VI – SYDNEY

Psychology 101

I’m nearly 68 years old and it is only at this late stage in life that I begin to feel at least not embarrassed with what I do for a living – working at The Centre not being the worst, if you dare believe me.

It's true I stood by and did nothing while they did unspeakable things – I even had an active hand on some of those activities (Karaoke Wednesday Night on SL-16 was my idea) – but nothing will ever shame me as much as that first month after college, when I had to work as a mascot for the Blue Cove Balds. The name was supposed to be “Bolds” but whoever filled the form spelled the name wrong. As if that wasn't ridiculous enough, their idea of a bold mascot was a Cheshire cat. To this day I can't watch Inspector Gadget without getting the chills.

For many years, research and psychology have been two of my favorite subjects, not to mention writing and tutoring infants. Despite the dire aspects some of those things could imply, I have to say I enjoyed working at a place like The Centre. Scientifically speaking, it was Heaven; morally, it was Purgatory. (We all deemed Hell as the day when Mr. Parker tried to cook Thanksgiving Dinner for everyone at The Centre. Fortunately, the loonies on SL-18 would eat just about anything without complaining.)

I also could have live without the pressure of having to know all the secrets and lies. Who the hell wants to know all that? If we were only talking about The Centre here, sure, why not? I have a very good memory. But it's ALL the secrets and lies. Everyone's. Including people not related to The Centre.

I know Mitch Silva from Ohio, Portuguese descendant, is planning to go to Atlantic City for a week of gambling and that he intends to tell his wife Mary that he'll be going on a business trip. She will accept this with some reluctance, but not much. After all, she is having an affair with the next door neighbor.

Do you think I know who these people are? No idea. Yet, I know everything that is to know about them. Pretty neat thing if I was in the extortion business – it could save a lot of time – but I'm not. Even as a psychiatrist it does more harm than good. Knowing what your patient's problem is BEFORE he's even lying down will make you look uninterested and thus do very little to stimulate him or her into telling you what's wrong.

I spent more than forty years at The Centre, always waiting for a chance to do something different, always believing that to be something unreachable. But, if there’s one thing I learned in all my years of living is that impossible can be a highly overestimated term. The Centre being shut down because someone forgot to pay the rent (whether or not it is a plausible plot for a story) is a good example to that.

One of the advantages of working for The Centre was the income. They paid quite well. Blood money, no doubt, but money nonetheless. Every employee sold his soul to work there, so they had to compensate somehow. And when you felt like retiring or in need of a raise, they had a good way to make you change your mind.

Right now I have enough money on my bank account to spend the last years of my life enjoying the fruits of my labor. However, I know how much pain my labor has caused and I realize I have a professional and social, not to mention moral, obligation of doing something to redeem myself.

Jarod was my protegé for more than thirty years. His life was stolen from the very beginning and I was one of the key figures to that devious plot. He’s out there now--

Can I just say something here?

You imbecile! You cut me off in the middle of a sentence!

Sorry. I didn't want to miss this opportunity.

Opportunity for what?

If this story was being rewritten as taken place in 2013, you could know if Jarod was out there RIGHT now by following his social status.

Does this story takes place in 2013?

Uh... No.

Then, what is the point of your reference?

I just thoug--

There. Now back to me.

trying to make a difference, therefore it is only logical that I try to do the same. And what exactly, you wonder, did I decide to do?

I decided to write psychology books for infants.

For those of you who were too lazy to read the previous chapter, here’s how it works: I pick up random fairy-tales and analyze what influence they may wield on modern society via the currently existing stimuli. Take «The Girl With the Diminished Scarlet Cap» – also known as «Little Red Riding Hood» –, for example.

In modern versions of the tale, the little girl is portrayed as being afraid of the big bad wolf. My version derives a bit from the original but sets a new thought pattern which, supported with a serious case of distressed paranoia, takes us to the assumption that the child has had a severe traumatic experience with a savage dog of considerable dimensions.

That’s only the basic aspect of it. I think you get the picture.

Also, there’s one other thing I do from time to time – being a contest on Quiz-Shows. It's not that I need the money, I just enjoy showing off my massive knowledge on the TV. Oh, you may call me arrogant, but I always donate every dime I win in those contests to charitable organizations, so there you have it.

My sense of humor has reached new levels of development. I finally know how to take a good joke and how to tell one, but I still have the habit – bad one, they say – of analyzing the contents of every joke I hear. I try to help it but I can’t. You’re no fun anymore, they tell me and perhaps they’re right.

Lyle opened up a Chinese restaurant, Raines is working at a gas station, Mr. Parker got a job as a cashier in the supermarket where The Centre used to be. All is different now and though this chapter is even less funny than the one dedicated to Mr. White at least I know how many Centre inmates does it takes to change a light bulb.

THE END

How many?

You again? Want do you want?

How many Centre inmates does it take to change a light bulb?

I don't know.

But you just said...

It's five, all right? The answer is five.

Why five? That seems made up.

BLING! Someone's at the door. I have to go answer it.

That wasn't the door. That was you doing BLING!

They're ringing again. Bye now.