The day was like any other day at the old folks home, especially since Ben's lucky blessing worked and my boss wasn't there. Hanging out in the rec room was comfortable, there were plenty of recliners and couches to sprawl out on and it was quiet.

Still, I tried keeping one eye open for Mr. Suez, my boss. He had a snowy white beard like Santa Claus but an evil, hot gaze like the Heatmiser. When he did come into the home I would catch him staring me down as if he could turn me into a pillar of salt. He wanted to make sure that I was pleasant to the residents. If he caught me smiling though, he got mad assuming that I was goofing off because there was nothing to smile about while  at work. 

As for the residents, the most reserved, and therefore my favorite resident was Theo. Theodore, sitting in the corner by the bookshelf, sank into his tacky, striped chair where he consumed several books a week. In all the time that I had been here, I had never seen the chair empty and it was always filled by Theo.  

I tried to find my own niche in the furniture, but once I got comfortable I only started  feeling anxious anyway. The silence got louder as I started to notice, and then couldn't ignore, the grandfather clock's incessant ticking. Then the heat kicked on and the low rumble turned into a choir of old people snoring and other nuanced nuisances. I needed to do something. Despite my best interests, I got up and engaged the community of old folks. I did my job.

First, I made my rounds and came across a gripping game of checkers. The crankiest lady who everyone calls Crone was tapping a cigarette on the table. I had to confiscate that before I forgot. She tried to smoke in the home every once in a while. 

I tried to encourage more social games, to stir conversation and imagination. After suggesting chess, backgammon, and even dominoes my rejection was made clear. There must have been something more interesting these people liked to do.

I probed a few residents for old stories, war stories or anything to get them going. The first lady admitted she'd never paid attention to world news because she had to take care of her children and cook, as did the second lady I asked. A man I interviewed tried to talk about the war and other major changes he was a part of, but couldn't stay focused and instead went on a tirade about how things are different now. I had to stop my mission and deliver meals to the shut-ins before the cafeteria opened up.

I made my way down the halls with a rickety food cart delivering the meals to everyone. I visited Horatio, Ingrid, Cyrus, Phoebe, but not the other imaginary Phoebe I wrote on the list. Coincidentally this second Phoebe always orders what I like to eat and always sends it back. If she doesn't want to eat, I can't let the food go to waste.

Wiping my mouth, I knock on Ingrid's door and go inside. She complains about the food immediately and chews my ear.

“Did you hear?” she shouted.

I dropped her tray on the table.

“Clark Gable is on the brink of death!” she rasped before I left.

When it was the original Phoebe's turn, her door was open and I politely introduced my presence with a knock. She started to complain about her food too and I made for the door. Then I heard her compare it to war rations.

“I ate better scraps than this on my lunch breaks from riveting.” she snickered.

I turned around and she thought I was offended.

“The town hired lady workers for the submarine dry docks.” She clarified nervously. “I don't mind working for my meals, but I just can't make it to the cafeteria these days. It's so difficult to be willing to do things when your body just isn't able to  do them  anymore. Sorry to prattle on sweetie.” she finished.

This caught me off guard, and I couldn’t respond so I just said nothing. The truth is that I wasn't bored with her story, I was riveted. I backed out of the room with a “Good evening.”

On the way back to the kitchen I walked past the exercise room where a sound like tap dancing caught my attention. I left the cart and investigated. It was Theo. He was all alone in there with one of the ping pong tables sitting upright so he could bat the ball back and forth against himself.  

Without looking up at me he asked if I ever saw Forrest Gump and told me it was his favorite movie. Before I knew it he was quoting Tom Hanks and handing me a paddle. In his southern Gump impersonation, he said "Let's play PING-pong!” serving me up a fast one.

  It was an ace. I had to roll my sleeves up and get serious. He was full of energy, the complete opposite of the man I was used to seeing in that chair. He was schooling me in this game, and it was all I could do to keep up.

I did keep up though and he was "Sweat’n” as he put it. After he beat me on the game point with some skillful English, he dropped the paddle on the table and shook my hand.

“You lean against me and I’ll lean against you. That way we don’t have to sleep with our heads in the mud.” he said, and then he was off like a seat-seeking missile back to the rec room.