Tuesday, July 11, 2006

To Work and Back (A Retarded Story)

By Lil’ B-Cack

After years of doing meaningless work in an office, I decided to do something meaningful with my life. Instead of donating my body to science, or feeding hobo crack fiends at the homeless shelter, I got a job working with the developmentally disabled/ mentally retarded; or as my brother calls them- Tater Tots. Now you must note, besides knowing B-Cack the 19.5 years I have been on this earth, I have really had no experience with this population, save for my little experience with Steven Hawking that I am trying to turn into a repressed memory.

Anyway, so before I got to actually work in a home, I had to take all these different classes so I am prepared for what might occur. But I don’t think there are enough classes in the world to prepare a person for what happened to me…. I took a class so I could be certified to administer medications, but in order to get qualified I had to actually go into 2 homes and administer meds while under close supervision by qualified staff to make sure I did it correctly and safely, blah blah blah.

So I walk up to this home and ring the doorbell, the staff answers the door and invites me in, and I’m standing there for approximately 3.2 seconds when I see out of the corner of my eye a “tater-tot” high stepping it across the house full blast right at me. Now I took a two week self defense class, so I’m braced up, ready for the attack when he runs into me and gives me a giant hug. I felt so welcomed… for the first minute of the hug. He wouldn’t let go! He was holding a little pillow you can acquire off airplanes and a little drool rag. So after two minutes of this hug I finally break away, only to find a giant drool spot not on the rag, but on my favorite shirt (or it was). With the greeting out the way my little buddy sits right on my feet and begins scooting on his butt (like a dog with worms) wherever I moved. If I went into the staff office, he scooted into the staff office… and every time I would stand up, I got a wonderful hug again. I also need to mention at this time that he was non-verbal. All he did was make grunting noises and I was supposed to figure out what he wanted from those grunts (still have no clue, but I never work with him so it’s all good). So I stood up to look at the Meds chart, and my little buddy starts hugging me again. No big deal, I’m used to it by now, but just to make life interesting he starts grunting. To be more precise it sounded like a cat getting thrown into a wood chipper and it wouldn’t stop!!! Then to my horror I look down at the floor and see a giant yellow puddle around mine and tater-tot’s feet. Yes, I got peed on. And not an R. Kelly Golden Shower either. I was in shock! Then, to make it worse, he sits right in the puddle and starts scooting around, spreading it all down the hall. I honestly thought about quitting right on the spot, but I thought it couldn’t get any worse, right?

Boy was I wrong! The next day, I ventured to another house, and I should have known something was up when there was 5 locks on the FIRST of 5 doors to get into the house, and there was 6 locks and a chain to the staff office, which is to protect the staff from injury when one of the tots has “challenging behaviors”. So I walked through all the doors and see a tall man who I thought was the man going to supervise my meds administration. The first words out of his mouth were: “Are you the new staff or are you here to f**k me?” To which I replied “excuse me?” He said “you look like a good f**k, or do you just lie there?” At this point I was NOT going to stay there another second with this creep and started walking out all the doors, when the REAL staff comes running in saying “No Timmy (name has been changed to protect the retarded) Time out! Time out right now! Bad Timmy!!” Apparently somebody could not censor what he thought before he said it so whatever came to mind. But “Timmy” didn’t stay in time out for long. He came up to the locked staff office and began pounding on it. Then he threw a chair against it. Thank goodness it was steel and wrought iron, but I was very scared. I was really going to quit that day, but I really want to help people so I am sticking it out. And it actually got more interesting……I had to take a retard sex class. But I think I will let the horror or my pee story take hold and save this story for the next time Phat Tony lets me share stories from my odd life…..Lil’ B-Cack out!

12 Comments:

At 7:12 AM, Anonymous Jo said...

Will they share the meds with you, cause after a day like that, you need to be medicated to continue ;)

 
At 8:36 AM, Anonymous fmragtops said...

Tater Tots? I like that.

Why didn't you stomp a mudhole in the "Tater Tot's" ass for peeing on you? That's why I went into law enforcement and not psychology. Cops do provide therapy for the less fortunate, but if somebody pees on us, we can beat the snot out of them, and put them in jail.

 
At 10:17 AM, Blogger PoP said...

Great story Lil'. Thank you you for fronting for my slackard Son.Who needs to call his poor feeble nearly blind Father to help with the game he gave him, and why am I typing in the third person? I hope you don't catch that touchy feely nice nice thing that Libs get.

 
At 11:17 AM, Anonymous FatWhiteMan said...

Sounds like you got a job at a Southern Ohio Wal-Mart.

 
At 10:28 AM, Blogger Ssssteve said...

All I can say is "Wow!"

 
At 8:19 PM, Blogger The Anti-Hippie said...

But they're retarded, so you can't just slap 'em around for stuff like that... That had to suck.

 
At 11:06 PM, Anonymous SeanS said...

So when do you and "Timmy" have your next date? ROFL! Poor Lil'.

 
At 12:35 AM, Blogger Tyler D. said...

I don't know if this is any relevance, but my nickname is tater-tot. You really need to look into a firearm purchase, bear repellant, or a taser.

 
At 12:59 PM, Blogger PoP said...

Tyler, you need to check into who gave you that name.they may have known.

 
At 10:15 PM, Blogger Tyler D. said...

Pop, I think this is what they meant.

 
At 12:29 PM, Anonymous Anna said...

My brother worked in a state hospital for a short time. He couldn't take it for long because, well, it was more a warehouse then a hospital. Good luck, Lil' Cack!

 
At 12:23 AM, Blogger LadyGunn said...

I work in a residential treatment facility. Most of our kids have behavioural problems but we have had a few MR ones. One kid took the rag that he had just cleaned the toilet with & ran it up my arm & over my head while I was talking to another kid.

And just wait 'till you get bit - not fun, but it always makes a good story.

 

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