The old man could hear himself calling out but it was as if
he wasn’t in his own body. His voice was faint and distant, even to him. He
pressed the little button on the pendant that he wore around his neck.
“Help… Help… I've fallen and I can’t get up.” There was no
response to his weak cry. He pressed the button again.
Ralph had been warned that he didn’t belong where he laid
helpless now. Everyone told him to stay in his Lazy Boy with the TV remote
control and a good book within reach.
“I ain’t dead yet!” He would always tell them. “As long as I
can get to the crapper on my own and still wipe my own ass, then I ought to be
able to go where I want to go and do what I want to do.”
Now he wasn’t so sure. He was having a little trouble
breathing. That could get worse very soon. If only he hadn’t gone so high, he thought
to himself.
When Ralph saw it coming, it was too late to get out of the
way. At first it didn’t look like much but more and more just kept coming. It put
him down hard. He was buried. He continued trying the little button on the
pendant.
Ralph was 79 years-old and he felt like it but that didn't
mean he had to be confined to an ass-lifting recliner chair. After all, there
were other old farts still riding bicycles (or tricycles) and they went where
they wanted to.
His children bought the butt lifter for Ralph for Father’s
Day. He feigned appreciation to them but he hated the chair. The way that Ralph
felt about it, when he couldn't get his fat ass out of his chair on his own then
it was time to lie down and die. Now here he was, in the prone position, and he
just might die there if he didn't get help.
There was still no response to the old codger alert pendant.
That’s what Ralph he called it. Ralph tried to move just a little but pain from
his hip electrified his entire body. He tried to dig himself out some but; the
cruel truth of it was that he didn’t see the point of it. Fear and anger were
soon replaced with complacence.
Ralph lost track of time and drifted off for awhile. He was awakened
by the sound of a voice. It wasn’t from the worthless pendant. The voice was
close and familiar.
“Ralph! Are you alright” It was his wife Nancy. He turned
awkwardly and looked up at her.
“Hell no, I’m not all right! Does it look like I’m all
right? I've been knocked down and buried by a damned avalanche. How can you ask
me such a question?”
With exception of his broken hip, Ralph was pretty well back
to normal at the sight of his wife. The complacence quickly faded. His fear was
gone but he had no shortage of anger.
They had been married for fifty-seven years. Much of the
credit for those years was to Nancy. She learned in the first year that it was
better to let her husband rant when he was angry. Trying to talk to him when was
he was this angry was like spraying water on an oil fire. It was always best to
let it just burn out, no matter how hot that it got.
Nancy could see that Ralph had been in the process of making
coffee. The canister on the counter was nearly empty so he was attempting to
get a fresh bag of coffee from the top shelf. She picked up the kitchen step
stool, folded it and slipped it into place between the fridge and the counter.
She gathered up the various plastic bowls, cups, lids and odd containers while
her angry husband continued to rant.
“I have never in fifty-seven years understood why you had to
have so much Tupperware. It wouldn't even be so bad if it all fit together in
some organized manner, but NO! We have to have a hundred bowls with a hundred
matching lids. The only trouble is that you can’t ever find the lid that
matches the bowl that just got filled up with left-over soup. So what good are
they?”
Ralph paused but Nancy knew it wasn't because he was waiting
for an answer. To try answer his question would only fan his fire.
“I have less money in 35mm cameras that you have in
Tupperware and I have a LOT of camera equipment, but you know what? Any Nikon
lens that was made in the last fifty years will fit my Nikon digital camera
that was made in 2008. Do you think that Tupperware could understand such
user-friendly manufacturing practices? Hell no! They change designs, colors and
fit every year just so they can get you to buy more of their junk at their ridiculously
inflated prices. In the end, a bowl is just a bowl and a lid is just a lid.”
Another pause… but Nancy waited quietly.
“What we ought to do is to throw all of the lids away and
just use that press ‘n stick plastic wrapping stuff. It’s a lot easier on my
patience than trying to find the right lid out of the wrong selection. Why, it’s
no small wonder to me why they put a life-time guarantee on their junk. It’s
sure to kill one or both of us sooner or later. It’ll either be me for
suffering another avalanche or you for buying more of the junk because, if you
do, I just might have to kill you.”
Ralph quieted considerably with his last sentence. They both
knew that he didn’t mean that. Even though, Ralph stayed quiet a little longer
this time, Nancy waited patiently. She knew he had to blow through his second
wind.
“And I’m going to tell you another thing, too. There just
ain't no reason, at all, to have so much plastic in the guest bedroom that it
looks like a Tupperwarehouse. Do you want one our grandchildren to die in an
avalanche of plastic? Why, if I was to have all of that plastic recycled into a
stiffer grade, I could probably mold the hull for a sizable bass fishing boat.”
Ralph quieted again. Nancy was pretty certain that he had
played out now but she waited, just the same. Then the anger faded from his
face and he looked like the loving man that Nancy had adored for so many years.
He winced.
“What can I do to help you?”
“You’d better call 911.” His voice was calm and even. “I
think that my hip might be busted.” He held the pendant up. “The other thing
that you can do is tape a nickel to his piece of crap. Then put it in a
Tupperware bowl, complete with a matching lid, and throw into the street. Whoever
finds it will be five cents better off than we are.”