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I recently got involved in the whole caregiver recruitment process, and let me tell you, it's more intense than a superhero audition. They ask questions like, "Can you lift 50 pounds?" I can barely lift my self-esteem after a bad haircut. And they want me to lift 50 pounds? I can lift a bag of chips, does that count? And the emotional assessment they put you through is no joke. "How would you handle a difficult situation?" I'm thinking, well, if by "difficult situation" you mean convincing my grandma that the TV remote won't work if she points it at the refrigerator, then I'm your guy.
But hey, at least superheroes get capes and cool gadgets. As a caregiver, the only tool I have is a never-ending supply of patience, and let me tell you, it's running thinner than a razor blade.
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So, they handed me this list of potential caregivers, and it felt like playing the real-life version of "Guess Who." Is your caregiver wearing glasses? Does your caregiver have experience with dementia patients? Is your caregiver allergic to cats? I don't know, but I sure hope not, because Mr. Whiskers and I are a package deal. And then they ask, "What special skills do you possess?" Well, I can fold a fitted sheet, and I once successfully parallel parked on the first try. I should probably add that to my resume. But seriously, how do you measure the special skills required for caregiving? Can you handle a sassy senior? Check. Can you navigate a grocery store without getting lost? Double-check. Can you resist the urge to roll your eyes when someone asks where they put their own dentures? Eh, I'll work on that one.
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You ever notice how they make recruiting caregivers sound like some glamorous job? They call it "recruiting caregivers," like we're assembling an elite team of superheroes. I mean, I can barely recruit my friends to help me move a couch, and now they want me to recruit caregivers? And have you seen the job listings? "Looking for compassionate individuals to provide care and support." Translation: "We need someone patient enough to deal with your grandpa's 30-minute stories about how he used to walk to school uphill both ways in the snow."
But let's be real, being a caregiver is like being an unpaid therapist. You're not just helping someone get dressed; you're the emotional dumpster for their life stories. "Back in my day, we didn't have smartphones, we had carrier pigeons." Yeah, thanks for that valuable insight, grandpa. Maybe I should start charging by the therapy session.
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So, I applied for this caregiving gig, and they told me about the "flexible hours." Flexible hours my foot! It's more like, "Congratulations, you're now on call 24/7, and your phone better be glued to your hand." I thought flexible hours meant I could take a day off to binge-watch my favorite show or have a spontaneous trip to the ice cream parlor. But no, flexible hours mean being at the beck and call of someone who thinks it's an emergency every time they misplace their glasses.
And they say, "Must be available on weekends." I can't even commit to brunch plans, and now you want me to commit to weekends for an indefinite period? I'd rather commit to a Netflix marathon with my cat.
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