I was secretly hoping that the office was going be arranged like the Freudian stereotype you always see in sitcoms. I was prepared to stroll into the office, lay down on the couch, contemplatively stare at the ceiling, and finally say “it was my mothers fault, and I really love my butt.” A great plan, sploiled upon entry to the modern counselling sanctuary belonging to David Crease. I forget the suffixes that go with his name, I think one of them means he’s social worker with a masters degree. Sadly, the neutral colors and relaxed lighting was exactly what I was expecting. The outdoor zen garden was a nice surprise though.

He led with asking “Do you know why you’re here Ms. Dawson?” The more important question was at what point his mommy stopped dressing him. Starched collars and that god awful yellow tie, I thought this was supposed to be a relaxing enviroment, loose the monkey suit dude. I’m going to have to spend the next three months on a couch convincing this putz that I didn’t assault that guy. He had already hit her, and was about to bash her head in and she ran off after I got between them. No one believes that this had nothing to do with the incident at the restaurant. Sure he yelled at me, but I wasn’t even his waitress, just another patron. But with the lack of another witness, the judge and jury believed I’d break two ribs and a nose over some misdirected hostility. Of course I know why I’m here, my lawyer is a schmuck.

We wasted half of the session talking about the comprehensive approach to anger management, and the other half creating the counsellor and patient bond. Gag me with a spoon. I just have to behave in the sessions and be a model patient and this nuisance will go away. He has a significant advantage over me, a file which only informs him of one side of the story. In reality I didn’t get to make a first impression, the file did that for me. At least I got to judge him on his clothing and demeanor, and oh did I ever. He’s definitely the overworked type. I’ll bet I can get pit stains out of him before he quits like the others.

I left him with a parting gift. “It was my mothers fault, and I really love my butt.”