Dysfunction Junction

Is there any such thing as a truly functional family unit? I really don’t think there is. At least I’ve never met one. I’ve never met a fully functional person either, which is what this post is about. I truly believe everyone has a dark side. Not like Darth Vader or anything, but a dark side in another way. Like paranoia, or an irascibility of sorts, or maybe having a tendency to be insulting to others.

I’m a trainer for a large HMO and I train Doctors and Nurses on an integrated software product they will be expected to use in the course of their day-to-day jobs. Some days the participants in the class are in good humor, and other days, like today, they’re watching the clock and annoyed at every turn.

One of my training partners has a cash of jokes he tells every day. I get the pleasure of hearing them every day. The same jokes -Every day.

Here’s one: “Does anyone here have CDO?” The gallery is at a loss to what CDO is, so he moves in for the zinger. “It’s OCD, but the letters are in order like they should be.”

Today we had a Psychiatrist in the mix, who couldn’t possibly be an effective healthcare provider; he has no humor. Not -a -stitch. He was irascible and generally weird even by Psychiatrists standards.

It’s 4:00 p.m., and at this junction he was under the impression that every joke was told for the sole purpose of insulting him and only him. He was one MAD Psychiatrist. It seems to me that anyone with this level of paranoia should probably see a Psychiatrist.

Should he make an appointment to see himself for treatment? I wonder how that would work. Would he keep himself waiting in the waiting room? Suggest to himself it’s all in his head? Cash his own checks for services rendered? The possibilities are endless.

I have my own level of dysfunction too. Truth is, I began to enjoy watching him turn red in the face and clock how long the vein in his temple throbbed after each joke; of which had nothing to do with him. I know, I know. I’m one twisted lady.

I’ll make an appointment to see a Psychiatrist right away.

… wait.

It’s my luck he would be my doctor. One afternoon with him and I’d become a Stepford drone.

Never mind. I like my brand of dysfunction. I think I’ll keep it.