I had gone my entire young life without ever seeing a live Elvis Impersonator until these past four months, over the course of which I have seen two separate Elvis Impersonators.
The first Elvis Impersonator was at our new office's opening party in May. It was about as strangely awkward as I could have imagined. One minute I was at the make-shift bar getting a glass of Cabernet (I've fooled my coworkers into thinking I drink liquids classier than Pabst Blue Ribbon), the next minute an Elvis Impersonator walked out of the elevator and lo and behold Elvis had entered the building in all of his hip-shaking glory.
It was the kind of hokey fun that lasts thirty minutes and then proceeds to get old very quickly.
The second fake-Elvis sighting occurred over this past weekend, while I was visiting my Grandmother in the nursing home. My mother and I walked in to the building atrium to find, sitting next to a flight of stairs, a gaggle of elderly residents (and yes, gaggle is the correct term) clapping along to a life band complete with Elvis Impersonator.
My mom and I joined my Aunt Denise and my Grandmother on the balcony overlooking the band. After the initial shock had worn off of seeing fake-Elvis teasing the old ladies with a scarf, my Aunt asked us to take a moment and appreciate the vocal quality of our Elvis Impersonator.
He was quite possibly tone deaf. The higher notes, while valiantly attempted, were beyond the poor guys range. In short he was terrible. To the point of comically terrible. But seriously, really really bad.
While watching my Grandmother, a captive in her own wheelchair grimacing at every false note of quite possibly the worst rendition of "Suspicious Minds" anyone's ever heard, I felt very very sorry for her and I wondered what sort of fate awaits me in the nursing home of the future.
I see an old, morbidly obese Nat Topping eating a turkey leg, restricted to a wheel chair, beard down to his stomach, while cursing the existence of some future technological device. He will be known as the one the nurses draw straws for in resistance to his bi-weekly bath and frisky hands. His only joy will come from dominating his fellow community elders in war trivia and checkers.
And he will be sung to by a gaggle of Creed impersonators.
Post a Comment