“Oh, but I am assigned to you,” he replied, grinning.
“Look at you!” I criticized. “You look like a bum off the street. Why would a place like this hire someone who looks like you? You look like you are more likely to be sitting around under a tree smoking pot than getting a degree or becoming anything professional! I’m appalled! What are your credentials?”
“Oh, okay…hmm. I am an ACSW,” he replied, “certified by the National Association of Social Workers.”
“A social worker!” I snarled. “They are putting me with a social worker? I pay thousands of dollars to get into this place, and they stick me with a social worker! Let me speak to someone in authority. This won’t do. I need a real therapist. I need a doctor!”
“Hmm…well,” he said, “that sounds like you have yourself a problem there. I
