Funcrastination

Temping over the weekend as a tour guide in a Retirement Village brought me more than an extra buck. I unexpectedly got the chance to revive my sense of mischievous fun, despite personal ethics that dictate otherwise.

It was my first time as a tour guide here, but not Danny’s. No, he knew how the quiet times in these seven-hour days could bore your brains out of you, even if you brought along your favourite book, or could watch telly. We literally spent two of those seven hours on tours. Within two hours of me maintaining my professionalism and having run out of questions to ask my fellow tour guide about himself and his life thus far, I was itching for something to do. The book I’d brought along provided no solace, and I had absorbed the Weekend Herald like a sponge.

Danny uncannily seemed to capture my thoughts and within minutes, his phone-cum-iPod ignoring his pleas for entertainment, the first impressions I had formed of Danny – smartly presented in crème firmly-pressed trousers, matched with a stylish blue vest and croc shoes, who worked as a receptionist as a prestigious Advertising Agency – remained, but now took me on an amusing turn into his cheeky world.

He helped hasten my weekend of polite greetings and conversations with Generation W to one of tricks and laughs with this generation. As depleted as this may sound, it was a means to amuse our young, restless minds. And no doubt we will have Nana jokes spewing on us – if we ever get to that age, what with all the junk we soak our organs in these days!

It started with cutting out magazine prints of Fergie’s face – the magazine’s condition nearly as old as her, with the face of it crumbled and the leaves torn in half. This was followed by Danny scribbling blue ink into her dull-looking eyes, then some more gushing out of her partially-parted lipstick-ridden mouth. This image, altered only with amateur-applied blue ink, was transferred into such a ghastly sight, it threatened to haunt my sleep for nights to come! Nevertheless, it brought belly-giggles, with tears streaming down our now-red faces. My narrowed sense of fun was challenged by all that was to come.

Having achieved amusement with this ghastly-looking transformation, we decided to venture into the world of abstract art. We experimented by sticking this face on a painting of a pretty lass daintily sitting on a chair, looking solemn against dark drapes drawn in tight folds, with her head on a right-angle and dropping down ever so subtly. Her navy-blue velvet robe flowed seamlessly to cover the feet. And once again, what a transformation! Fergie’s photo-shopped dirty-blonde streaks a-shambles after a wild night on the London streets replaced the lass’s neat strawberry-blonde hair in what seemed a cruel manner. Our belly-giggles turned to belly-laughs, which soon turned to polite stone-faces when we were interrupted by retiring ‘tourists’ with apprehensive expectations.

This was refreshing in a way, for me at least, as it made me take time out from the utter madness of what I’d gotten into and to re-think if my sudden sense of crooked fun was innocent enough to not harbour guilt.

After more or less having sold a unit to a now relieved couple, I returned to see that Danny had jumped the ladder; with the ripped celebrity magazine no where to be seen, boredom had crept through him like a virus, plunging him into a fever of frantic antics. Fergie’s fermented face was now plastered on the Events board in the hallway and he had erased dates and times and replaced them. The 8.30 a.m. exercise that was being carried out by Banica, was now at 7.30 a.m. and being carried out by Manic. Other words were replaced with ones that would shock the daylights out of any granny, which I shall leave censored.

And so it went. Dining tables had name tags of where people sat everyday to have their meals. My simple suggestion, an hour before we took our leave, that they may get bored having to dine with the same people everyday got Danny to swap all the names. This brought suspicion to Annie, a resident and supposed president of the Retirement Community village, who is distracted by twirling her into conversation about her life – something everyone past 60 seems to love to chatter about. Having had a lovely convo with me – who she called ‘little love’ – she turned to Danny, who having done his cruel deed, was only too keen to get away from chatter with her. Yet he turned his sly smile to a sweet one (you couldn’t tell the difference if you did not know what he was up to), introduced himself as Richard and said he was at University studying Philosphy of Ethics. This greatly impressed Annie who trotted away happily, much to Danny’s relief. I, on the other hand, wanted to continue our convo of her days spent travelling as a Red District worker and then as a teacher (in Biology).

By Sunday, Danny had a dementia patient chasing him for turning light and fan switches on and off. Her complaints to nurses and the receptionist were ignored as Danny spun a story, blatantly lying that the only times he did turn switches on were to present the halls to our buying ‘tourists’ and then he’d turn them off. What an easy buy! His demeanour was as convincing as Eve’s apple and his pretty-looks deceived the staff like no tomorrow.

The picture Danny had stuck to the white-board was forgotten by him and was blamed on yet another dementia patient who cut magazine pictures of celebrities and glued them to his bedroom walls. It was now a communal fear that he was now slipping out at night to commit his deeds outside his room!

Did I not harbour a sense of guilt, you ask? a) Yes it did, but Danny had poisoned me with his antic virus and those belly-giggles surfaced again and erupted into belly-laughs. But b) although I was a keeper of these sly secrets, I was also Danny’s audience, not a partner in crime. I could have been easily, to me, I had crossed a line, and I wasn’t motivated to further my journey at that point. Admittedly, my ethics met my indulgent and somewhat crooked sense of humour half-way. Almost.

Meeting Danny helped turn a stone for me. My school-days saw me break rules and still be smart about it. Post-school saw an end to that. And Danny made me realise how much I miss that.

So, here’s to a New year resolution (and for the first time, I have a list. Also for the first time, I intend to see myself through a resolution): indulge a lot more in the lighter side of life! Hopefully that will not always mean crooked humour, but as the saying goes, if you abide by all the rules, you ain’t gonna have no fun!