So Saturday I was standing in line at a local store where we buy catfish food. The man in front of me was purchasing a part for a tractor (at least that's what it looked like). He asked the cashier, who appeared to be in her early 20s, if the part didn't fit could he bring it back the next day.
Cashier: No. We're closed on Sundays. But we are going to be open on Memorial Day so you can bring it then.
Man: So I can bring it back to you here at the register?
Cashier: No, customer service. Laughing, I'm actually off on Monday.
Man: Lucky you.
Cashier: Not exactly. I'd rather be at work. My Dad says I have to help him repair the lining to the swimming pool that day, and that is NOT fun. You know, my Grandpa had Alzheimers, and my Grandma always made him help with that chore and he HATED it. One day when his mind got bad, my Grandma told him that's what they were going to do, and he told her he did not want to do it. So when she got all the stuff ready, she couldn't find him. She finally found him at the pool. He had gone and got the sledge hammer and was punching holes in the pool's lining. I understand now how he felt. I hate that job just as much as he did.
And with that conversation, the situations we sometimes find ourselves in when dealing with dementia seem like no big deal.
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