Bubbe is still hanging in there. She has gotten accustomed to having a Personal Support Worker (PSW) staying with her during the day, and has stopped referring to the arrangement as "over-supervision". It's certainly easier on her family to know that she is being well looked-after by a series of cheerful young ladies in red shirts (the agency uniform). Good thing we're not living in Star Trek reality.*
*"Redshirt is a term used by fans of Star Trek to refer partially to the characters who wear red uniforms, and mainly to refer to those characters who are expendable, and quite often killed, sometimes in great numbers." http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Redshirt
I'm getting along well with my new boss. He's intelligent, reasonable, decisive, and self-possessed. He also seems to think highly of me, which is a relief. I'm doing everything I can to make the best possible first impression. There is still some working-at-cross-purposes among the company directors, which creates problems, on one hand, but on the other hand makes me more indispensable as a go-between and communications facilitator. I am not longer feeling quite so insecure about my job.
Next, an anecdote.
I was on the subway train yesterday, on my way to meet friends. I noticed a young man wearing a cowrie shell necklace draped over his black parka; a rather odd sartorial choice, I thought. He got the attention of another young man and they proceeded to have a conversation. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I got the impression that the two had been strangers before this interaction.
When the second young man had left the train, cowrie-shell guy turned to me. He had a grill on his teeth and his eyebrows were shaved into stripes. He asked me, in a Carribean island accent, about something that I was wearing, and then launched into a speech about his music career that was clearly worded to make him sound like a big shot. He asked me if I went to university or college, because he wanted to perform on campus in Toronto. "Yeah, twenty years ago!" I told him. No use getting his hopes up. But I don't think he heard me. He was probably high.
He asked me if I had heard of "chop and screw" music. I had not. I thought it was something that he made up, but apparently it's A Thing. He pulled out a CD that had CHOP + SCREW scrawled on it in black marker, and asked me if I had a CD player on me. I did not. (Aren't portable CD players a total anachronism from the 90s? I feel you might as well ask someone if they're packing an 8-track player, at this stage.) I told him "It looks good!" Because clearly he was proud of his CD and I didn't want to harsh his mellow.
Since we couldn't listen to the CD, he told me that he would perform for me. He proceeded to lean in very close and rap, something along the lines of "Canada, Canada, yeah, yeah." And so forth. There were more words, but it was kind of hard to hear what with the subway being so loud, and also I was paying most of my attention to how weird the situation was. At least I liked the Canada part. "That's cool." I told him.
Encouraged, he told me that he hoped I wouldn't mind if he did the strong language version. I said okay, I'm sure I've heard all those words before. So he leaned in again and did "Canada, Canada, F#@! the *bleep*, yeah, yeah." At that point the train rolled into my stop, so I bade him a quick goodbye, and prayed he wouldn't follow me off the train. He did not. He just said that it was nice to meet me, so I said it was nice talking to him, and then went off chuckling to myself and thanking the TTC for yet another funny, harmless crazy-person story.