"Support
Group"
A "Hey, Kids! This Story
Sucks!" Book, by Matt Hohnstein
Jim had been facilitating support groups for several
years now. It all began when he was in his late
teens and found attending support groups to be an
entertaining experience, so it naturally occurred to him
later in life to take up a career in facilitation. With
his insightful comments, Jim’s support groups
quickly became the most popular in town and soon every
sort of imaginable disorder or depressed minority began
to sign up for time with Jim. Among Jim’s
various personality quirks, he is most notable for often
dressing in costume and speaking in slang or dialects to
allow his clientele to express their feelings more
clearly. A session with Jim was undeniably bound to
be a remarkable experience.
Robin is Jim’s assistant at the therapy center and
she takes care of setting up new support groups albeit
that Jim brainstorms the ideas. Some would say that
her optimism and organizational abilities are borderline
obsessive-compulsive and that she herself should join a
support group, but this has yet to develop further.
One of the primary reasons that Jim’s groups became
so popular was because participation in them was like
being in a living dysfunctional talk show. Like
Robin, many believe that Jim deserves psychotherapy due
to his bizarre fascination with other peoples’
bizarre problems from chronic nosebleeders to
cross-dressing convenience store clerks to
manic-depressive bus drivers.
It really
shouldn’t have been a surprise to Robin when a group
of men that believed that they were swashbuckling pirates
began to gather in the meeting room and sit down in a
circle. Robin sat in her office and watched the
pirates discuss pirate matters until Jim entered the
room, dressed in full pirate regalia.
“Avast ye mateys and welcome to zee group,” Jim
said as he drew a sword from its sheath.
“Arrrrr!” the pirates yelled in glee. Several
raised their arms and waved them haphazardly.
“Oh jeez,” Robin said, taking a sip of water
from a paper cup. “I think Jim’s hit a
new, bizarre low. I thought that these guys were
supposed to be fans of the Pittsburg
Pirates…”
“Today we will discuss the hornswaggling,
survey dogs that hath take-ed yarrrr self esteem!”
Jim said, pacing about within the circle. “You
tharrrr,” he said, pointing his sword at a pirate
with a long, black beard, “tell Cap’n Jim what
yarrr problem be.”
“This is ridiculous,” Robin uttered under her
breath.
The pirate scratched his chin. “Arrr, this
ol’ buccaneer hath problems when talking to the
wenches, I see.” he said. “When I
approacheth them, I be walking the plank, I think
it.”
“Me hearties,” Jim said, “who all among ye
refer to the women as ‘wenches’ on a daily
basis?” Every pirate in the room raised a
hand.
“Aye, I too be guilty of said persuasion,”
another pirate with an eye patch and tri-corner hat said.
“Be just the way that us pirates were raised, me
thinks.”
“Arrr,” another pirate blurted in, “I sing
chanteys for the wenches yet my heart tis be cast away
always down to Davey Jones’ locker!”
Jim swung his sword around rapidly. “Tis be
why ye mateys hath problems when discussing matters with
women! No women crave to be referred to as a
‘wench,’ you see!”
Several pirates joined in a group “yarrrr.”
“Shiver me timbers!” a pirate in a blue
overcoat yelled. “This be the revelation of
the century!”
“Righ!” Jim stated.
“So if women we desire,” a pirate with a
plastic bird attached to his shoulder said, “treat
them not like wenches but like…”
“A saucy wench?” another pirate said.
“Something that isn’t a wench,” Jim
interrupted.
“Arrr, but how do we act said way?” the
fake-bird pirate asked.
Jim cleared his throat. “Robin,” he said,
“would you come in here for a minute?”
“Oy,” Robin said as she left her office.
