Hi all. I’m a staff member at Better Days retirement service. Posting this puts me at risk of termination…more than one way. But I’ve worked there for years. Things changed quickly, but I found this letter from a sweet old man. I hope to help him by publishing it. Without wasting more of your time with me, here is Mr. Greene’s letter.
After I left the military, I put in 40 years of labor into the railroad company. I always paid my union dues, worked my hardest, and spent as much time with my family as I could. That part has me a little bitter. My family threw me in here rather than caring for me, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother any way.
I finally retired and was set to buy an RV to tour the national parks and visit the grandchildren that were in various parts of the country. The day before I was to deliver my deposit, I took a nasty fall off a ladder helping my elderly neighbor with her roof. I wasn’t fully disabled, but it was clear I’d never be at full capability again.
Rather than hiring contractors to make my house handicapped friendly, I let my kids talk me into checking out retirement homes. They brought pamphlets and showed me video ads: most of them just looked like a waiting room to die in, but I found a suitable one called Better Days: luxury retirement village. Each resident got their own condo. There was a pool, a recreational center, and a golf center for the yuppies. All of the staff and residents seemed friendly, and there was a recent opening.
I enjoyed the first couple weeks. I cruised around the village in my own golf cart, attended some pot lucks, watched the churches come preach/sing, and spent most of my time fishing with other old men. But the dynamic vibe changed closer to the end of the month. People started looking down and refusing to make eye contact. I was laying on my couch watching an MLB game when I got the call for a mandatory bingo night. An employee would come round us all up for the outside group hosting the event. I splashed on some cologne, threw on a polo shirt, and hopped on the limo style golf cart and was disappointed nobody wanted to talk. Perhaps bingo night would change the dreary atmosphere.
As we sat in our chairs, a man came up front in a red hooded robe. Funny, I thought. This isn’t October, no Halloween yet. There were multiple men in pure white scrubs.
“Hello you old decrepit wastes of space. It’s everyone’s favorite night of the month. B-I-N-G-O”, he spelled out. “BINGOOO”, he yelled as his cronies cheered and clapped. “Since we have a new old man, let me go over the rules. I’m the director of New Life solutions, we visit all retirement homes in this area and help…make space. We’re gonna do three rounds of Bingo. Do not cheat, there will be grave consequences if so. Don’t tell your families. We have an Orwell camera style system in your rooms and we also scan your mail. Plus they don’t want you anyways, that’s why you’re here”, he giggled with his henchmen.
I wanted to laugh. That was until I noticed the solem look on everyone’s face. I went to stand up but felt two cold heavy hands on my shoulders.
“Ah ah ah sir. I know this is your first time, so let’s let you sit out round one so you can catch up to speed”
“Round one. B-7”, he hissed. People began dotting their boards. The staff snaked up and down the aisles, palming their hands together, eyes squinting, chuckling. After ten minutes, a lady shouted “BINGOOOOO” extremely happy. That was the first smile I had seen in days. The staff verified her card.
“Very Well Mrs. Sigmon. You’re exempt from the remaining rounds. Kindly step outside and one of your caretakers will take you back to your condo”.
“Mr. Greene, is it”,he asked me. “I think you understand the game well enough now. Please sit so we can begin round two”.
I sat down and we started the second game. My card quickly filled but never a row worth. All of a sudden, there was a gasp, “right here boss. We got a bingo”. Mr. Filtch hung his head low, he didn’t look happy like Mrs. Sigmon did.
“Mr Filtch, come on up and collect your prize”. Old man Filtch went up and stood in front of the hall. The director put his hand in the bag of prizes and pulled out a cane. “Oh not as fun as last months”, the director said. “Oh well, we will make do”.
He proceeded to whack Mr. Filtch on the back of the the neck with the cane. Filtch screamed. Instinctively, I tried to stand up. A staff member without hesitation, ran a pair of scissors into my legs, sitting me back down. “Mr. Greene, please refrain from interfering with the game. Consider this your only warning. Someone fetch him a towel so he doesn’t stain the floor”. My leg throbbed as I wrapped the towel around and applied pressure.
He began to beat Filtch savagely, bruising him and busting an eye socket. Eventually, the old man collapsed on the floor, convulsing. “Well Mr. Filtch is too damaged to play round three. Have a nurse escort him to the medical Wing and tell his family he fell down the stairs on visitation day”.
“Alright. Time for my personal favorite round. Round 3. The execution round”, he shouted as he drug his finger across his throat. With my leg in pain and my jeans sticking to me leg, I sat there breathing heavily with cold sweat freezing my body.
“B-9”, he called. Shit
“N-47”. Damn, there’s another. Two for two, in the same row
“N-51”. What’s with this guy, he’s coming for me.
“G-60”. There’s another on a separate row.
While the game likely only took ten minutes, it felt like hours. I was woozy from the blood loss. The only thing stopping me from passing out was the very real fear of dying. I prayed my numbers wouldn’t be called. Sometimes it work, sometimes it didn’t. I kept getting hit. I only had one left in a row outside of the scattered dots on my bird. I-27.
I felt the ball roll down the spiral loop and heard the directors lips part as his rolled out. “I-Twentyyyyyy”. My stomach was coming out of my throat and I could see a staff member head towards me to run his fingertip on the back of my neck.
“Ssssssss” oh God. This is it. I’m dead.
“Iiiix”. My heart stopped a second. I let out the gasp of air that I thought would be my last. I was safe…for now
“Bingooooooooo” shouted from a staff member. The old man next to me slammed his head on the desk and cried. The staff snatched him despite his protests and resistance. They sat him in a chair in front of us all and restrained him.
The director came behind him and placed both hands on his shoulders. “You know the rules everyone. Let’s watch as we let Mr. Lewis finally retires”.
The director pulled out a grocery bag and wrapped it around his head. The pour man winced and jerked like a fish out of water as he suffocated. He nearly broke the chair in his attempt to escape. When the bag was removed, he was dead. Head hung low. They cut his restraints and he just plopped on the floor.
“Very well, you vermin”, coughed the director. “We’re off to new beginnings nursing home down the road. We will be back next month. Please return home”.
We all went back to our condos. I wasn’t able to sleep a wink. Please keep your loved ones out of these homes. I’m not sure which ones play this game. I don’t know how else to help, or escape, or fight back. I managed to write this out and hope that the right person picks it up to type out my message. Perhaps a helpful staff member here at Better days.