I awoke repeating the name of the clinic where I once worked as a substance abuse therapist, the private methadone clinic. The name of the clinic was actually initials, and none of the counselors who worked there ever knew what those initials stood for. The closest explanation I ever got for them was that the building/company had been incorporated at one time and when ownership changed, the initials remained. Ok, so was it initials of people? There was never a time to push harder for more information. I remember reaching for anything that would make sense.
Maybe my slow leak has reached other pockets of crap, long repressed.
What a time that was. What a job!
My son was just a baby at the time, so it was about 8.5 years ago when my daily scrutiny of the classifieds finally paid off. I don't recall the exact ad, but I do remember that it was teeny and said very little. It read something like "Drug counselors needed. Call 555-555-5555." I did. And I got an interview. I was told to bring my resume and was given the address. I was so excited.
I had searched in vain for a job in my field for six months! Apparently counseling jobs in the substance abuse field are few and far between in Georgia...
When I arrived, I walked through the door and was instantly confused. Was I in the right place? It didn't look like any doctor's office or therapist's office I had ever seen before. People would walk through the door and line up behind one another, with the line leading to another room which I was unable to see from my vantage point. There was a tiny seating area with a couch and two chairs and a coffee table. A strange-looking woman with a tiny dog was seated at a Queen Anne-style desk. She said she would let the doctor know I was here and that I could wait on the couch. Dana was her name, she said. She told me the Yorkie's name, but I can't quite call that name up. Ankle-biter works for me. Dana, as it turned out, had some odd tics, tics that one could see (with her neck and head) and tics that one could hear (she sounded exactly like a dolphin to me, with very audible clicks and rattles).
In a snap judgment I decided that Dana was a receptionist with serious side effects from drugs, which was how she had been recruited for the job. I couldn't have been more wrong.
From time to time I noticed a very large (tall and obese) person walking to and fro. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, as the hair was cut in a bowl shape. The person wore no makeup, sweat pants, a long sleeved University of Georgia tee-shirt and tennis shoes, untied (presumably because the fat feet crammed inside the shoes and spilling out over the top of them would cause the shoes to explode if they had been tied). To give an idea of the person's facial features and hair, I would have to say that the closest comparison would be Bruce Jenner, but a very fat and very tall Bruce Jenner. This person walked with a purpose, so I guessed he/she was a counselor. I was aghast, however, at the appearance. What sort of work ethic was that? The person seemed to have an oddly shaped chest, giving the impression of either huge, saggy breasts or .... well, huge, saggy man boobs.
I was called to the back and interviewed by, as it turned out, the nurse. Nurse Goochy, as in "goochy goochy goo." She looked over my curriculum vitae and said that I couldn't work there because the federal rules which governed methadone clinics required that each person working there have at least a full year of experience. But I was fresh out of school! My face fell and my heart sunk. "You have beautiful eyes," she said, out of the blue. [I'm not sure why I remember that....it's strange how the mind works].
She ushered me down the short hall toward "Dr. Blunt's office," past a very official but tiny room. I saw an examination table, stainless steel counter and sink, and a few other clinic-type items. The doctor's office was tiny, with a large, disorganized desk, a computer server to the left of the desk on a black metal shelf, and some photographs. I felt nervous. Would he be nice? Would he say I couldn't work there because of my lack of experience?
I sat for what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only 5 minutes or so. The fat Bruce Jenner walked in. I don't think I breathed for a few minutes. I was not expecting THIS person to be Dr. Blunt. What kind of doctor walks around dressed like that?? Where was his white lab coat? He shook my hand as he was sitting down - a huge, meaty, sweaty hand. "I'm doctor Blunt," he said, in a strange voice. For a man that large I expected an equally large and deep voice. His voice was, in fact, affected somehow, not quite effeminate, but definitely not masculine either.
After a brief discussion about my vitae and training and very little experience, he shook his head as he explained as Nurse Goochy had, "We need a year of experience to comply with the guidelines." With nothing to lose at this point I raised my voice and said defiantly, "Well if no one will give me a job, how can I get EXPERIENCE? I want this job and I would be good at it." And with that, he stood up, which was my que to stand and follow him out - out the door and out of a job. Instead, he said, "Well let's show you around first."
And then I knew that I had won him over and that I would indeed have this job - the job of my dreams. He explained that the salary was "only $26,000," to which I eagerly nodded. I was fresh out of graduate school with two babies - $26,000 seemed like a fortune to me at that moment, and besides, this was MY DREAM JOB....
I can't recall how or exactly when I learned this, but I soon learned that he, that is Dr. Blunt, was a SHE. Yes, folks, you heard right. Courtesy of a sex change at some unknown time prior to my meeting her, he became a she. I also learned that she (I was never really comfortable calling him a her) had been a naval pilot and was a psychiatrist. Oh - and Dana the receptionist? She was the doctor's "partner" and was a counselor. Dr. Blunt was a man and became a woman and now called herself a lesbian. It just got better and better....You can't make this shit up....
She also had a fuse the size of an amoeba. She would often violently spew at any and everyone - cursing at us all until we quivvered in fear. Some were actually reduced to tears during staff meetings. And the oddly shaped chest? It was oddly shaped because she had ginormous breasts which she loved to let hang free. I'm pretty sure they reached her waist. I guess wearing a bra after some 30-40 years of not wearing one never did catch on - even though there was a clear and obvious need for one. I'm attributing all of this to hormone therapy, which he/she/it must have been taking to achieve womanhood - as if a few pills and surgery could create a complete woman out of a man.
And oh, but I have barely scratched the surface of that job and those memories.
Pppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttttttt
Yes, it's leaking, and it feels good.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned
I know it sounds absurd but please tell me who I am
I said now watch what you say
or they'll be calling you a radical, a liberal, a fanatical,
criminal.
Now won't you sign up your name,
we'd like to feel you're acceptable,
respectable, presentable, a vegetable.....
The Logical Song - Supertramp
*names have been changed*
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