Riotous Retirement (4 page)

Paying the Medical Bill

Mrs. Emily Campbell, recently widowed, bought a small unit in the Burnside Retirement Village. Her aim in life was to become more independent and less reliant on her children than she had been since her husband died. She was sure that if she lived in a smaller and more convenient home in a friendly atmosphere, as the Burnside village appeared to have, then she could manage well on her own.

Emily was looking for somewhere new, somewhere to start again, to make new friends and to enjoy this next chapter in life. It was not easy for her but this is what she truly believed she had to do, to be able to live her future life.

She had visited the village several times before settling on this particular villa and had even been invited to and participated in an organised dinner evening for all residents. Her potential future neighbour, Mrs. Milne, had invited her. Emily had enjoyed the evening and the company of the residents many of whom, like her, were widows.

As Mrs. Milne had said, “Much better if you look after yourself in this life than rely too much on others. I think you will make a great neighbour!”

So in due course Emily moved in and as Mrs. Milne had predicted they became very good friends.

Emily’s intention to be independent was sorely tested in the first few weeks in her new home. She drove a car, but the problem was that the area surrounding Burnside was completely new to her. Her eldest son had insisted she get herself an automated car navigation device but she didn’t like it much.

Emily would joke to her new friends, “I hate it. I’m never sure if I have it set right, I hate the voice and besides, the roads I drive on are pretty, with trees, beautiful gardens and they go uphill and down again but all the roads on the machine are flat and really ugly. Sometimes I think we must be in different places!”

Emily’s second visit to her new doctor’s office was a very interesting adventure. She knew roughly where to go but she also set her new navigating device—just to test it out as it were. Emily was on this journey because she had to pay an outstanding bill. It wasn’t that she had to go there in person because she could have posted a cheque but she chose to go, to get used to the surrounding area and the services she was likely to use. She could also spend some time browsing in the local shops she thought.

Emily parked the car and entered the reception area that she had visited once before. She glanced around, taking in the pattern on the carpet, the furniture and the staff uniforms. Well, she thought to herself, I made it, although it is larger than I remember. Funny how your memory plays tricks on you!

For the first few seconds Emily just stood there, taking in her surroundings, noting the counter and receptionists, but before she had decided where the end of the queue was she was asked by this very friendly person if she would prefer tea or coffee and encouraged to take a seat. Being the polite person that she was, Emily responded in a similarly convivial and friendly manner. After all she was in no particular hurry.

“I’ll have a tea, thank you, white and no sugar. This is nice.”

As she was being served the tea together with a plate and two biscuits, Emily tried to explain.

“I’ve come to pay a medical bill,” said Emily to the girl who brought the tea: but the young girl just smiled politely without responding to Emily’s statement and was gone as quickly as she appeared.

My goodness, they’re all very busy, she thought to herself, better just be patient and wait.  So she sipped her tea and ate her biscuits and looked around at the others who were also sitting in small groups. She could see one group playing cards. Probably a family waiting for someone they had taken in for some specialist treatment. And everyone seemed to be enjoying a tea break.

Excellent service she thought, and most unusual for a medical practice waiting room. Well it’s new and they’ll be concentrating on building up the practice—that will be the reason.

Emily had waited a considerable period and so the next time she was able to attract an attendant’s attention she put her hand on the attendant’s arm.

“Look, excuse me,” she said, “I’ve just come in to pay a bill for the physiotherapy I had last week and …” but this attendant also just smiled and completely ignored what she had said.

“Perhaps you would like to join the carpet bowls?” she asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Emily responded politely as she glanced around, and yes, there was certainly a group playing carpet bowls at the other side of the room.

“No, no, I can’t join the bowls today but perhaps another time. I live at Burnside retirement village, you see, and I’ve come here to pay my bill.”

“Don’t worry dear,” said the attendant, “you just put your money back in your purse. This won’t cost you anything today.”

Now Emily hated any conflict but much against her grain she decided there and then to take some firmer action. This was getting ridiculous. Just as she started to move over to the counter intending to ask for the person in charge, everyone responded to an announcement over the loud speaker—“Could everyone now move outside and board the bus please.”

There was no longer anyone behind the counter so Emily had no option but to move outside with everyone else where, to her amazement, they were all getting aboard a large bus. In large lettering the sign on the bus said—ST. ANDREWS RESPITE CENTRE.

“Bloody hell!” she said quietly to herself. 

Paying the Medical Bill

The modern little gadget that travels in your car
Says turn left - turn right and knows just where you are
You are the one in charge to tell it where you want to go
Otherwise strangers you will meet – not the folk you know
Emily take the challenge - learn it well - you’ll be a star

The Taxi Service

The local hotel, complete with its pub, was very conveniently located for some residents because it backed onto the grounds of Burnside Retirement Village at the far side of the visitor car park. All village residents could, of course, avail themselves of the services at Burnside club bar situated in a corner of the village leisure centre and lounge, but a few residents also enjoyed going to the local pub for a drink because it was so close and because there you also met local people who were not residents of the village.

“I love it,” Bill would tell any other resident who asked why he went there instead of the club bar, “it’s like going outside the village without even going outside the village if you know what I mean.”

Every second week, on pension Thursday, Bill would shuffle up the road to the pub. He was able to get to the back door of the pub through a small gate at the end of a path connecting with the village car park. Bill enjoyed a few drinks and socialising with other people. Everyone knew where Bill was and exactly what he was doing at this time. He would meet the same men and a couple of women who lived near the village every second Thursday. Similar topics would be discussed and the same people would occupy the same places at the bar. This lack of variety bothered no one. All in the group treasured the familiarity and comfort in the arrangement. They all paid for their own drinks. There was no pretence of generosity while simultaneously keeping tabs on who is due to pay for the next round! They were all well past that game. The behaviour of each individual in this group varied little from fortnight to fortnight as they drank their usual tipple.

They knew each other well enough to enjoy talking on almost any subject including changes in social norms and even politics. Each knew, or at least suspected, the political affiliation of the others and the argument and verbal jousting—while partisan—was never aggressive or spiteful. It was about winding each other up, teasing and creating humour. Every afternoon that this group met, the young barman would listen intently. He never said much but had learned that if he paid attention he could gain new knowledge, or some insight, or at least a different point of view about a current topic that he could subsequently use to impress his mates!

Lamenting and complaining about the culture of the day compared with those of yesteryear was perhaps the favourite topic.

“Well I think kids are just lazy little sods, that’s what I think,” said Bill. “They’re driven everywhere these days, to school, from school, to their footie practice, to visit their friends, why can’t they bloody walk or cycle?”

“It’s not so safe for kids to be out alone and walking these days, Bill,” argued another at the bar.

“Rubbish. The dangers faced by kids today on their own are no more than it was in our day. It’s just that we hear more about it. But it’s a great excuse for getting a lift home of course.”

“How are you getting home today, Bill?” asked one of the women.

“Okay, okay, I get your point” said Bill, “but you must agree that is an entirely different matter!”

At this the barman and the others started laughing, and with this interruption the discussion on children’s travel in today’s society came to an end.

In these sessions, as the quantity of liquor consumed increased, one or two of the men might doze off for short periods and another might endeavour to tell the same story he told earlier in the afternoon but in a louder voice, and Bill could usually be counted on to slide off his stool just as the clock approached 5.00 pm. In fact so certain were they of the same routine that the two ladies always managed to catch Bill at his first slump and prop him up at the bar before he hit the floor.

At 5.00 pm on the dot, Alex, the caretaker at Burnside village, would arrive at the back door of the pub and come through to the bar to announce to one and all that Bill’s taxi had arrived and was he ready to leave now? What was waiting outside the door was not a real taxi but the wheelbarrow the gardener used when he was working around the village.

Alex gently escorted Bill through the back door out onto the concrete area and Bill, wide awake by this time, was lowered very gently, bum first, into the barrow. Alex would then pick up the handles,  rev the pretend engine “brrrrrm brrrrm”, and off they would set down the track from the pub and across the car park at great speed! The engine could be heard all the way as it changed gear at the corners and out past the bowling green and eventually along the path to Bill’s place, where he was gently rolled out and helped onto his bed.

“There you are, mate. That’s you home safe and sound,” Alex would assure him.

“That’s great,” Bill would respond. “Thanks very much, mate, I think I might have a bit of shut eye now.”

All went well for many months until one fateful afternoon as they were whizzing down the path and almost at Bill’s place when Helga, the village manager, suddenly appeared around the corner. And that was the end of that— Retirement Villages Act, Health and Safety Regulations —Section 3, Paragraph 2—
Thou shalt not ride on or be driven in a wheelbarrow
.

“I don’t care how low the centre of gravity is or how safe it is or how Bill enjoys the ride, I will not risk some bloody kid using their phone to take a movie of you pushing Bill in a barrow and then see it on YouTube with a Burnside sign in the background.” Helga explained this very clearly and forcefully to Alex at the meeting she insisted on the following day.

Ever after Bill had to pay for a real taxi to take him home the long way round by public road, and never again did he talk about today’s kids and transport. But, from then on, during every taxi ride home from the pub, he would sit back, close his eyes and think of his rides in the barrow! It was bloody great while it lasted.