"Miss?" (I get called "Miss" and "Ma'am" and occasionally "Sir" a lot. I also answer to "Hey You".)
"What can I do for you?" I yelled as I walked into the room.
"Well, can you help me with this?" they asked, plucking at their hospital gown.
It, and they, were covered in chocolate pudding.
And then they started laughing. Uproariously.
"I kept trying to rub at it and it just kept getting bigger and bigger." More laughing.
About fifteen minutes later, they were clean, dry, wearing a new hospital gown and had clean sheets on the bed.
"You know," I said, "we have a bathtub here. Next time you want to bathe in chocolate pudding, let us know and we'll fill it up for you."
They started laughing again.
"Can I help you?" I asked, preparing to get behind the resident's wheelchair and give them a push.
"Oh, just destroy me," they said, disgruntled.
"Destroy you?" I asked. "I don't get paid to do that. That's an extra charge."
"Oh..." they said. And then they started giggling.
"Can I give you this vitamin before you run off?" I asked, handing the resident a glass of water.
They laughed. "I can guarantee you one thing: I ain't gonna be runnin' nowhere."