HYPOCRITE

(short story...parable...life...whatever)


The intervention was set up for a friday afternoon, 4:30 as I recall. The subject was a 35 year old wanna be rock star with a minor in retail sales. Apparently, over the past ten years he had tempered his failures as a rock star with a mix of drugs and alcohol, and that mix had finally caught up. But what do I care? I just get these families together and orchestrate a confrontation...a last resort sit down to convince the subject to pull his or hers head out of their ass. That pulling to be assisted by the agency I work for, a treatment center specializing in anal-cranial extractions for all manner of loser, lost soul, mid-life crisis victim. You name it, we'll crack it. For a price.
I show up 30 minutes early to meet the family members taking the circle...the circle of chairs. I got the wife, a pitiful doormat who probably has skeletons of her own...they just haven't started dancing outside the closet yet...pillhead I'm guessing. She's brittle as a fourblock of graham crackers, sweet and crumbly but you don't know how much of the block your gonna get when the pressure's on, I gotta watch her. Then there's his parents, decent folk who love the guy but never understood his passion for the rock and roll and forgot a long time ago the disparaging comments they made when he was starting out in high school, comments he has never forgotten. They greet his every morning like a thunder cloud. It used to be his inspiration to carry on but now, with middle age just around the corner, its a slap in his face. Then there's grandma ( sans grandpa, who died last year and supported the subject much to her shagrin ). And even though she loves him, I can be sure that anything she says will be filled to the brim with that overbearing guilt trip that is unique to grandmas.
I have to keep her in check, for me she is the wildcard. If I play her right, he's bagged. Then there's a couple of cousins who I can tell won't say much for fear of the subject revealing shit about them...it's a kind of familial give and take and nothing to worry about.
Then there's the friends...just like the subject, frustrated people...disatisfied people...talented people with secrets of their own, most of which are shared by the subject. I have to keep these people in check, focused on the concern for the subject lest they open themselves up for a defensive attack regarding their own bad habits from the subject. I need to keep the focus on the love and concern for their friend and not on the role they played in his descent (however direct or indirect) into hell. And I will call it hell...a lot. These people are all catholic...summoning hell is an effective tool.
The subject arrives 15 minutes late, he seems surprised, but not really, to see his family and friends gathered to potentially alter his life...I know he knows he's been fucking up and I play it to my advantage...after the introductory statement by me which is rote by this stage of the game, the subject thinks these people are gathered here by love and concern, and while that's partially true they just want the bullshit to stop. They want him right again, on track and focused like he used to be. And between my bullshit and the heartfelt statements of grandma ( wild card pays off!!! Yes!!!) and the (just to be honest) mamby pamby performances of everyone else involved, the subject admitted himself voluntarily to the hospital i freelance for. Yes! Score!
I know they'll be calling me again.
I rolled up at my house at 8:30 and walked inside, exhausted from my day of saving souls. In addition to getting the subject admitted to treatment, I single handedly empowered and convinced an entire family into thinking they had made a real difference. I had earned my commission.
I cracked a beer and sat down at the counter in my kitchen, and while I scratched out a line of meth on the mirror on the counter I thought to myself..."self...you are really good at what you do". And I am. Thirty minutes later I called my grandma, who backed me up.
I got a three o'clock tomorrow...heroin addict.
I need to make some phone calls...research you know.
Gotta understand those junkies...right?