When I write, I like to use a nice pen. Because the nature of my job requires a lot of note writing in charts, I go through a ton of nice pens rather quickly. I keep a stock in my desk at work. Yes. My place of employment provides pens. No. I do not like to write with them. Yes. I often give them out to patients. Hey, if I make journaling thoughts and feelings as part of a Treatment Plan, I think I should provide them with a decent pen. So why all the talk about pens? Really? Who cares about pens?
Well, there is a story behind the pens, I stopped and purchased at CVS this morning, before work. See, I stopped at CVS last night on my way home from work, before I realized I had no debit, credit or cash on me. Yes. I switched bags over the weekend. Yes. I switched back before Monday. No. I did not put my wallet back in the bag. So, I had to walk out and revisit the place this morning.
This morning.
I pulled up into the parking lot and witnessed a man asking a person for money. Before I got out of the car, the man disappeared into the store. I went into the store and found my pens. I saw the man approach another person, then approach the cashier. I knew, he was going to approach me as I made my way up to the register. I also knew he was intoxicated.
His clothes were on backwards and upside down. The hoodie had the hood on his ass. He asked me for 2 dollars and 35 cents for rolling papers and tobacco. So, I asked him if he smoked. Why yes, he slurred. I told the cashier who was in a near panic to let this man chose the cigarettes of his choice. I was going to pay. As I handed the cigarettes to the man, he stood in disbelief and the cashier apologized to me. I told the man he needed help. The man complete with dropped jaw asked me how I knew. I told him who I was, what I did for a living and directed him to the rehab. I proceeded to ask him what was the drug of his choice. I pointed out his clothes, the way he swayed as he walked, the slurred voice. Yes. He needed help. He needed more help than a pack of cigarettes.
Another panic stricken employee told me she called the cops. I told her the man needed help not the cops. I turned to the man and told him again about the location of the rehab. I also told him to leave the store and its grounds.
Too late.
Two police cars pulled up. One very petite female cop who was half my height walked up to us with all that "stuff" they wear around their waist and all I could think of was she was going to topple over from the weight of what she was carrying. She approached the man as did the male cop from the other car and asked for ID. I proceeded to interject. Yeah. That is a surprise! I told the officers the man needed help. He needed to go to a rehab. I was asked by the little one if I knew the man. I told them who I was and what I did for a living and where I worked. I was met with, let me do my job.
I interjected again.
I was told to allow them to do THEIR JOB.
OK. I left.
Before I was arrested too.
Explain that one to my boss.
I was only going to buy pens.
I pulled up to work and spotted my Director. I told him the story. He laughed and responded with something about bailing me out of jail. I responded by telling him I was trying to generate business. He laughed and walked away. I laughed and thought to myself, I had the greatest job. I can be myself. I can be authentic. Real. Be the complete opposite of the years I lived in oppression. Never heard. Stopped talking. Withdrew. Pretended to be someone I was not. I have come a long way. I speak today. I am not afraid to say what I mean and mean what I say. Yes. Some folks cannot handle that new part of me. Sometimes I care until I realize it is not my stuff, but their stuff.
It was not long before I was asked if I wanted to be his counselor.
I only wanted to buy some pens.
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