He
rocks back and forth. His pinpoint pupils stare out, but it isn’t quite certain
their point of focus. He runs his fingers through his disheveled hair and
mumbles. “Why? Why? Why can’t it do what I want?” He grabs the orderly by the
collar.
“Take
it easy, friend. What seems to be the problem?”
“Why!
Why can’t it do the simplest of things? I don’t ask much. I only want it to
obey. Obedience is all I ask.” His pupils focus in a penetrating stare that
startles the orderly. “Why won’t it obey?”
“Why
won’t what obey?”
“It!
Why won’t it obey?”
The
orderly shakes himself loose from the disfigured fingers grasping his collar.
“Obey!
It’s all I ask!”
The
orderly sees the therapist in the hallway. He saunters over. “What do you think
is wrong with our friend there?”
“I’m
not sure, but he’s in a bad way.”
“Yeah,
he’s been sitting on that cold, tile floor for the last six hours. He keeps
mumbling about it needing to obey.”
A
lady in a lab coat hands the therapist a report. “Here’s another piece of the
puzzle.”
The
therapist shakes his head. “Carpal tunnel syndrome and arthritic fingers.”
The
orderly tilts his head to the left. “That can’t be right. He can’t be a day
over thirty. Wait a second, . . . you don’t think?”
“Think
what?”
“Cubicle
psychosis? We’ve had that a lot since that telemarketing company opened up down
the street.”
The
therapist shakes his head. “No, no. It can’t be that.”
“How
do you know?”
“He’s
been here six hours, and he hasn’t tried to kill anyone yet.”
“Is
it Multiple Avatar Disorder?”
“No,
no. We ran a complete Facebook Addiction Panel. He only scored a 13.”
“Thirteen,
hmm? That’s lower than most of the people working on this floor.”
“Yeah.
I scored an 88, and I’m supposed to be a therapist.”
“That’s
pretty high.”
“Yeah,
and it’s over 90 when I drink too much coffee.”
“Did
you try a Rorschach Test?”
“He
scored a 100%.”
“I
thought there were no right answers.”
“Sure,
sure there are.”
“What
are they?”
“Bat,
monks, bag pipe players, Darth Vader, moth, cosmic string, lovers, kidneys,
pelvic bone, and Schrodinger’s cats.”
“Interesting.”
“So,
what could be bothering our friend over there?”
“Why
you asking me? You’re the therapist.”
The
therapist flags down a nurse. “Could you hook our friend over there up to an
EEG?”
“We
ran an EEG when he came in.”
“Well,
why wasn’t I notified?”
“We
attached it to his chart, Sherlock!”
“Okay,
you don’t have to get lippy. Get me his chart.”
Meanwhile,
he continues to rock back and forth. Aside from the mumbling, he’s nearly
catatonic.
“Okay,
Sherlock, here’s the chart.”
“Let’s
see here. Hmm, that’s interesting.”
The
orderly leans in. “What’s interesting?”
“He
seems to have little brain activity.”
“You
don’t think?”
“We’ve
seen this before. Let’s go talk to him.”
He
stares deeply into the therapist’s eyes. “Why won’t it obey! Why? I just want
it to do what it’s told.”
The
orderly chuckles. “What do you want it to do? Put the lotion on the skin?”
The
therapist cringes. “That’s not funny.”
“It
puts the lotion on the skin.”
“Enough!”
He
runs his fingers through his hair. “Why? Why won’t it obey.”
The
therapist grabs and shakes him. He looks the therapist in the eye. The
therapist boldly proclaims, “Ariel.”
“Ariel.
No, no no!”
“Garamond.”
“No,
no! I just want italics. Why won’t it obey!”
“Did
you create a chart?”
“You’re
holding his chart,” says the orderly.
“I’m
not talking to you. I’m talking to him.” The therapist stares him in the eyes.
“Did you try to create a chart?”
“Yes,
yes. No, no. NO!”
“Autocorrect.”
“Oh,
please, make it stop! Why won’t it obey!”
The
therapist turns to the orderly. “I think I know what we’re dealing with here.”
“What? What is it?”
“What? What is it?”
“This
isn’t good. He’ll need treatment, rehab, and at least several years of
outpatient counselling.”
“What?
What is it?”
“He
has, . . . Microsoft Mania!”
