When I go to therapy, I make a grand assumption while sitting in the lobby. I like to assume that I am the sanest person in the room. As a result, I am mindful of two elements.
1. My own personal safety. Part of being mildly paranoid is that I am constantly prepared for hand-to-hand combat. I have run several worst-case scenarios over in my head for various situations. Possible carjacking at a red-light, a mugging in a grocery store, an irate driver in a road rage incident, an overpass collapsing right as I drive under it. (I admit I don’t have many escape options on that one….). I had a somewhat jarring and eye opening experience my first time in a psychiatrist office lobby years ago, and as a result, I have become somewhat cautious now, always performing an “ocular pat down” of all parties in the room as a result.
2. Treat others with respect and exercise emotional caution. For every mentally unstable individual with a touch of violent manifestations, there is an individual who is suffering with grief, anxiety, and fear in a way I cannot even begin to imagine. This is why when I am in my therapists waiting room, I am quiet, mostly still, and unobtrusive. I realize it takes very little to set off many individuals in the anxiety spectrum.
It is because of Reason 2, that my most recent therapy experience was blog-worthy. While waiting in the relative calm for my session, the lobby door opened with a vengeance and in walked a man I can only describe as Art Garfunkel with darker hair, and a weight and hygiene problem.
Now had he sat down and picked up Psychology today like the rest of us, all would have been well. Instead, he was followed by his young son who I can only imagine was ADHD of biblical proportions. Then again, this father looked like the kind who would let his 10-year-old son drink espresso in the morning, so that could have been it. This father and son pair looked like the kind that the Dad gets high and together they play Beatles rockband until first light, debating the merits of socialism versus libertarianism. I’m not trying to sound judgmental, just setting the mood. In other words, this dynamic duo was of the pretentious hippie variety. The worst kind….
After my first impression of this pair was formed, it did not surprise me that these two were in “talk therapy”. It’s a very hip trend among the “self-actualized”, and I applaud them. Where I draw the line is simple…Sir, I can handle the half dreadlocked, half permed hair, the unkempt beard, and the pit stains on your polo. I can even rationalize the juxtaposition of your slovenly dress and your transportation being the svelte black BMW you just stepped out of. What I cannot, and will not tolerate, is you opening the door to this professional office park building and walking in…BAREFOOT! No Sir!
You then proceeded to sit down, stand up, and pace the room no less than 4 times, apparently looking for a bathroom, though the sign was posted clearly on a door you never entered. You then went in and out of the office 4 times, going back to your car for a magazine, then a book, then God knows what. Because it was raining, you left your muddy footprints on the tile floor each time…again…BAREFOOT…in an OFFICE BUILDING! This isn’t your tree house, living room, or the mudhut you built in your backyard for your existential “time-outs”. The same instinct that told you to put your pants on this morning, tried to finish the job but you just didn’t listen. This is a place of professionalism. For those who suffer from anxiety, germ-related OCD, feet or hippie phobias, or like me, are nearly driven mad by idiots, you have created a perfect storm. You Sir, owe me one hundred bucks because I just wasted my therapy session on you and your feet.
Annoying right?....Then again….it could just be me….
