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"I'll try my hardest to live up to the Administrator's expectations," Louie said, zealously.

"You're new to this business, aren't you?" asked Julia. "Jerome Overholt is a lot of hot air. I don't care what's printed on his office door, Evelyn runs this nursing home. This place should be called, Mullen-Saunders instead of Mullen-Overholt," stated Julia, with a high degree of conviction in her voice. "Don't forget to 'Smile,'" she repeated, shaking her tightly curled black hair indignantly. "For shame! Why, I've never seen him smile at anyone in all the time I've worked here!"

"Quiet!" hushed Louie, looking side to side for his boss. "He might hear you."

"Let him!" replied Julia. "It might do him some good!" Louie wisely changed the subject and went about his work in Room 4, the room next door to Julia, who worked in Room 3.

Each nursing assistant was responsible for one room; each room housed five residents; each resident had a bed, bed table, a yellow dividing curtain for moments of privacy, and a small chest at the foot of their bed that stored a few personal belongings. The white block walls were barren, save for an old print of Christ praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.

Louie had left Room 4 for only a few minutes, and upon returning, found two men discussing something very seriously. Contrary to the idea of privacy that the yellow dividing curtains suggested, in reality, there is no privacy in a nursing home. Louie quietly continued to work, though everyone in the room could clearly hear the conversation.

"It's the third bedsore in six months," said one man, obviously in an agitated state.

"Talk to the nursing assistant," suggested the other man, in a patient voice.

"It's no good, Adam. They're lazy and don't want to work. I see them all the time in the Break Room, just lying around! Why doesn't Jerome hire someone who wants to work?" the frustrated man asked. "My dad needs to be repositioned every other hour, and he needs to drink more fluids if he's ever going to get rid of these bedsores!" Adam quietly listened, and as he did, he noticed someone new was working Room 4.

"Excuse me," said Adam, walking over to where Louie was working, "are you the new nursing assistant?" Louie was at first hesitant to answer, half afraid of admitting that he was and being blamed for the condition of the father of the angry man. But Adam's voice was friendly, and had no tone of reproach in it. Louie could not help smiling.

"Yes, I'm Louie Tucker," he replied, shaking Adam's hand.

"I'm Adam Clark, and this is Greg McCain, Terry McCain's son-- one of your residents," said Adam, gesturing to where a white haired gentleman was asleep in Bed 1. Louie nodded a "hello" to Greg, and Greg nodded a "hello" to Louie, both unsure what to think about the other. "I wonder if you could help us," explained Adam, trying to choose his words carefully. "You see, Greg's father has a bedsore. It seems he hasn't been repositioned often enough. I know you're schedule is very busy, but could you help Greg's father switch positions in bed every once in a while? He is so weak, and has a hard time doing it himself," finished Adam, waiting to see what the new nursing assistant's response would be.

"People who stay in bed for lengthy periods of time must be repositioned every two hours, or they will develop pressure sores," explained Louie, quoting almost word-for-word his instructor. "I'll see to it that Mr. McCain is taken care of," reassured Louie, more to Adam than to Greg.

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