Things changed at the nursing home after The Treatment became common. You'd think that afterwards everybody would just go home, seeing as they were more likely to break their ankle falling out of a tree than break their hip in a shuffleboard accident. People are creatures of habit, though, and those bodies of twelve year olds still had octagenarian minds, and a lot of them had gotten mighty used to creamed corn and activity time. Their insurance usually covered it anyway, so management let them stay on.

So the big things stayed the same, but lots of little things didn't. The Treatment had side effects, because of the new hormones washing around. There were food fights at dinner time. People started watching Pokemon after The Price is Right. A lot of the old girls started putting away their old Sinatra albums in favor of NSYNC CDs; I'm not really sure that part was an improvement.

It's our job to keep things running here, and so long as the Medicare checks keep coming in, we'll do exactly that. I'm not sure how long I'll keep working here, though, some of the geezers are beginning to hit puberty again, and things aren't gonna be pretty when that becomes wide-spread. It's not such a big deal to chaperone Great-Aunt Mildred on her second first date, but they don't pay me enough to police the sleeping areas on graveyard shift with a flashlight to keep the kids from sneaking in and out. If I wanted to work at a summer camp, I would have applied there, instead of an old folks home.


This nodeshell liberated for the good of the proletarian masses

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