Working Against Type: A Better Fit

Molly got into her car after a long day listening to around 20 couples, families, and teenagers pour out their problems to her. Yet another day listening to couples groaning about parental responsibilities and how “Timmy deserves a father who spends time with him even if he wants his nails painted instead of throwing a ball around.” There was Laura, a teenager who was freaking out about a math test today which she got a B on which she declared was “disgraceful” and commented “You don’t understand. I need to have straight A’s if I want to get into MIT.”

The ability of people to be so self-centered is ridiculous these days; I just want to throw pills at the lot of them and been done with it, thought Molly.

The thought crossed her mind for a moment at the stop sign and she further pondered about the fact that she couldn’t get a research position like she wanted. She worked for a bit doing sleep studies but she wasn’t able to keep the job because of the hours. She couldn’t keep herself focused and kept dragging herself into work. It just wasn’t a good fit and the people she was working with took notice of her lack of attention. I suppose this stupid position is better than being sleep deprived.

The feeling that she was still dragging herself to work, weighed on her mind. I just don’t fucking care about them; people who have problems are annoying. I just want to gather data, analyze it, and write up results saying whether or not this or that helped this group. That was my plan; it was at least before I was hard pressed to find a position which fit.

Molly heard a siren in the distance and pulled over. Quickly after, an ambulance speed through taking a turn onto Turner Ave. Molly remembered the day she broke her leg when she was home alone. Her parents were off at a dinner party which they were invited to and she was not allowed to go. She had to drag herself down the stairs and across the floor to the office where the phone was located and call 911. Her parents met her at the hospital after the dinner party. Molly saw a commercial on TV soon after the incident where an elderly person could push a button to alert 911 that they were hurt. She asked her mother if she could have one but her mother had headphones on and could not hear her. That was the moment Molly learned not to take anything personally.

Molly slowed her car down quickly, now on the highway, there was traffic and it seemed that it was because a person’s car stalled in the middle of the highway. Really? What the fuck. They couldn’t push it off the road or something? It wasn’t until she passed it that she saw the flames dancing off the front of the car. Damn. Now that’s a real problem. Molly only liked giving advice or sympathy for what she deemed as important and serious issues.

If she ever had a person walk into the office who was hallucinating, an insomniac, depressed, or having panic attacks left and right; she would be able to get through the day with much more ease. However, all that was coming to her were people with such minor problems and petty resentment toward each other; it made her head swim with the complete disregard of how much better off they are compared to other people.

Yet she had to smile and say, “I’m sorry to hear about that. Do you think you might be being hard on yourself?” or “I know it’s hard to accept Mr. Wilmont that your child is different, but he needs a father who he feels safe being himself around.” Her attempts to put the situation into perspective and try to break down the person’s view were always countered with resistance.

In perfect honesty, she just wanted to quit. Maybe she could do something better like be a ballerina. She always wanted to learn how to dance so gracefully. Yet, her mother’s voice pierced through this daydream informing her once more, “People don’t do what they like kid. I thought my work was special enough. I thought I could be something. That’s a pipedream. You sleep, you eat, you work, and if you make enough money that is it. You’re happy.”

She was convinced she would become her mother if she ever cared enough about one thing. Maybe that’s why the plants in her little apartment always died on her. Maybe it’s why she avoided dogs in the park who just wanted to say hello with a sniff. Maybe it’s why crying babies annoyed her, her friends were few, and her relationships never lasted past six months. Molly always poured herself into her work but now even that was not quite right. I just need a different job which is a better fit for me, that will solve all my problems.




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