people would be considered as no longer a valuable member of society. Are you familiar with the phrase, “you can’t teach your Granny to suck eggs?”’
Point taken. Mr. Roberts laughs and relaxes into the interview. I am aware my comment could have backfired badly on me, but I was willing to take the gamble. Discrimination is not something I tolerate, having worked with some of the poorest, but nicest families with a variety of problems. I don’t judge a book by its cover.
‘So, Lucy,’ he smiles. ‘I see that you normally work with children, apart from a position of a nightshift worker at Safeway. Why do you think you are suited to Care Home work?’
‘I have spent two years training in childcare, but a lifetime of assisting with my Grandparents,’ I reply. ‘They have relied on my help over the years and I feel that I have contributed to the best of my ability, in relation to their needs.
They don’t need care, of course. Gran has a slight paralysis from a stroke and therefore isn’t quite as good a shot as she used to be when chucking ornaments at Granddad’s head. Be it whether he’s had too many down the Crown or when he’s spent the housekeeping at the bookies and bingo. Due to my Granddad’s failing eyesight, my ‘assisting’ involves catching said ornaments mid-air. Bet they’re sorry now they never let me on the netball team (instead of the embarrassing position of reserve for the B team). I seem to have painted a picture to Mr. Roberts that my grandparents are somewhat frail and in need of a lot of support. He nods approvingly at me.
‘What kind of role do you see yourself taking in our centre?’
‘Purely an ad-hoc need basis,’ I reply. ‘Someone who will respect the independence of the clients and promote their individual rights and abilities.’
Think covering for Granddad down the pub. No, he told me he’s going to the allotment for the potatoes for tea, Gran. Honest!
‘Also, I am someone who will respect the fact that these people can still be very active in mind and body, and maintain the right to express so.’
Think telling Gran that, no, I don’t think she’s stupid and that is where Granddad said he was going. Hoping that this doesn’t lead to any cranial blows of the bone china kind.
‘I will happily contribute to the daily activities, taking into account the interests of the service user but also encourage new skills and interests on a continual basis,’ I finish, with a hopeful smile.
Think telling both Gran and Granddad: ‘Why don’t you go to the bingo/tea dance/bowling, and forget what he/she has done?’
I am offered the job on the spot.
If I ever make it to a ripe old age, I am very much looking forward to being as cantankerous as possible. Blue-rinsed and shouting randomly at inanimate objects, terrorising shopkeepers and bursting the ball of any small child that bounces into my garden. I’ll have 20 cats and the children will chant: ‘Witch! Witch!’ when they see me. Old age may inhibit the body, but it liberates the mind. You no longer give a toss about what anyone thinks of you. You don’t need to worry about your weight, being skinny will just make you look more wrinkled. You don’t bother making new friends – at your age they’ll only go and die on you anyway. The ante is upped on the mortal lottery. You don’t have to worry about finding a new man, what for? Will you really want sex in your eighties? I doubt it very much. A nice cup of tea, a packet of chocolate digestives and Countdown – that’s what you’ll want.
Actually, I’m already into my Granddad’s old habit of playing dirty word Countdown , though nowhere near in his league. He used to chortle over his afternoon tea while Gran looked on with distaste.
‘F, great. Can do a lot with an F. C, smashing. T, tricky one, keep ‘em comin’ Carol. Keep ‘em comin’ girl. K,
Point taken. Mr. Roberts laughs and relaxes into the interview. I am aware my comment could have backfired badly on me, but I was willing to take the gamble. Discrimination is not something I tolerate, having worked with some of the poorest, but nicest families with a variety of problems. I don’t judge a book by its cover.
‘So, Lucy,’ he smiles. ‘I see that you normally work with children, apart from a position of a nightshift worker at Safeway. Why do you think you are suited to Care Home work?’
‘I have spent two years training in childcare, but a lifetime of assisting with my Grandparents,’ I reply. ‘They have relied on my help over the years and I feel that I have contributed to the best of my ability, in relation to their needs.
They don’t need care, of course. Gran has a slight paralysis from a stroke and therefore isn’t quite as good a shot as she used to be when chucking ornaments at Granddad’s head. Be it whether he’s had too many down the Crown or when he’s spent the housekeeping at the bookies and bingo. Due to my Granddad’s failing eyesight, my ‘assisting’ involves catching said ornaments mid-air. Bet they’re sorry now they never let me on the netball team (instead of the embarrassing position of reserve for the B team). I seem to have painted a picture to Mr. Roberts that my grandparents are somewhat frail and in need of a lot of support. He nods approvingly at me.
‘What kind of role do you see yourself taking in our centre?’
‘Purely an ad-hoc need basis,’ I reply. ‘Someone who will respect the independence of the clients and promote their individual rights and abilities.’
Think covering for Granddad down the pub. No, he told me he’s going to the allotment for the potatoes for tea, Gran. Honest!
‘Also, I am someone who will respect the fact that these people can still be very active in mind and body, and maintain the right to express so.’
Think telling Gran that, no, I don’t think she’s stupid and that is where Granddad said he was going. Hoping that this doesn’t lead to any cranial blows of the bone china kind.
‘I will happily contribute to the daily activities, taking into account the interests of the service user but also encourage new skills and interests on a continual basis,’ I finish, with a hopeful smile.
Think telling both Gran and Granddad: ‘Why don’t you go to the bingo/tea dance/bowling, and forget what he/she has done?’
I am offered the job on the spot.
If I ever make it to a ripe old age, I am very much looking forward to being as cantankerous as possible. Blue-rinsed and shouting randomly at inanimate objects, terrorising shopkeepers and bursting the ball of any small child that bounces into my garden. I’ll have 20 cats and the children will chant: ‘Witch! Witch!’ when they see me. Old age may inhibit the body, but it liberates the mind. You no longer give a toss about what anyone thinks of you. You don’t need to worry about your weight, being skinny will just make you look more wrinkled. You don’t bother making new friends – at your age they’ll only go and die on you anyway. The ante is upped on the mortal lottery. You don’t have to worry about finding a new man, what for? Will you really want sex in your eighties? I doubt it very much. A nice cup of tea, a packet of chocolate digestives and Countdown – that’s what you’ll want.
Actually, I’m already into my Granddad’s old habit of playing dirty word Countdown , though nowhere near in his league. He used to chortle over his afternoon tea while Gran looked on with distaste.
‘F, great. Can do a lot with an F. C, smashing. T, tricky one, keep ‘em comin’ Carol. Keep ‘em comin’ girl. K,
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