book- gift shop

( Place on page 77 after para 7 "I had a purpose..")

Staff would drift into the Gift Shop daily to buy small items such as gum or greeting cards. Normally they would run in, make their purchase or browse a bit, then leave. Then there was Fred.

Fred wasn't his real name. To be honest, I forget his real name. I call him Fred because he had the squirrely face and the pompadour brown hair of Liberace, and the tank-like body of Fred Flinstone. He was a friendly guy, and when I started working in the Gift Shop he was nice enough to drop by and introduce himself. Fred happened to be the Director of Nursing at the time.

We had a sofa in the middle of the Gift Shop, why I'm not sure. I suppose it was for residents who may  visit and shop and then need to sit for a few moments before going on their way. Fred would stop in every day to chat, often plopping himself on the couch and resting. He would sit and ask how I liked my job or about my life, such as hobbies and activities, you know, normal stuff. It all seemed so innocent.

Of course, I was pretty naive back then and I enjoyed the company during dead times in the store. Fred wanted to be friends and I looked forward to his visits and our chats.

Fred was probably in his fifties and had a wife and adult children. We talked about his family but he mainly wanted to know everything about me. It was  nice to have someone so interested in my life, and as a nurse, I thought he may have been fascinated with my condition, since I was a rare breed and countless doctors and nurses  gazed at my legs over the years. To them, it was a learning experience; to Fred, it was something totally different.

He started hanging around the Gift Shop more and more, for longer and longer, until even I had to wonder, "Doesn't his guy have a job and an office ?" I noticed he hung out with me in the Gift Shop much longer on Saturdays, when the usual staff wasn't around and a skeleton crew manned the day shift.

Fred asked me to visit his office sometime, as he had all kinds of plants that he took care of ( I was into plants back then as well). But I didn't have the time. I was more interested in spending my required time in the store, locking up, then visiting residents for the remainder of the day.

He noticed how I would blush and turn red when a pretty female nurse or aide would come into the store.He started asking me  if I  had a girlfriend or if I ever had sex, topics like that which made me feel uncomfortable. He noticed I would get flustered by the subject and backed off. But he increasingly started asking me more intimate  questions every time he visited.  I began to sense this guy was a real weirdo but I kept quiet.

One time he asked if I had noticed the new private duty female nurse working down the hall. I said yes, I did meet her and she seemed very nice. He asked if I thought she was attractive and  I was honest to admit that yes, she was very attractive. Fred then proceeded to tell me everything about her, including her age and that she was single with no boyfriend.

"I have her phone number," he informed me. "I could get you a date with her."

I didn't like the direction this was going. Wasn't all that information supposed to be confidential? Still, I was pretty stupid and said I would think about it. How could I call a girl I barely knew?  Wouldn't she know how I got her number?

Fred said not to worry. He could arrange things. Plus he already talked to the nurse and she was agreeable to a "date" and thought I was "cute." My self-confidence soared but still, something just didn't seem right.

The next weekend  as soon as Fred stopped by he excitedly sat down and asked if he could shut the Gift Shop door for a few minutes, as he wanted to tell me about the "date" he had set up between me and the private duty nurse.  I didn't see any harm. I was still a mere volunteer while this guy was an important Director of Nursing. He was helping me to get laid, so even though the whole thing seemed strange ( ya think?) I said okay.

So, the arrangements were set and he had her phone number with him. But first I had to do something in return. He wanted to touch my private parts.

An icy chill came over me, but instead of being scared, I immediately shouted  "What's wrong with you, man?"

I never seen someone turn so white so fast in my life. His face looked like a beached whale. He probably thought I was this passive little guy who would do anything he wanted. Fred was surprised I  wasn't a half-wit after all.

He started apologizing profusely, saying he was sorry over and over again, that he "didn't mean it that way." and pleaded that I not tell anyone.He never threatened me or made me feel guilty, like I was the pervert. he just kept apologizing and suggested that we forget the whole idea. Maybe he thought I would reconsider when I had time to ponder the missed chance of having a date with the pretty nurse down the hall.

Truth is, after he opened the door and scurried out, I was shocked at my own spunk. I was scared to death but wouldn't let Fred the Predator know that.  Now I wondered what to do. I could either forget the whole thing and go on with life or report Fred. But who would ever believe me? I was just this new volunteer, a young guy in a wheelchair, looking for a way to spend my time in a nursing home.He was an adult male, married and with a family, probably a respected person in his community.

I didn't tell anyone about Fred. But the more I pondered it, the more I  became angry. The fact I was a volunteer and had a disability shouldn't matter. What did I have to lose?  At first I did feel guilty about  getting Fred in trouble. But then I wasn't the pervert. Damn Fred for putting me in this situation. And if he hit on a guy like me, who knows what he was doing to other staff members, or worse, to the helpless, innocent residents.

There was an older nurse who also worked weekends, generally every other week when Fred was off. Her name was Mrs. Hoover, but everyone called her Mrs. H. She was pretty cool with the staff. She was an assistant to the director and had also been a fixture at the nursing home for many years. Mrs. H. liked to joke and always had a smile on her face. But she always let everyone know  who was boss. Staff respected her and felt at ease going to her with problems.  She was a "nurse's nurse"- gentle and kind, a professional in every way, someone who would take her nurses and aides under her wing  and teach and counsel, not humiliate . Yet when she had to be tough behind closed doors, she was.

I often wondered why Mrs. H. wasn't the Director of Nursing, but she would shrug that suggestion off as "facility politics,' and claimed she was "happy doing what I'm doing."

If anyone would understand it would be Mrs. H. So I made an appointment to see her in the Nursing office after I closed shop one Saturday.

I told her everything. She listened intently, occasionally taking a drag from her cigarette ( back in the early 80s it was okay to smoke, even in the Nursing office. Funny how so many nurses and doctors I worked with over the years smoked, even though they would tell you never to smoke).

Apparently there had been some other complaints about Fred and his aggressive behavior   towards staff. I sighed, relieved that I wasn't the only one who thought Fred was a problem. There wasn't enough proof to get him fired, but the evidence was building. I'm glad Mrs. H. seemed to believe me. In fact, I could see her face getting redder as I told my story. I could tell she was pissed that her Director of Nursing was trying to hit on anyone at work, let alone someone in my situation.


"Don't worry, " she assured me through clenched teeth as I departed, 'I'll take care of it."

From then on I would see Fred passing by the Gift Shop, but he didn't stop by anymore. He barely waved hello, and he seemed to always be in a hurry whenever he bumped into me in the halls. With time I heard through the grapevine that he had resigned. Who knows if it was voluntary or forced. The important thing was Fred was gone forever.

 Years later I heard he was no longer working and that his wife, also a nurse, was taking care of him at home for an unspecified illness.I never wished anyone ill-will or bad luck. But in the case of Fred, he probably got what was coming to him.