Abuse of Power

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 In the 2000s, I was a part-time library assistant in a university. It was the most comfortable job ever. Librarians basically sat down on their chairs. Sometimes we stood up and walked around to return books to the shelfs or finding closed books. Jobs that require both sitting down and standing up are hard. We sat down and stood up once in a while. A librarian’s job is a well-balanced one.

 Furthermore, I had a great side benefit.

 In those days, the Harry Potter series was quite popular even in Japan. There were over 200 on the waiting list at the city library. One day, the newest Harry Potter book was delivered to our library. I checked the waiting list, but no one reserved the book. I knew many students want to read it. The neighbors around the university could use the library. They want to read the book. But most people didn’t think the university library had Harry Potter books.

 I should put the book in the shelf for new books, but I abused my power as a librarian. I didn’t store the book; instead I completed formal procedures so that I can borrow it. I was the first in our library to read the newest Harry Potter book. I borrowed the book from the library, but it was completely new.

 I think all jobs should be allowed to have these kinds of side benefits.

Picture by Pinkari

Laughed at by a Child

 

 My grandaunt didn’t have a child. Her husband passed away. She had Alzheimer’s disease. I have been taking care of her since 2007. I called her every day. I visited her every week. I took her to the hospital every month.

 We used to go to a small internal medicine clinic. The clinic was always crowded. We had to wait for a quite a long time to see the doctor.

 Taking care of an Alzheimer’s patient requires this kind of wasteful time. In my case, I used this waiting time to study foreign languages, English and Chinese. I brought a clipboard. I always wrote down example sentences.

 One day, my grandaunt and I were sitting on the seat in the waiting room. I was studying. A child who sat next to me started to laugh. She seemed to be a third or fourth grader at elementary school. She laughed and whispered to her mother, who sat opposite to me. Her mother tried to calm her down. I was sure she was laughing at me. I didn’t know why.

 I went to the restroom and checked my appearance on the mirror. Nothing was on my face. My nose hair didn’t show. My fly was not open. It could be my misunderstanding. She was not laughing at me. A young girl could laugh without reason. I came back to my seat and continued my studying. The girl kept laughing. I ignored her.

 The front-desk clerk called a patient’s name. The mother and daughter responded. I solved the mystery.

 Their name was Chinese. The girl’s father or mother, or both of them, was Chinese. They lived in Japan. The girl could be a natural-born bilingual.

 OK, I was studying Chinese. I started it at over 30 years old. So for Chinese people, my studying level could be at first or second grade at elementary school. Of course I am sure I made mistakes on my clipboard. I was a middle-aged man. It must be funny to her.

 I should not have ignored her. I should have talked to her in Chinese. She could have been the best teacher ever. I missed a great chance!

Picture by Pinkari

Leaving My Mother at a Short-Stay Facility

 

When I lived with my mother, who had Alzheimer’s disease, I always looked forward to leaving her at a short-stay facility. I was able to take care of her at my house for more than ten years because the facilities helped me.

I used to assume that expensive facilities provided good services while cheap ones gave low-quality services. But I had an experience that made me realize that things were not that simple.

In those days, we used to rely on an expensive short-stay facility. We were satisfied with the services. But then the facility started to change. Initially, I had had to reserve a place at the facility for my mother two or three months ahead of time. But about one or two years in, I could get her a place at the facility without making a reservation. I was glad about that. But it would turn out that it was a result of the change.

My mother looked depressed after the short stay. The caregivers who drove her to and from the facility looked depressed too. When I visited the facility, I saw that the number of caregivers had decreased. I felt that some of them worked sloppily. My mother couldn’t tell me about the facility because of her illness, but I was sure that some bad things were happening there. After talking with my wife, I decided to use a different facility.

The changes I observed at the expensive facility were not completely unusual. For example, a sports team that won the championships last year could be at the very bottom this year, and a highly paid team might not always win. The facility where excellent caregivers had worked had clearly experienced some kind of problem. Then it had become an expensive but terrible facility. That could have happened in any organization under certain circumstances.

We don’t leave an aged parent at a facility building. We leave an aged parent with the people who work for the facility. So the people matter. Subsequently, I started to leave my mother at a nursing home that was our best available option. But I paid attention to the nursing home. I visited it every week and tried to communicate with the caregivers who worked there. A friend of mine, who worked for another nursing home as a caregiver, had told me that visitors to the nursing home kept the caregivers motivated.

Dear friends, let’s visit nursing homes. I am sure they are not attractive places. But if we familiarize ourselves with them, it could help us a lot when we will ultimately move into them.

Picture by keko-ka