DESPERATE HOUSEFLIES
Preparing for a Christmas party at an assisted living facility is difficult enough
without dealing with pesky houseflies. Unseasonably warm Clovis weather must
have allowed them to survive far into December.
Saturday morning was filled with chaos. Doors opened and closed as food and
furniture was brought in for preparation. Residents mostly sat and watched,
although a few offered suggestions.
"Don’t you have a flyswatter?" asked a ninety-year-old lady in a wheelchair? "These
flies are driving me crazy."
"I don't see why you’re blaming the flies for your mental state," quipped a lady with
a heavy Greek accent.
I spent a few minutes chasing and eliminating several flies, until I thought I had the
problem under control. As other workers and I continued getting the place in order,
the Greek lady called me to a corner to talk in private.
"In Greece, we don't have a fly problem," she said.
"Really?" I said. "I don’t think we'll have any more problems today. I seem to have
gotten rid of them."
I tried to pull away, but the lady grabbed my elbow.
"It's the sweets," she said in a near whisper. "Flies are not stupid. They're after the
cake." She got closer and whispered in my ear, "There are a few pieces left from
yesterday's cake in the refrigerator. That's what the flies want. Give them to me
and the flies will go away. I can only eat soft foods without teeth Don't say
anything. Just get me the cake."
I had to give her credit for her efforts. In a home filled with elderly residents with
dementia, it is always refreshing to listen to someone's ideas. I had her sit down
and served her a small slice of cake, and then continued working.
"Pssst." It was the Greek lady calling me over to her side again. Cake frosting and
crumbs lingered on the edges of her mouth. "What is this you gave me?"
"I served you a piece of that wonderful cake from yesterday's party." I said.
"But it was so small, perhaps enough for a child."
"We're having a bigger party today," I said. "I want you to have room for all the
food we're going to serve you."
A few minutes later, the Greek lady called me to her side again, keeping her voice
low.
"I didn't explain to you why I needed the cake. You see, it isn't for me. I'm going to
mail some to my brother in Greece. I can't send just one little piece. A few slices
would be better."
"In the meantime, that's all I can give you," I said. "Please, I have a lot of work to
do before the party. I'm sure you understand."
"Fine, but you'll be sorry," she cautioned, waving a bony finger and shaking her
head. "The flies are not all gone."
In the middle of the party, while music played and people enjoyed their meal, my
boss asked me to dress as Santa Claus and start handing out gifts. I was told the
outfit was in the Greek lady's room. The unfortunate part was that there were a few
houseflies lingering on her windowsill.
As I struggled to put on the suit, the pesky flies zoomed at my ears and tickled my
nose. Someone was knocking on the door, telling me that Santa had to hurry.
I rushed out of the bedroom and entered the large room, where the musician was
playing "Jingle Bells" and people were clapping. I tried to swing with the music,
swatting at two flies that had followed me and insisted on attacking my ears and
fake beard.
People laughed. The music tempo increased. I danced fast and hard, the pillow
under my suit jiggling left and right. Sweat ran down my face. White-haired ladies
flocked to my side wanting to dance with me. Within minutes, the entire dance floor
was packed.
"You really make a great dancing Santa!" called my boss. "Where did you learn
those moves?"
"It's the flies," I said. But I knew my words were not heard.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Greek lady sitting with a great big toothless
grin. I couldn't help but think she somehow knew she had something to do with my
momentum.
Ben Romero
Author of Chicken Beaks Book Series
559-301-1545