Getting Home

Me: Hey Patron! Did you find that book you were asking about?

Older Patron: I did, thank you! Now I need to rush rush because I have an appointment in 20 minutes.

Me: Let’s do it.

Older Patron: … I’m a little discombobulated. How do I get back to [nearby apartment building] from here?

Me: When you go out the front door, that’s Vine street. On your left is 19th, and on your right is 20th. You want to go…

Me: …are you okay?

Older Patron, trying to follow along: I’m not sure what that means.

Older Patron: I’m sorry. I’m not… I’m starting to lose some of my cognitive abilities. I get disoriented easily.

Me: No worries! I’ll get old too someday. Hopefully.

Older Patron: No, it’s not just age, it’s… my father was sharp as a tack until he died at 102. I’m only 70, and I didn’t take after him that way.

Me: oh.

Older Patron: So… I know it’s on [Nearby street].

I look out the window and it’s snowing. Visibility isn’t great. Someone who gets disoriented shouldn’t be out there alone.

Me: Let me grab my jacket. Coworker, watch the desk for me?

And so I walked Patron back to their apartment building. It’s only a few blocks away. Patron made it home okay, and I contracted a case of the warm fuzzies. And then I thought about a sentient person being aware of their own mind decaying, and I’ve been disturbed ever since.