It was an odd setup. They walked through what appeared to be a small conference room, then another room with a vacant seat behind a desk that suggested a secretary, and then into his office.
He motioned for her to take a seat in front of a desk cluttered with paperwork, coffee mugs, and a half-eaten burrito on a blue file folder. Her hope of liking the place was quickly diminishing.
“So, I have to say, I was impressed by the interview you gave on Zoom. Your qualifications are exactly what we’re looking for. We have had an experienced counselor retire recently, and replacing him with someone else who has the same background is great. I do wonder if you would find the differences between private and public a little challenging. We’re funded by the bare minimum, if I’m being honest with you. I had to get special permission to even offer the pay I did to you. If we weren’t having such a difficult time finding counselors, I probably wouldn’t have been able to.”
She resisted rolling her eyes. The pay they offered at first was laughable. It wasn’t until they had negotiated back and forth some that they were able to get her at least in the ballpark of what she wanted. It was still less than at Woodwind.
He lifted the burrito up, stopping mid-bite before pointing it in her direction. “Do you mind?”
Yes, yes, she did, but she forced a small smile and shook her head. “No, go ahead.”
Not hesitating, he took a large bite, tearing into the tortilla. A little bit of egg dropped down his shirt. “The program we offer is probably similar to what you’re used to, but our clients are largely court-motivated. Some come straight from jail after agreeing to a plea for a reduced sentence if they agree to go to rehab. That’s not to say they don’t want recovery. There are guys who want to actually work the program, but you’ll have to put up with those who are just laying down time until they graduate the program. They’ll do what you ask of them, usually to get the certificate, but it’s not going to be genuine for those guys.”
“So you’re saying the majority aren’t going to get anything out of what we’re teaching them?” she asked, her eyebrows knitting together. That sounded awful. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d encountered people not ready to commit to sobriety, but not such a large amount. Some would be forced to go to rehab by parents or spouses and would be given some sort of ultimatum to get them there, but the percentage of people seeking real recovery was higher.
He lifted a mug to his lips, taking a gulp before answering her. “No, they’ll get something. They may not be ready now, but they’ll learn. They’ll absorb. They’ll make connections with other clients that will impact them. They might come here a few times before it sticks, but each time they take a little more with them when they leave. A lot of these men have lived hard lives. It’s hard to learn new ways. Or unlearn bad ways.”
“I suppose that makes sense.”
His eyes turned critical, sweeping over her. Not in a pervy way, but in a calculating way. It came naturally with the job. In this field, it was normal for people who were used to lying and hiding their habit to continue to do it, often because they were still in denial about their substance use or weren’t ready to face those hard truths.
“You’re not an addict, right?”
She cleared her throat, sitting up straighter. She hated that question. It was often accompanied by someone questioning whether she was qualified to do the job. “No, I’m not. I’m the child of an addict.”
“How many times have you had to prove yourself to clients?”
She froze, not expecting the bluntness. It wasn’t often that people realized how hard it was to be in the addiction counseling field and not be an addict. “I, uh, I probably couldn’t tell you. Dozens of times over the last fifteen years at least.”
“Is it frustrating?”
“Yes, sometimes. It feels like it disrupts treatment.”
“I agree, but it’s also good for them, too. Reminds them that addiction reaches farther than just themselves.”
“I suppose so.”
An awkward silence fell over them. It was then she noticed the clock on the wall wasn’t working. The whole office gave off unprofessional vibes. She wasn’t sure she would want to work for someone so unorganized.
“Well, I guess the next step is giving you a tour. After, if you’re ready, you can accept the position or not.”
“That works for me.” She wasn’t holding out hope for the tour. So far, Turtle Grove Rehabilitation was a drab disappointment.
They left his office, walking right back out to the lobby. It was quieter now, the halls empty.
“It’s group time right now. We have Group from 9:00 until 10:30.”
“Who does Group?”
They stopped in the center of the lobby. “Counselors or guests, if we have them. The halls to your left and right are rooms for clients who are medically fragile. They keep them here so medical is close.”
“As in detoxing?”
He nodded. “Yes, most usually detox before getting here, but there’s always a few that come straight here. It’s also for people who are on a lot of medications, like diabetics who require shots.”
She nodded as she scanned the halls. They looked just like a hall in a school.
“This hall,” he motioned ahead of them, “is the central hub of this building. We call it the Main building.”
