Today marked my first solid week of work this summer. I think it's gonna end up running me into the ground, but I'll deal with it, if only because of the cool squishy nursing shoes and the adorable scrubs that are part of the package. When I got the job I was under the impression that I would be refilling water pitchers. I found out recently that that's not all.

Certainly, I refill pitchers. I get to lug seventy of them along behind me as I go to each and every room and replace the pitcher, tray and cup. I should mention that seventy full pitchers of water is approximately equivalent in weight to that of a beached whale. On wheels.

Added to my job description of "Ice Girl" is that of "Diaper Lady". It's actually "Brief's Lady", though, because none of the residents like being told that you need to check their diapers. It's a brief, but only in a politically correct world. They shall be called diapers by me, if only in my head, on lunch breaks, and at home. Anywhere else, and I could get in some kind of trouble. Anyway, the diaper run means hitting every single room to check the bottom drawer of the resident's dresser to see how many diapers they have. If they are short any, I look at my handy dandy chart to see what kind (there are four options) they wear and how many need to be in the drawer. There were a couple scandals today because of this job. First was a CNA who got a little ticked off because I had been putting mediums in the drawers of people who needed larges, and there were some extra-larges in the drawer of a very petite lady. I pointed out that I abide by the list and would happily change it for her, so she went on to list off about 8 residents that needed to be changed. It's a pretty dramatic job.

Then I get to pass out ice to the people who didn't get new pitchers. (There's a rotation going that makes it so one station gets pitchers while the other gets just fresh water and ice, then vice versa the next day) Of course, most of these people are starved for actual human contact, so they want to talk to anyone who comes into the room. CNA's don't generally count because most only go into their rooms when forced, or when a diaper needs changed. So of course I get my ears talked off while I grab their pitchers, run to the bathroom, dump out the old water and refill the pitchers (all the while being sure not to breathe through my nose...some old people just smell BAD. No joke. Especially when they forget to flush the toilet), run out into the hall to get them some ice, then back to drop off the pitchers and take off for the door. In that period of time, some of the really good ones manage to carry on a full conversation that would take normal people a good half an hour to get through. Heaven forbid I actually start talking back to them...I learned my lesson the first couple times I tried that and ended up a half hour late with all my stuff.

Finally, on the days that the laundry lady is there, I get to haul this monstrosity of a linen cart around to each of the hallways to load up the linen closets on each. That cart, when loaded, weights upwards of three hundred pounds, is a good six feet tall by three by four (ish), and, to top it all off, only has two wheels that actually turn. And to top THAT off, it hates me. I'm not sure why, because I've only actually had to drag it around twice, it has developed some sort of irrational loathing for me and tends to run itself into things that I was sure I had steered it safely around. Thankfully I haven't run over any residents yet. Emphasis on that last word.

All around it's a pretty fun place to work, though. The residents make it interesting. Some of the men have fun flirting with the female staff, even when they really can't pull it off. There's a retired nun that wreaks havoc and calls people fat, too. And then there's a woman named Mary who is just hysterical. Everyone loves her. She's the goofiest old person I've met in quite a while. Today she was in the mood for a cookie, so she asked me where she could snatch one from. I ended up stealing it for her, from the dining room. Blame her if any of this ever leads to me becoming a felon.

Anywho. Gotta go pack. Leaving for Parma tomorrow. Super 'cited!