The phone on my desk buzzes and I pick it up. “Speak to me.”
“Sutton, dear…I’ve got to run down to the drug store to grab some allergy medicine. Can you come cover the front desk for me for about ten minutes?”
Flipping my wrist, I look at my watch. “Sure. My two o’clock is twenty minutes late so I’m assuming he’s a no-show. I’ll be right up.”
Snapping the cap back on my Sharpie, I toss it on my desk. Grabbing the top file from my in-box, I walk out of my office and down the hall toward the main reception area of the Wake County Drug Crisis Center. I love my job, but our building is depressing as hell. It’s nothing but a square box of cinder blocks and steel with dull tile flooring and institutional gray paint peeling on the walls. About every five feet, a cheap poster is tacked to the wall with an inspirational message about finding the fortitude and strength to beat addiction. I can’t help but think how sad the contradiction is between the messages of hope and the depressing décor.
Reaching the end of the hall, I slide my ID card through the reader beside the steel door, hearing the snick of the lock, and push through into the lobby. At least here, the decor is a little more welcoming, with beige carpeting, faux-leather couches and an abundance of green plants. Our receptionist, Minnie, has a green thumb and took it upon herself to decorate the area as she saw fit. Of course, Minnie’s an institution unto herself and has been covering the front desk of our crisis center since before Moses was born.
“That was fast,” Minnie says as she pulls her purse from the bottom drawer of her steel, county-issued desk. She opens the purse, and I wait patiently for her to pull her compact mirror out and dab powder on her nose. Then she pulls out a tube of bright red lipstick and glides it on her thin lips while watching herself in the mirror. Finally, she smooths her hands over the sides of her silver hair, which is pulled back into a severe bun, and smiles at her reflection.
Minnie is old Raleigh and a Southern woman never steps outdoors without looking her best. Snapping her compact shut, she tosses it in her purse and stands up. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”
“I’m good,” I tell her, although I’m dying to ask her to pick me up a bag of Hershey’s Kisses with Almonds. They are my addiction. To put it in drug-crisis terms, they are my crank…my smack…my horse. But I’ve made a resolution this year to cut back on my chocolate intake and, ten months in, I’m not about to break. I allow myself two pieces a day, and I always reserve them for after dinner at home.
Minnie steps past me and heads toward the door. “Be back in a flash.”
“Take your time. My next appointment isn’t until four.”
She calls out a “toodles,” which makes me smile because that’s so Minnie, and I sit down at her desk to review the file that I grabbed. It’s a run-of-the-mill case, which sadly I see all too often. While my job at the center is to provide counseling to anyone affected by drug or alcohol addiction, my chosen path is to work with at-risk youth and children whose parents have addiction issues. While I can’t pick and choose my cases, my boss, Ken Silver, understands my interest and tends to throw those types of cases my way when he can.
This particular case file is for a young girl…a senior in high school, who got into her parents’ stash of meth and decided to give it a try. She overdosed on her first attempt, and while she swears she hasn’t tried it again, the temptation is still there since her parents are still very much using. Her name is Mara and she’s coming in to see me this afternoon for our third session together. Our services are free, paid for by the good taxpayers of Wake County, and the best thing going for Mara right now is that it scared the shit out of her when she woke up in the hospital hooked up to an IV.
Since then, she’s diligently come to each appointment, on time and eager to talk me.
Which is more than I can say for my two o’clock who didn’t show, which disappoints me to no end. Not because it was a compelling case, but because it was a career opportunity that shouldn’t have been passed my way at such a young age. Ken had told me earlier in the week that he was giving me a very special project, knowing it would be near and dear to my heart. Apparently the Carolina Cold Fury hockey team wants to start an anti-drug campaign that they can build locally and possibly take to a national level.
The part that is near and dear to me? Well, they want to target at-risk youth, and I was all over that.
Ken told me that they were assigning their top player, Alexander Crossman, as the spokesman and that I would be working personally with him to create and implement the program. The hallmark would be an outreach plan to use with all of the local area schools where Mr. Crossman and I would be talking to the students.
Yay, me!
I’m terribly excited because while I love counseling—wouldn’t trade it for the world—I want to make a bigger impact, and the way to do it is to reach the masses. Now, I have no idea who this Alexander Crossman is, because frankly, I know nothing about hockey. I mean…I know we have a professional team here in Raleigh, but besides knowing that they’re called Cold Fury, I don’t know a damn thing else about them. But if he can help me achieve my goals to target larger groups of youth, then he’s going to become my new best friend.
So the fact that their shining star of a player didn’t show up for his appointment has indeed left a bad taste in my mouth. However, that could be par for the course. I’ve never met a celebrity or sports star, but I’m guessing arrogance and entitlement might be part of the makeup involved. In fact, this may be something I’ll need to learn to deal with as we are trying to set boundaries in our new working relationship. I may be a young woman but I’m not without moxie—that would be Minnie’s terminology—and I’m not without a pair of figurative cojones—my terminology—when I need them.
“Sutton, dear…I’ve got to run down to the drug store to grab some allergy medicine. Can you come cover the front desk for me for about ten minutes?”
Flipping my wrist, I look at my watch. “Sure. My two o’clock is twenty minutes late so I’m assuming he’s a no-show. I’ll be right up.”
Snapping the cap back on my Sharpie, I toss it on my desk. Grabbing the top file from my in-box, I walk out of my office and down the hall toward the main reception area of the Wake County Drug Crisis Center. I love my job, but our building is depressing as hell. It’s nothing but a square box of cinder blocks and steel with dull tile flooring and institutional gray paint peeling on the walls. About every five feet, a cheap poster is tacked to the wall with an inspirational message about finding the fortitude and strength to beat addiction. I can’t help but think how sad the contradiction is between the messages of hope and the depressing décor.
Reaching the end of the hall, I slide my ID card through the reader beside the steel door, hearing the snick of the lock, and push through into the lobby. At least here, the decor is a little more welcoming, with beige carpeting, faux-leather couches and an abundance of green plants. Our receptionist, Minnie, has a green thumb and took it upon herself to decorate the area as she saw fit. Of course, Minnie’s an institution unto herself and has been covering the front desk of our crisis center since before Moses was born.
“That was fast,” Minnie says as she pulls her purse from the bottom drawer of her steel, county-issued desk. She opens the purse, and I wait patiently for her to pull her compact mirror out and dab powder on her nose. Then she pulls out a tube of bright red lipstick and glides it on her thin lips while watching herself in the mirror. Finally, she smooths her hands over the sides of her silver hair, which is pulled back into a severe bun, and smiles at her reflection.
Minnie is old Raleigh and a Southern woman never steps outdoors without looking her best. Snapping her compact shut, she tosses it in her purse and stands up. “Do you need anything while I’m out?”
“I’m good,” I tell her, although I’m dying to ask her to pick me up a bag of Hershey’s Kisses with Almonds. They are my addiction. To put it in drug-crisis terms, they are my crank…my smack…my horse. But I’ve made a resolution this year to cut back on my chocolate intake and, ten months in, I’m not about to break. I allow myself two pieces a day, and I always reserve them for after dinner at home.
Minnie steps past me and heads toward the door. “Be back in a flash.”
“Take your time. My next appointment isn’t until four.”
She calls out a “toodles,” which makes me smile because that’s so Minnie, and I sit down at her desk to review the file that I grabbed. It’s a run-of-the-mill case, which sadly I see all too often. While my job at the center is to provide counseling to anyone affected by drug or alcohol addiction, my chosen path is to work with at-risk youth and children whose parents have addiction issues. While I can’t pick and choose my cases, my boss, Ken Silver, understands my interest and tends to throw those types of cases my way when he can.
This particular case file is for a young girl…a senior in high school, who got into her parents’ stash of meth and decided to give it a try. She overdosed on her first attempt, and while she swears she hasn’t tried it again, the temptation is still there since her parents are still very much using. Her name is Mara and she’s coming in to see me this afternoon for our third session together. Our services are free, paid for by the good taxpayers of Wake County, and the best thing going for Mara right now is that it scared the shit out of her when she woke up in the hospital hooked up to an IV.
Since then, she’s diligently come to each appointment, on time and eager to talk me.
Which is more than I can say for my two o’clock who didn’t show, which disappoints me to no end. Not because it was a compelling case, but because it was a career opportunity that shouldn’t have been passed my way at such a young age. Ken had told me earlier in the week that he was giving me a very special project, knowing it would be near and dear to my heart. Apparently the Carolina Cold Fury hockey team wants to start an anti-drug campaign that they can build locally and possibly take to a national level.
The part that is near and dear to me? Well, they want to target at-risk youth, and I was all over that.
Ken told me that they were assigning their top player, Alexander Crossman, as the spokesman and that I would be working personally with him to create and implement the program. The hallmark would be an outreach plan to use with all of the local area schools where Mr. Crossman and I would be talking to the students.
Yay, me!
I’m terribly excited because while I love counseling—wouldn’t trade it for the world—I want to make a bigger impact, and the way to do it is to reach the masses. Now, I have no idea who this Alexander Crossman is, because frankly, I know nothing about hockey. I mean…I know we have a professional team here in Raleigh, but besides knowing that they’re called Cold Fury, I don’t know a damn thing else about them. But if he can help me achieve my goals to target larger groups of youth, then he’s going to become my new best friend.
So the fact that their shining star of a player didn’t show up for his appointment has indeed left a bad taste in my mouth. However, that could be par for the course. I’ve never met a celebrity or sports star, but I’m guessing arrogance and entitlement might be part of the makeup involved. In fact, this may be something I’ll need to learn to deal with as we are trying to set boundaries in our new working relationship. I may be a young woman but I’m not without moxie—that would be Minnie’s terminology—and I’m not without a pair of figurative cojones—my terminology—when I need them.
