HMTHS – Henry Goes to Therapy
November 18, 2008
The Mack Truck attempts to answer his critics, who have asserted that he needs “professional help.” Henry visits a professional, but it doesn’t go as he had planned.
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Uh oh…oh boy…we’ve got a live one here. Speaking as a “real” therapist, I sense I should treat this latest episode a bit delicately. Henry my boy, first I must commend you for your courage in attempting to take it to one of us professionals, ill equipped though you may be.
Nevertheless, I admire you for confronting your shame secret i.e. your demons about the “little piggy with the microphone” and the matter of the missing muscle mass where mass should be. Yet despite your apparent conversion reaction as evidenced by your dissociation and catatonia when your shrink asked you about your mommy, you still blasted through your impasse at the end of the session at which point I must say your therapist did a fine job of attuning to your mood and sensitivities…fine chap…that. Oh, and you weren’t too bad either.
However, your valiant attempt to get into our nerves failed a bit miserably. I like you Mr. Mc Truck, so I’m going to give you some unsolicited advice pro bono. If you really want to “bring it on” with your therapist, prior to and during your upcoming second session, here are some insider tips if you really want to frost a shrink:
1. Minutes before your next session call him up and tell him you just got a call and someone dropped a couple of Dodger tickets in your lap, for free, and then shore up the coup by telling him that “if the Dodgers win this game it means they’ll only be 2 games out of second place, so it’s a no-brainer that I won’t be making our session tonight”. Tell him what a great therapist he is so that you’re sure he won’t have any trouble finding some sod to fill the appointment time. He’ll love you for that.
2. The next time you actually are at a session, live and in person, spend the first 43 minutes chit chatting about meaningless drivel, and then with 2 minutes remaining drop a bomb…you know…that by the way since you saw him last week your dog was killed by a cement truck, “and did I tell you that my parents were on that commuter plane that went down over the Grand Canyon?” Then sob uncontrollably for the next 45 minutes non-stop and watch that sucker squirm as he keeps looking at his glowing call light knowing his next patient is probably about to abandon him, and possibly never return. That’s a good one Henry.
3. At your next session, see if you can sit on his couch instead of that chair. If his couch is somewhat thread worn as mine is, while you’re talking and really into a subject that he dare not interrupt you during, see if you can locate a loose thread sticking out of his couch, and subconsciously yank on it and twirl it around one of your fingers, and keep on working it, all the while staring him directly in the eyes while conveying “don’t you dare interrupt me or distract me from finishing what I’m saying”. Oh yeah…go through as much premium kleenex as you possibly can. There isn’t a therapist alive who would ever let you know that it’s bugging the shit out of him, and all he can think about is his deteriorating budget and that recent over the top vacation he took that he can’t really afford. That’s a good one too Henry.
4. And finally, for the coup de grace, at the very very end of the session when it’s time to pay him, fiddle around searching and searching for your checkbook, in your pockets, your backpack, your briefcase, your pouch, in between the seats of the couch, in the waiting room, and then never be able to find it… or find it and then take your sweet time writing out your check well into his next session, chit chatting all the while about meaningless drivel.
Or, better yet, regarding your checkbook, even better than discovering that you’re out of checks…tell him that you think your dog ate it!
Henry, for your own well-being, I’m not going to address the “shoe camera” at this time. That will have to be discussed at another session.
Comment by Help Us All — November 19, 2008 @OK Henry, it’s been a couple of days since you spooked your shrink and sent him reeling from your frontal assault, clearly showing him who’s boss. Alas, it wasn’t your best hair day.
As promised I will now address the “shoe camera” issue, but I wanted to give you a few days to come down from your florid psychosis and allow you time to adjust to the Haldol or Zyprexa I’m certain you were given, lest my feedback destabilize you further thus leading to additional decompensation.
If I recall correctly, the last person to monkey around with his shoes and achieve infamy was Richard Reed, the so called “shoe bomber”. Really Henry…a shoe camera? Do you have any idea what would happen if you tried to go through an airport wearing that…thing? What were you thinking? Or maybe you’re actually some kind of genius, since there is a fine line between creativity and insanity, and Henry my boy, you are certainly treading on thin ice between the two!
On a personal note, I must tell you that I appreciated that when you became unnerved about all that mommy stuff, unlike a lot of people you didn’t start squirming or tapping your foot, or it would have been “The Blair Witch Project” all over again and I would have been hurling my cookies just like I did all over the cinema multiplex, and just remembering that brings my stomach up into my throat. No offense but I’m sort of glad that your defense mechanism leans towards freezing up instead of spazzing out, although I’m not sure that’s the better adaptation for you in the long run.
Be that as it may, can you tell me where I can get one of those nifty shoe cameras?
Comment by Help Us All — November 21, 2008 @