How to Be Embarrassed Daily And Never Regret It

Note: Names have been changed to protect the guilty and innocent alike.

If you asked me about my most embarrassing moment, I initially might consider my first and only attempt at repelling in which I accidentally flipped upside down and caught the back pocket of my jeans on a rock, causing them to begin ripping in front of my fellow college service trip participants. However, I think my tales of frequent mild, social faux pas (or death by a thousand cuts) at the hands of my former clients with intellectual disabilities are much more interesting....and, strangely enough, these incidents made me cherish my job all the more.

I was employed at a day program for adults with intellectual and physical disabilities for over 20 years in the 1990's and early 2000's. Human service and non-profit organizations offer notoriously low pay, and all my supervisors had side hustles, ranging from retail sales to lifeguarding to a courier service. Moreover, a group home staff member informed me that she made the bulk of her money from bartending and not from her overnight shifts. Yet, as another residential staff person said, "Where else do I get paid to watch movies with 'my guys' and get hugs as perks???"

While I don't wish to paint a rosy picture of changing adult diapers and dealing with someone repeatedly trying to bite you or kick a friend, I would add that many of my clients' interactions with the community caused me to blush and laugh all at the same time.

First, I'll mention the trip to the YMCA. One small man, Albert, who especially liked the ladies, begged to go into the hot tub. I was thinking "petri-dish" and hoping he didn’t say something awkward to the attractive ladies there, assuring myself also that he was continent and the least likely one to urinate in the pool or hot tub. My supervisor made Albert a deal that we would take him into the hot tub once he did some exercises in the swimming pool. However, while were beginning the exercises, a tall, middle-aged female client decided her wet bathing suit was too uncomfortable and disrobed...right in front of the seven-year-old swim class! The children stared, open-mouthed, while my supervisor threw a towel over the nude woman and herded her into the locker room. My buddy said, "She took her clothes off!" and giggled once as I redirected him toward the hot tub.

I had another male client who was near and dear to my heart. Gomez loved science fiction, puppets, old black-and-white horror flicks, military history, old TV shows, and acting out scenes with "grumpy, old men." We had just received laptop computers for writing our reports and were encouraged to use them with the clients. Despite being visually-impaired enough to frequently miss the door to the men's room, Gomez repeatedly asked to watch a Zest soap commercial on You Tube. At first, I could not comprehend his fascination, but then it suddenly dawned on me. Despite being covered in G-rated soap bubbles, the commercial starred a beautiful, naked bathing lady. My forty-something-year-old client had tired of the Barney videos that his mother bought him and wanted something more risqué. Although my co-worker redirected him to videos of the various Bond girls, he also hounded me for "women's wrestling" magazines when we visited bookstores.

Gomez also loved police shows. At one point, a young police officer had come to our day program in response to a call about a broken window and possible vandalism. Our director invited him back into the program room to meet our clients. My friend approached the officer and started to feel for his guns. Alarmed, the officer put his hands over his weapons and pulled back. Gomez asked, "Your gun??"

"No, that's my taser," replied the officer, regaining his composure as he realized Gomez posed no real threat.

"You mean, like, for my eyes??"

Gomez had recently undergone unsuccessful laser surgery to try and improve his remaining sight and must have conflated the painful pulses of a taser with the healing capabilities of laser surgery!

I later arranged for Gomez to visit the local police station, and young Officer Castle gave us a wonderful tour, showing us the finger-print room, the holding cell, and the squad car. Gomez provided a running soundtrack to every police show he'd ever seen, yelling things like, "Book him, Danno!" in the fingerprint room. I reminded him that real police work is more like "Barney Miller,” filled with paperwork, as Gomez had an affinity for re-enacting conversations between Detective Fish and his wife, Bernice. The officer pulled the bars across us in the holding cell for a moment, and Gomez quickly exclaimed, "That's enough!' like an exasperated father. (On later tours the rules changed and the police were not allowed to close the cell door on a tour group.) Then we were taken outside where Officer Castle showed us the interior of the squad car. Besides the usual references to "Bad Boys," Gomez repeatedly asked the officer to sound the siren, but the young man politely declined and redirected us to the trunk of the police car, opening it to reveal more safety equipment, including a teddy bear for frightened children.

Gomez continued to demand that Officer Castle sound the siren, and the young man replied, half-smiling, "My sergeant would not like that. You'll get me in trouble!"

"Where is your sergeant now? Is he here??" Gomez asked, implying that the officer could sound the siren and get away with it if the sergeant were not in earshot! I blushed, embarrassed at Gomez's audacity, but laughed along with the officer.

After my disabled mother had passed away, and long after I had ceased working for the day program due to her care needs, I reconnected with Albert to invite him to attend church with me. His mobility had decreased so much that he now needed a wheelchair to get around, but I was able to transfer him into my car with a bear hug and place his folded wheelchair in my trunk. Albert loved "Jesus and Bible movies" and interacting at church but had trouble refraining from speaking out loud during the service. I supplied him with coffee to drink during the sermon to decrease his verbalizations, and, with encouragement from my pastor, he even attended a discipleship class with me and earned a participation certificate. Still, this congregation had many older, more conservative members, used to a quiet sanctuary, and I thought some might have trouble focusing with his frequent interruptions.

One Sunday a visiting pastor was about to speak to our congregation in an after-lunch meeting about a possible merger to save our financially failing church. I pushed Albert's wheelchair into the sanctuary, admonishing him to please be quiet, especially as we were sitting behind several "kitchen ladies" who worked very hard for the church but worried that a lack of decorum drove away visitors. The guest pastor explained that he preached to a younger, "seeker" audience and was not afraid to deal with topics such as sex and contemporary culture.

Albert usually caught snippets of the sermon and sometimes inquired later what "that priest guy" was saying, but I was never prepared for the next question he asked. Thoughts must have been lingering in his mind for a while and the pastor's words summoned them.

Albert said aloud, "Samantha, what's a condom??"

Shocked, I tried to regain my composure, wondering if anyone else heard the honest question. I quietly responded, "Can I answer that question later? After church is over?" Albert was satisfied with my response.

That aging, struggling church eventually closed, and I started taking Albert to my new church, a bigger, more diverse one with a loving, healing atmosphere. Although Albert had a hard time with the loudness of the worship band, he loved the music and his verbalizations were less troublesome to others in that atmosphere. The pastors and people generally welcomed his enthusiasm, and he regularly made the rounds, greeting many up and down the aisles on Sunday morning. Albert even requested to be baptized. Yet, I still found myself at times chuckling at his observations during morning worship.

One Sunday in 2019 the senior pastor asked everyone what they already knew about the rich young ruler who questioned Jesus about eternal life. Aware of current events, Albert called out, "He's Donald Trump!"

I looked across at amused, laughing faces and let out a guffaw myself. The humor was a fringe benefit of my privilege in sharing life with "my guys.”