two for the show

All in a day's work:

It's Saturday morning and I drive to a house in North Philadelphia to meet a subject (aka research participant) to interview. He greets me and we move into the dining area to sit at the table. The room is open and his siblings are playing Nintendo and watching TV. Five minutes into the interview I heard a noise, but dismiss it, thinking that it must be either the TV or the video game. Another ten minutes go by and I hear it again. This time I figure that it's probably the battery on my cell phone about to die. When I hear it a third time I stop and ask "Was that a rooster?" and the guy responds "Yeah."  He said it in a matter of fact tone, as if a hearing rooster in north Philadelphia is a common occurrence. "Oh," I said and proceeded with the interview, but the rooster chimed in again. "Where is it coming from?" I asked.  He told me that it belongs to the neighbors and that it just runs around in the yard. I tried to play it off, like everyone has a rooster in their yard. "A rooster," I said, "that is like the male version of a chicken, right?" "Yeah," he said. "Oh," I said, "so I guess they have it back there with a chicken for eggs or something or they eat it or whatever."  At that moment, his younger brother walked up to the table, holding both index fingers about five inches apart. "I just killed a mouse that was this big" he said. I thought to myself, maybe they need to get a rooster too. Then, I continued with the interview questions.  This is just one of the many reasons why I love my job.

  

The original chicken sandwich:

A few months ago my mom-mom (aka grandmom) went into a nursing home (I like to call it a long term care facility). Soon after, she began to complain about the food. I have done my best to visit once a week and bring her a meal so that she doesn't have to eat and overcooked turkey burger  with a side of red beets or something that resembles a sausage on a piece of bread with mystery red sauce. She has taken a liking to the original chicken sandwich from Burger King. In fact, now, that has become her only request on the evenings that I visit. My routine is as follows: drive to the Dunkin' Donuts across the street from the facility and get a small coffee with the cream on the side. Then, back across the street to the Burger King which is next door to her facility for the original chicken sandwich and a small order of fries. When I enter her room she is, wheeled up to the table and ready to go. As instructed, I pour half of the coffee into a plastic cup "you take that half" she says. Next, I cut the sandwich in half and take my end. We sit and talk and she gobbles down fries, telling me to "eat more" because she cannot finish them. Inevitably, at some point during the course of the meal she becomes distracted and I shove what's left of my sandwich into the bag. I have convinced myself that those calories and fat really don't count.

Half of the original chicken sandwich, a few fries, coffee in a plastic cup and a memory that will last forever.