gave a knock and entered the room of my patient to find her seated comfortably as usual watching Gunsmoke. It is almost always Gunsmoke with these folks. There was a time when the show was one of the few things worth watching, but eventually other options arrived. Why then did so many of the viewers cling to the tales of Matt Dillon and not move on to something, anything else available? I guess it must have been the smooth and dulcet tones of Festus.

The other main observation to take from entering the room was the feeling of being in a tropical climate. The thermostat was set to 80 degrees (Fahrenheit, because, reasons). I immediately began to sweat and had an overwhelming regret that I didn’t wear some swim trunks and a Hawaiian shirt. That regret was replaced with remembering my company’s dress policy would not allow these articles of clothing. Thus I was stuck with a pool of sweat at my lower back (that’s the lumbar area for my PT friends if you feel me). Maybe this would be as close as I would ever find myself to what the characters in Platoon felt like in the sweltering jungle.

Salutations were distributed and returned. Then I lead with my usual question.

Me: How are you today?

Patient: Not too good.

Me: What’s going on?

Patient: My kids went to Florida without me.

Me: Oh. I see. Sorry about that.

Patient: They tried to sneak outta here without me knowing, but one of the girl’s here let it slip.

Me: Gosh. That’s too bad.

Patient: It’s alright. I don’t get mad. I get even.

What?!

I looked around for dark clouds, smoke, demons, fire, ominous choral chanting music beginning to play from nowhere, other general signs of devilry or witchcraft.

Me: So are you going to use these exercises that are improving your strength in this revenge scheme?

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I did, for reals, say this to one of my patients. I have never had to resort to such questions until now, while also tipping a cap to myself regarding my therapy skills. But it was totally worth asking.

Patient: No. I’ll just write them out of my Will.

That’s right. For leaving her in the ALF and not bringing her to Florida, she was planning to change the beneficiaries in her Last Will and Testament. She was savage ALF, but without one of those letters. She was not to be trifled with and it showed. There was no sign of remorse, regret, hesitation or uncertainty. She had made her mind and was fixing to burn some bridges in death.

Me: (Laughs) Yeah, I guess that would work.