I told her how I had rescued my neighbor's cat only to come home and learn that my brother had been killed in action, how it precipitated my parents' divorce. I told her how I had started shooting up on a regular basis, how desperate for a hit I got, how I was discovered and sent to rehab--but not before the resulting effect on my grades got me thrown out of college. She let out a slight gasp (a bit unprofessional but for someone who looked like her I'd let it slide.) She asked in that throaty voice of hers what I sought to gain out of therapy and I said I wanted to find the strength to overcome my weaknesses and insecurities because addicts use substance abuse to communicate a desperate cry for help...right?
Okay. Before I go on any further I should probably tell you that nothing I said was true. See, I answered the want ad to role-play with up-and-coming counselors in short practice sessions figuring it was easy money since all I had to do was sit there and lie my ass off for half an hour. I started watching Real Housewives to get ideas because my story needed to be compelling so that I could convince the hot counselor to go out with me. However, when making up stuff proved to be a full-time job I decided to base my character on my roommate and the shouting matches he often had with his parents over the phone. I'd be trying to think up a good story and he'd be in the other room arguing with his mom about hoes and baby clothes so loudly that I couldn't think. What was I supposed to do? The guy was an absolute pain to live with.
I started engaging him in conversation, pretending to do homework while I actually took notes. "How's it going?" I'd ask. "I heard the fighting the other night." "You, know how parents are sometimes. Not the most accepting." I'd press further, "It sounded pretty heated." "Finances have a way of doing that." I noted that this would be yet another month I covered his rent.
There were a few days when he wouldn't give me very much but for the most part what he had to say was pure gold. I had to change some parts of course to enhance my appeal. Classified ads became the giving away of puppies, blood work became volunteering at a nursing home, nights looking at furniture catalogs became studious work to get back into school. "Poor thing," she said when I told her about getting laid off from from Subway because the boss wanted to hire his kid. She nearly grabbed my hand when I told her how my sister didn't think it was going to work out and I said that it was going to be alright. Her hand totally twitched.
I had the counselor (I don't know if Jeanne was her real name) hanging on my every word--and not just because that was her obligation. She was falling for me, I could tell. My plan was set. I'd tell her how my godfather-instead-of-distant-uncle passed on while I was laboring away at the home and she would start to cry and I would comfort her and take her out to dinner and she'd apologize for how unprofessional everything was and I'd tell her it was alright and we'd go for a walk in the park and kiss under the stars and I'd take her back to my place for a few drinks. I decided I'd omit the part about the inheritance.
Indeed there were a few tears. I pretended to be puzzled as I asked her what was wrong. "I'm sorry," she said, "I know this is unprofessional. It's just my husband recently lost his godfather also." "Would you like to talk about this over dinner or something?" She laughed, "No, that's alight. So, you're godfather passed away. How did that make you feel?" "You have a husband?"
I don't need to go into details about what happened next, how I had forgotten that all these sessions were being videotaped for grading purposes and how I got really angry and had to be dragged out of the room by other staff members--that two-timing...oh, what's the use? My roommate sure was giddy when I finally got back, going on about finding a new place and affording some operation and how things just sometimes work for the best--the hell they do. I was reassigned to a senior male counselor and was forced to do another eight weeks of sessions for free if I wanted to receive any of the money I had previously earned. So here I am. I suppose I should make up another story for you but frankly, I'm tired of all the bullshit.
Friday, April 6, 2012
As a Corollary to Robert Frost
A spider can't see the pallor of its own creation any more than the moth it catches. Each step is an act of faith.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
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