Mr. Lawrence says: “You see the shit I have to put up with? Seven days a week. These bitches don’t shut up.” He’s shoveling liver and onions into his mouth with a plastic spoon. We’re in the lunch room of a skilled nursing facility filming Mr. Lawrence. He’s 76 years old and in not-so-bad condition compared to most of the folks here…compared to the woman seated at a four top a few yards away who hollers over and over again for someone to put her to bed.
The man seated next to Mr. Lawrence pulls on my shirt. He wants me to pass him the cup of ice cream that is just out of his reach. “Don’t give it to him,” Mr. Lawrence says. “He’s supposed to finish his dinner before he eats that.” The man’s food has been pulverized. I ask him what it is, and he tells me it’s supposed to be mashed potatoes. He continues to reach for the ice cream.
The screaming woman has left the lunchroom on her own, and a search party has been sent after her. Mr. Lawrence stares out of the window. Cataracs cover his eyes, and I think he just sees the shape of things and maybe how the angels dance in the light. He wears a bright yellow Penxoil hat, I suspect to cover a bald spot.
The screaming woman is back. Apparently, she cannot go to bed without her dinner. She’s angry and aggressive and orders the whole room to put her the hell to bed. She chants and rocks. She shakes her fist in the air. A young food service lady dressed in K&B purple scrubs puts her hands over her ears and closes her eyes. She hums something that approximates a tune, but I suspect it’s just to drown out the noise. The other purple-cladded ladies laugh at her. “You see the shit I have to put up with,” Mr. Lawrence says. “It’s enough to make me lose my appetite.”
