My ninety-seven-year-old friend seemed agitated. Fists
pounding on the armrest of her wheelchair, Loretta would not hear otherwise.
"I'm
telling you, Donald Trump is the President of the United
States!"
Did the nursing
home hop her up on more goofballs? I have heard that it is better to go along
with an elderly person's delusions than to point out reality. If she would not
listen to reason, then I would have to placate her.
"Okay,
Loretta. You're right and I am wrong. Donald Trump is President of the United
States."
"Don't
patronize me you little shit. Can you ask the volunteer agency to send me
another friendly visitor? No offense,
but you can be a dimwit."
I didn't
take her insult personally. She was clearly lashing out.
"Yes,
I'll ask. In the meantime I'll see you in a few days. By the way, can you lend
me $20?
Her foot made
hard contact with my shin. "Get out."
I have been
volunteering at the West End Nursing Home and Spa for a few months, hoping to
gain some insider intel into what my future might resemble. It didn't differ
too much from my present: board games, television, soft food, no family
dropping by. The residents of the home appeared particularly grumpy the last several weeks
though, sighing and angry outbursts ramped up from the norm. I found their
behaviours odd, especially since the constant stream of CNN on the televisions
in the common rooms had ceased. It was as if the residents had cut
themselves off from keeping abreast. Their
media consumption was replaced by bizarre ramblings about the United
States refusing to admit immigrants and
travellers from certain predominantly Muslim countries. Disconcerting, sure, but
the aging brain can be like the contents in a raffle drum; memories, thoughts
and feelings scrambling around until a random item is selected and
fixated on.
My Uber
driver also had a bee in his bonnet that day. He craned his neck to address me.
"The
whole world has gone insane."
"Huh?"
"Trump
is a sociopath."
I played
along, like our conversation was an improv game. "Yes, and."
"Yes,
and? He's going to take us all down with him."
"Yes,
and."
"Yes,
and? He's got the keys to the White House and a nuclear arsenal."
"Yes,
and."
Is that all
you can say? Yes, and? What the hell is wrong with you?"
I was none
too keen on the way he addressed me. We were driving in Toronto,
not New York City for goodness
sake.
"Sir,
I would like to disembark at this intersection."
"Get
out."
Even the
folks at the laundry mat were ill-tempered. When I politely asked a young woman
to remove her clean wet clothes from a washer that I wanted to use, she snarled
at me.
"Sure,
whatever you want, whitey."
I let a
giggle escape. I may be white, but so was she. I wanted to say to her,
"why so crabby, cakes?", but that may have been an invitation to get
knifed, so I kept my yap shut. I smiled broadly, which she didn't like.
My friend
behind the counter grimaced at an open newspaper. When I asked him to make change for
my $20, he shrugged his shoulders.
"I've
worked here for 25 years, and for what? To be held in suspicion by people like
Trump. Sure, miss. Here's your change."
He hastily folded up the paper, tossed
the loonies and quarters on the counter, and looked away, his eyes glistening.
I couldn't
figure out why everyone was talking about Donald Trump, a reality TV performer
and American businessman. It was as if everyone I met was personally affected
by his existence, as if he held some malevolent power over society. And the
notion that he was President of the United
States was particularly absurd. The President of the United
States is a public servant, a selfless
citizen who works on behalf of the people of America. Why were my friends, acquaintances, and
fellow citizens in Toronto believing that Donald Trump was President? By all
accounts, he is the antithesis of a public servant. He is a businessman, and a
government cannot be run solely as a business. It is much more than that. It is
the embodiment of common values and aspirations, a collective that cares for
all individuals. By definition, Donald Trump could never actually be president
of that great, wacky democracy. He could play-act the role, but never truly be
president because of his overwhelming self-interest.
I went home
with my clean clothes, switched on the TV, and curled up with a bowl of lentil soup and my Looney Tunes
collection. A weird day is nothing Bugs Bunny can't fix ... I keep telling
myself.
