11
"Do you often think about sex?" The advertisement blared from the page. Joe turned over the cover to find the volume tab. Sure wish the ads weren't so loud, he thought. Especially in these supposedly serious scientific journals. But if you mute them, the animations become more rapid and the colors wilder, more garish.The image was a voluptuous younger woman in a doctor's frock - or something like that. And it was an ad for some version of suppressant that would keep you focused on whatever you were actually supposed to be doing.
I don't think she could actually close that frock if she wanted to, Joe mused. He turned the page and found another over-scintillating ad and finally closed the magazine, watching the colors fade from the inner pages as the back cover animations started up. Sighing, he put his robe over it so the room would go back to the quiet pastel green and quit moving in beat to that magazine.
"You can just put them back in the holder and they'll quit. That lets them recharge as well." The middle-aged woman in the doorway smiled wryly. "Takes some getting used to. But it's like the old phrase, 'a place for everything and everything in its place.'"
Noting his surprise, she stepped into the room and extended her hand, "Hi, I'm Pamela, and I'm the Wing Hostess. I'm here to make sure you find everything you need." With that, she walked over to his bedside, pulled the robe and magazine off the bedside table. Magazine went into the holder, robe on to its nearby hook.
Joe shook her hand politely and found himself relieved to find someone who dressed conservatively. She did manage to exude a bit of professional confidence, just enough color in her blouse to be attractive, yet not stand out more than she needed. Probably calculated to be easy to find among the nurses and doctors here, he thought.
"I hope you've found the briefing sheet, but I'm here to go over it so you understand all you can do. The point is to make this stay as pleasant as we can to make your stay enjoyable. Our point is healing, and everything is aligned to the holistic betterment of all known and unknown discomforts," Pamela said in a well-practiced, even tone.
"Sounds almost more like a luxury hotel than a hospital," Joe remarked.
"Some enjoy it that way. But they heal faster if they are surrounded by a pleasant, supportive environment. There's more to healing than just pills and bandages, you know."
Pamela came closer to Joe's bedside and leaned against it while she fished the laminated sheet out of the magazine holder. As she did, it flashed to life with colors and motion. Joe noted the warmth coming through her jacket as she leaned against him, the pleasant fresh-soap smell coming from her clothes and hair.
"Our job is to make your stay here as homey as we can," Pamela continued, pointing to sheet in Joe's hand. "Here, for instance is the entertainment center, where you can watch your regular TV shows, whether you prefer to do this privately or with a group. Lot's of people think sports games are better experienced with a crowd than alone. Others find that when watching a docu-drama, they can get distracted from the plot and action if too many others are present. And some simply prefer to shift past the commercials or keep track of several programs at once - which others could find annoying."
Joe nodded, understanding her as if she were reading his mind. Too often TV was just slow and tedious for all practical purposes. Games could be noisome affairs, especially if you were rooting for the losing side. Ads were best used to shift over to another show and pick up what was happening and then shift back. But Joe knew others didn't share his cursory approach and would rather completely involve themselves with the story - as if they were living it in that instance.
"And to keep you fit, here's how you get to the Exercise Center, where you can also join in any group activities like aerobics or simply work out, either under a trainer's supervision, or on your own." Pamela then turned the card over. "Now, here is a map of the building and how to get to where you want to go. This," she unclasped a small card," is a locator, which will act like a personal GPS. Just program in your destination and then clip it to your gown or robe. It will beep if you take a wrong turn. Glance at it and you'll see an arrow pointing to where you wanted to wind up."
"Well, that's quite something. Always thought we'd have it some day." Joe was honestly surprised.
"And if you need help for any reason, you can just press and hold it and someone will come to help you. Of course that's mostly for our residents with more extreme physical conditions. Those three smaller areas at the bottom can be pressed for special needs: red will get a nurse to call you through the nearest intercom, yellow gets the nearest aide, and blue will get me - or one of my assistants if I'm off duty." Pamela ended her talk by looking right at me and quickly stood up and away a polite distance, a slight flush on her cheek.
"I hope you find everything satisfactorily and I do hope to help you some time in the future." At that, her beeper went off. While she looked at the display, "But I'll be back again this evening after dinner to check on you and how you're doing. Got to run, sorry." She smiled at this, which was right on cue as she left the room.
Joe found himself still admiring her smile seconds later, much as the Cheshire Cat left that grin behind.
Shaking his head, he looked down at the pulsing briefing sheet in his hand and then replaced it in the magazine holder.
That's certainly enough for this morning, he thought. Suddenly tired, he shrugged down deeper into his soft bed and pulled the covers over him, soon drifting off to sleep.
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