The Help

Rich people, really rich people have good help. Unless of course the lord and lady are complete assholes, and even then, with enough money, you can still hire good help. I suppose Donald Trump fits the picture, money plus assholeness will still buy what you want.

Not so much for the rest of us. I've given up on finding someone without  personal problems because--you get what you pay for. And we can't afford a registered nurse around the clock and an orderly for the daily care. We don't have room in a two bed-one bath, WW2 cottage. It's nice and cozy for three people but they would have to get along. And there is the problem.

We have a nice place, something we made it into with organic gardens of vegetable and ornamental. There are five chickens in a hen house for fresh eggs and fertilizer. A patio with a running fountain  under a grape arbor and comfortable patio furniture nearby. A place to relax, have a drink and chat with friends while entertaining outside. We like it. Wally still enjoys going outside when he can.

You would think someone living in their car, or in a flop house, or someone's living room would appreciate a room with a view. But what happens is they want more. They always want more. A taste, even the taste of middle class is delicious compared to what they had before. And that's the case for all the help we've hired.

They are always very appreciative at first but as time goes by it isn't enough. There is free room and board, and a thousand a month. They can have friends over, within reason, because more than one, wanted either a lot of friends over any time and another that wants a girlfriend. I have had to put up with a crazy fucking German Shepherd and its Mistress that doted  on the dog constantly. And, get this, one was pimping out his girlfriend for blowjobs in the backyard. Strangers were coming over for fucking blowjobs by his bitch. I've had it all. Drunks, addicts and people with attitude problems, and I mean real attitude problems, the kind that are debilitating.

And all along there is Wally and me, trying to survive for a while longer, floating in the river, going with the flow, watching the day past. There is a humiliating factor in getting old. When you have to depend on others for survival, for things that not too long ago were not a problem, like the twist cap on a bottle of beer.

More later.