Friday, August 16, 2013

Goo Goo Gooweee

At 6:51 at a home in northwest Chicago on a bright summer day in 1999 I helped a fully grown and utterly naked man into a shower, handed him a cup of safely not-scalding coffee, popped a cassette of "Barney's Favorites: Volume 2" into the tape deck, and began earnestly supplicating him to please, please defecate.

Getting a grown ass man to go number two was one of the simpler of our tasks that came around twice a month or so.  I'm not sure where the method came about, but it was a definite routine. There was a checklist:

  • warm water, 
  • coffee and other fluids, 
  • good tunes, 
  • verbal assurance and requesting
  • patience

Goo.  Goo.  These were the falsetto noises he made.

That's it, buddy, I said.  Took a sip of coffee.  We're gonna get that out today.  Good coffee.  Latex elbow-length gloves really grip the handle.  I like that.

What is man's purpose?
Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy his presence forever.

Goo goo.  Gowweee.  Heh Heh!

Do your noises mean anything, amigo?  Are you enjoying yourself or are you readying for the push?

Do you just go standing up?  That'd be rare.  I mean, among all of humanity, just you and Chuck Norris confirmed as able to shit while standing up.  The only two successful humans to do that.

And here I'd be watching.  It seems wrong, but watching a grown ass man defecate, standing up or not, is part my job.

I've already seen some things here.

A nightly filling of fifteen mugs and glasses besides on the nightstand.  The throwing of two at my head, for reasons unknown.

The wearing of eight pairs of underwear at once.

A near, impromptu orgiastic dance rave, bodies of nine fully grown men writhing, piled bellowing in joy, fear, and ecstasy prompted by the mere mention that Halloween lay five days away.

The throwing of a bench through the kitchen window because someone put the pointy side of a knife up in the dishwasher.

Whee tee tee!

Such happy noises.  They say you are happy.  See the happy idiot.  Ah, those down syndrome kids are so happy.  Look at the vacuous faces, longing only for stuffed animals and french fries.

Your eyes flicker in concentration.  You hold up a single finger.  Number one!

You probably won't ever get laid, even though you want to.  The director spoke very seriously at orientation last week of the threat of two residents "engaging in coitus."

Who am I to presume?

So we sat and waited.  That was my job, one I held for almost a year.

I came back to visit several years later.

He was on the couch smiling, drinking coffee from a giant sippy cup and watching the 4:00pm Barney and Friends re-run.

Pee wee, I called.

Tee hee, came the answer.

No comments: