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MUTINY AT MOUNTROCK (standard:humor, 1052 words)
Author: Gavin J. CarrAdded: Feb 16 2005Views/Reads: 2150/1227Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The residents of a care home get back at the abusive staff in a most unusual way.
 



I took another slice of toast from the rack and said, ‘pass the butter,
please.' 

O'Shea looked at me over his spectacles and crossed his arms in
disapproval. 

‘Now, Mr Pertwee.  I thought we talked about cholesterol last time.  You
know too much butter is bad for you.  Why can't you be like Mrs Dignon 
and take it with marmalade instead?' 

I looked at Mrs Dignon.  She was sucking her toast toothlessly, a smile
on her wrinkled lips. 

Goddam teacher's pet, I thought.  It was no wonder the bastards were
getting on top of us if people like Maureen Dignon did nothing to stand 
up to them. 

‘But I like butter,' I said.  ‘I've always taken butter on my toast. 
Don't you think sixty-nine is a bit old to be watching cholesterol 
anyway?' 

O'Shea took a seat beside me and leaned in close.  He was ingratiating,
a smiling assassin.  I wished, not for the first time, I was forty 
years younger and had the strength to punch him on the nose. 

‘Now, you know my motto, Mr Pertwee.'  It's never too late to pick up
good habits and never too soon to get rid of bad ones.' 

O'Shea was smiling his wide, smug smile, obviously well pleased with
this little bon mot.  His little “pearl of wisdom”. 

‘Where did you get that?' I asked.  ‘From a fortune cookie?' 

His face slackened as the smile slowly ebbed away.  ‘There's no need for
disrespect, Mr Pertwee.  Everything we do here at Mountrock is for the 
good of our residents.  We try our best to look out for you.' 

That irked me.  Sure, some of us were past it.  You only had to look at
old Mrs Winestock, dribbling her cereal down her chin to see that.  But 
I still had all my marbles, and I'd be damned if anyone was going to 
tell me what to do. 

We had talked about it in the sitting room the night before and agreed
that next time the management put on the thumbscrews we would make a 
stand.  But when I looked around the room now, all I could see was the 
thinning tops of resident's heads as they looked down at their 
breakfasts, trying their best to ignore what was going on. 

O'Shea removed the slice of toast from my plate.  ‘You won't be needing
that,' he said.  ‘Breakfast is over.  It's time for callisthenics now.' 


He took my arm, pinching the slack skin with his fingers.  ‘Come on, Mr
Pertwee, let's get you to the activity room.' 

‘Goddam it, leave me alone will you?!'  I tried to shake him off, but he
had a good grip and the attempt was pathetic.  An old-man's 
half-hearted effort.  I had no choice but to go along, tottering beside 
him like a stiff legged infant. 

O'Shea whispered to me as we left the sitting room.  ‘I've had just
about enough of you,' he said without moving his lips.  ‘The director, 
Mr Singh, will be here tomorrow to show the Care Committee around.  I 
know you're the main troublemaker here.  This place better be ticking 
like clockwork or you'll regret it!  Understand?' 

I didn't say anything.  Just scowled and tried to prise his fingers from
my arm. 

‘Understand?!' 

He twisted the skin, making me yelp.  ‘Yes!  Goddam-it.  Yes, I
understand.  Now let go, will you!' 

He released me.  ‘Get changed.  Callisthenics starts in fifteen


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