Today at therapy I listened in on a lively conversation about the "Bachelorette" between two patients, who I'll call Mike and Carol, and a couple of the therapists. There were some strong opinions. I didn't partake because the only reality shows I watch are Jeremy Wade's "Dark Waters" and "American Ninja Warrior." In fact, back when I was recovering in 2016 I had visions of trying out for the show, not because I thought I could actually compete, but my hashtag was my hook: #HitInTheFaceByTruckNinja. Bad ass if you ask me.
Anyhow, Mike, who I'd guess is about 65-70, was on the table to my left, recently had knee surgery and he couldn't stop groaning in agony and cursing. He also couldn't stop talking about this 'broad' on the "Bachelorette" and how it didn't matter how intelligent she was because when you're 'hot' like that it doesn't matter. During one of the awkward silences induced by Mike's thoughts, I asked my therapist if he lived in a multi-level home. (I asked because he also suffers from issues related to a similar type of accident that I was in.) My therapist said that he indeed did. I asked if that concerns him as he gets older. As he started to explain, Carol, who is about the same age as Mike, who was on the table to my right, interjected herself into our conversation to tell me that I don't need to worry about stairs at my age. I tried to explain why I was concerned, but she didn't have time to listen and just said move into a ranch house if it's such an issue. WTF?
I was starting to realize these two fellow rehabilitation clients had no patience for me. The one time I was spoken to I was basically told to be quiet. Mike never even acknowledged my presence... but he has pain that you or I could just never understand. Goddamn old people. You'll never know what it's like to be them because they have lived longer..?
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