The saga of Hedger Corp, told in weekly installments. (More here.)
It was Monday morning. Bob was asleep.
Suddenly, he woke with a start. He had a strange feeling that he was being watched.
He was correct.
Slowly, Bob turned his head. Then he choked back a scream.
It was the crazy ski instructor! The one that had thrown him off a mountain earlier this year!
What was he doing here??
“I am the therapist that Hedger Corp assigned to you,” the ski instructor hissed. “I will be counseling you all week.”
The ski-instructor-turned-therapist stared at Bob for a few seconds, then stood up.
“In addition,” he added, “I am wearing your Snuggie.”
Bob had noticed that.
The therapist stood there for a bit, enjoying the warmth and convenience of the Snuggie.
Then, out of nowhere, the Snuggie seemed to enrage him.
He ripped it off and threw it across the room.
He then hid one hand behind his back and yelled, “How many fingers am I holding up?!”
“What is HAPPENING?” Bob wondered.
The therapist was clearly waiting for an answer. Finally, Bob took his best guess.
“Three?” he asked.
“NO!” shouted the therapist, and dramatically revealed the answer. “TWO.”
“Only guess if you are 100% sure of the answer,” the therapist hissed angrily.
Bob was trying to figure that one out when suddenly the therapist performed a roundhouse kick that knocked him back onto the bed.
Bob sat up, trying to get his bearings. Behind him, the therapist was intensely studying the John Tesh photo. He seemed mesmerized.
Then he noticed the Garfield poster. He tore it off the wall.
He held the poster for a moment, thinking… thinking…
Then he began to eat it.
He managed to down most of it, then seemed to lose steam. He took a quick break.
That’s when Erik Estrada and Larry Wilcox caught his eye.
Bob silently prayed that the therapist would not eat his CHiPs poster. It was bad enough he was going to have to replace Garfield.
“This is insane,” thought Bob. He decided right then and there that he needed to get rid of the therapist/ski instructor. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know when. But it had to happen.
Elsewhere, Derek was waiting in the office of another therapist.
All of a sudden, the doctor entered the room doing what appeared to be a reverse moonwalk. His feet were doing the normal moonwalk move, but instead of gliding backward, he was gliding forward. It seemed impossible, but there it was.
Derek was impressed, but also a little scared. The guy looked a little like Voldemort. A hip, urban version of Voldermort, but still.
The therapist immediately got down to Derek’s level. “Would you rather drink a beer or an iced tea?” he inquired.
“Beer,” Derek replied. Things were looking up.
The therapist walked to the corner of the room and stood there. Thinking.
“Interesting,” he finally said.
Derek waited patiently for his beer.
The therapist spun around. “Would you rather have a beer that is ice cold or lukewarm?” he asked.
“Ice cold,” Derek replied.
“Fascinating,” the therapist finally whispered. Then he walked back to his thinking corner.
Derek was losing his patience. “May I have the beer?” he finally asked.
The therapist chuckled softly. “No,” he said. “No, Derek. This conversation is not actually about ice-cold beer. It is about something more important than ice-cold beer.”
Derek was stumped. What could be more important than an ice-cold beer?
Then he began to worry. A Voldermortish therapist. Weird questions. No beer. This had the makings of a very bad day.
Meanwhile, Ann was at her house, waiting for her Hedger-Corp-appointed therapist to arrive. She had been waiting all day! Where was this person?
Just as she was dozing off, a minivan careened into her foyer.
A strange gentlemen flopped out of the car.
He was lying there a while. Then he got up.
“You are clearly in need of therapy!” he shouted by way of introduction. He extended his hand for a handshake.
Ann waited for him to mention the whole “Oops-I-crashed-a-car-into-your-house” thing, but he did not. It remained an elephant in the room.
Finally, the therapist said, “We need to get started.” He led Ann into the sitting room and told her he would be presenting a series of Rorschach tests.
“Tell me the first thing that comes to your mind,” he instructed.
Ann immediately saw something. The image was as clear as day.
“Well?” the therapist asked. “Let’s have it.”
Ann wondered what to do. She knew what she saw. But was the world ready for her answer? She wasn’t sure…
Next week: The counseling continues… Secrets are revealed. Plots are hatched. Difficult questions are answered. Stay tuned!
I think it is spelled Voldemort, not Voldermort.
Ah ha! Right you are! Thank you, Millie! : )
I can’t decide if Ann’s therapist looks more like Albert Einstein or The Doc from Back To The Future.