A Spanish Fire Drill

In the latter part of my career I was the Director of a new Alzheimer unit in a brand new facility in Overland Park, Kansas. The unit was beautiful. The program for the anticipated residents had been thoughtfully planned out. The paint, the furnishings, and lighting was designed especially for confused people with a special layout that would be easy for them to navigate in. The dining room was large and spacious, the living room was enormous and plenty of walking room which Alzheimer afflicted people require. There were game tables, spacious bedrooms with private showers. Everything that the experts and I could plan for had arrived and been put together by the maintenance people and the contractors. There was just one thing that I nor had anyone else had anticipated; Spanish speaking employees.
When the Unit was completely finished. It was time to put the linens on the beds. I had no idea that the staff did not speak English. I told them what to do, showed them where the linen closets were and left them to their duties so I could take care of other last minute things of my own before the new residents arrived the next day. I had a busy schedule that day, one thing that was very important was to run a mock fire drill to make sure the alarms were all working. The one thing that I didn’t do which I almost always did in the work place, was ask if anyone had any questions.
A short time later, I went back to the Unit to check on the staff; nothing was done. They were wandering around looking lost. I asked them why they hadn’t made the beds and put out the towels. I got an answer that I had not anticipated; all Spanish. They understood some hand gestures. So I had them watch me as I made a hospital bed and gestured for them to do the same. I put out towels and had them do the same. Things went smoother then.
That afternoon, I coordinated with the Maintenance Engineer that I wanted a Fire Drill to take place at one o’clock in the afternoon. What a disaster! The staff went round and around in circles looking absolutely scared to death. The alarm was very aloud. I started shouting orders to them. Then I remembered that they couldn’t understand me. I started slamming doors, throwing pillows outside the doors, pretending like I was getting the residents away from the fire. They looked at me like I was crazy. My last resort was to find someone that spoke Spanish. I did; the chef. He was very educated in both Spanish and English and the problem was resolved with much laughter on his part, not on mine.
The Spanish speaking staff were transferred to wings that had Spanish speaking residents and all went well from then on.