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November 12, 2004
Funny Thing Happened to Me at the Clinic
There is nothing like going to the mental health clinic for one's self-esteem. Last time, just being there for a visit or two was enough to convince me that I did not really need to be there. This time I am determined not to leave without getting a prescription for some SSRI's.
A pretty looking blonde does her paperwork as far away as possible from anyone else. I feel for her.
I pick up the paper work to be completed from the tall (even when seated) receptionist. As I fill it out, a brunette mother with short brown hair fills out paperwork while her two blonde daughters play with the vertical blinds, bunching them up, releasing them, and generally squealing and gurgling the way a seven and a five year old do. Both of them are wearing pink pants. Mom is there, I suspect, as we all are, to get a prescription or get a prescription renewed. She reprimands one of the daughters: "The way you are playing with them is bad. The way Hildy is playing with them is OK." I can't tell any difference in how they are playing with the vertical blinds.
Mom goes to the counter to explain her situation to the receptionist, as the daughters push Mom's patience. "Hildy, don't leave." As mom explains the goods her psychiatrist at the U. of Iowa gave her seem to be working, the older daughter smacks Hildy right in the mouth. Hildy begins to wail, genuinely traumatized by her sister. Mom tells the abusive daughter to sit down, and picks up Hildy to comfort her. Meanwhile, the older daughter doesn't sit down but rather begins to cry, or I should say, fake cry, because it sounds totally phony. Rather than sob like her little sister, a quiet, high-pitched whine emanates from her. She stands close to her mom, putting her forehead into Mom's hip.
"I'm so sorry." says Mom to the receptionist.
"I have two daughters myself."
While this is going on, a tall handsome woman with short spiky black hair comes out of the offices to (I assume) schedule a return appointment. After the mom is done at the desk, I submit my paperwork. The blonde will have to wait, since I have been there before and my paperwork will go faster. As I turn to pick up my grip, the spiky haired woman flashes me an ever so sly grin.
In the vestibule at the front of the building, Mom coaxes the older daughter: "Now I really want you to apologize to Hildy, so we can put this all behind us." Yeah right.
Posted by Underblog at 1:02 PM | Comments (2)