Diary Sept 14, 2019

In case you thought I was kidding. Falafel sandwich, with beets, pickles, various sauces including tahini, Israeli salad etc. packed to fit in the basket of my scooter, and with a can of soda, for $10. Breakfast and lunch, unless I had Trader Joe’s instant oatmeal microwaved for breakfast.

I sidle up in the scooter, the counter is a little high (I’m seated, and can swivel the seat to face the stand). They smile when they see me coming. I’m a regular now.

And I’m slowly getting used to being an invalid. Much better than going up to the “dining room” which is filled with mentally challenged ancients who are living in another world.

Much better than the dinner waitress Vera who used to be funny, she was so upset about the heat every night, when the so-called patrons were arriving in winter clothing it was so cold.

I have my Indian (she says she’s from Guiana which could be true, and that her grandfather was from India) who has an Indian accent and is always saying that she wishes all the residents could be as nice as I am.

She already knows not to disturb me in the morning, but in a few days a new blue coat will arrive asking every hour if I’m okay.

And to think that this is supposed to be one of the best Assisted Living places in Manhattan. It’s the view of Central Park from the 14th floor that gets them in, and the tall statuesque model who shows them around as if it was a tour of The Price Is Right doesn’t hurt either.