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She makes a note of it on her computer.
“And what about alcohol?”
On her desk I see a framed photo of her and what looks like her parents. I pick it up, admiring the frozen smiling faces.
“Um, Mr. Thomas, can you just answer the—”
“Are these your parents?”
“Yes, but—”
“They seem nice. Where are they from?”
She looks visibly flustered. Her stony demeanor drops as she squirms in her seat. It’s kinda adorable. Nothing wrong with a little harmless teasing, right?
“Mr. Thomas, we don’t have much time—”
“Call me Brady.”
She stops and glares at me with her piercing eyes.
“Okay,Brady.” She reaches across the desk and yanks the frame from my hand. “We have work to do, okay? So how much alcohol do you drink?”
“A shit ton.” I grab another frame from her desk. Hey, I can play this game all day. “Who’s this?”
The photo shows her pushing a young boy in a swing. A little brother, perhaps? She seems way too young to be a mother, and I don’t see a ring on her finger…
Suddenly, Blondie stands up and yanks the photo out of my hand.
“There.” She roughly places the photo face down on her desk. “Now you’re not distracted.”
Feeling a weird tightness in my throat, I sit up in my seat. I guess I took it too far. But why would she care so much about some dumb picture of her kid brother?
After that tense moment, it’s right back to business as usual. She asks me every possible question one could have about my diet, from how much I’m eating per meal to how many times I eat.
How many ounces of alcohol?Too many to count.
How long do I exercise on a daily basis?Honestly, not enough.
Do I have any injuries, issues, allergies or other issues that need attention?Not that I know of.
Honestly, it feels like a dietary interrogation.
Throughout the whole process, Blondie is typing it all in her computer and then marking things off in some secret folder. There’s something kind of sweet and innocent about her, as if she’s from somewhere smaller than San Antonio.
“Did you just move here or something?” I ask her. “You seem…different.”
She stops typing and looks over at me, her eyes traveling across my face before stopping and going back to her computer.
“Actually, yes. I just moved here.”
“Yeah? Where from?”
For some reason, this question makes her nervous, and she’s back to Business Mode.
“It’s a long story, and I don’t have time to tell it. So anyway…do you have any religious or dietary preferences?”
I give her a strange look.
