This Meeting Is Now Called To Order

Always fun for the SJG to conduct a local meeting of the Phobic Society of America.  I go where I'm needed, people, and yesterday, it was the lobby of my dad's condominium. The nice hospice social worker-spiritual adviser named Angela arrived at my dad's door, sans nurse. "Darlene's afraid of elevators," she reported. "No problem, I'm on it." There's nothing a former freaked-out elevator-taker loves more than to help a sister out.  So I grabbed the keys, donned my special SJG cape, and rushed to the scene. "I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Elevator," I called out, as I traveled, non-phobically, three whole floors to the lobby. This would not have been the case years ago -- how many, that's none of your business, okay, at least 20 -- when elevators were the enemy, dark and coffin-like, not my transportation of choice.


"I'm here to help," I told Darlene, as she sat there, quivering, draped in pink and burgundy, the hospice colors.  "You must think I'm crazy," she said. "Are you kidding?  We're simpatico, hon. I get it. Come on, I'll lead you toward the secret passageway.  Don't worry, the stairs look reasonably stable, and I think they're up to code, but you never know when they might collapse and send us plunging to our deaths.  Concrete is so unforgiving."

No, I didn't say that.  I'm not mean.  How dare you think of me that way?  I'm hurt.  Hurt, I tell ya.  But not too hurt to finish this story. I escorted Darlene safely to my dad's condo, and proceeded to tease her the entire time about her elevator issue.  If a recovering phobic can't make fun of a current sufferer, who can?  I'm still plenty fluent in Irrational Fear.

In the meantime, Angela, the social worker, shared her on-going terror of bridges. "You ladies need to get your sh*t together," I said later, as we stood outside.  I proceeded to offer them helpful hints about behavioral modification, visualization, self-hypnosis and the importance of costly therapy, before I shared the thing that helped me the most. "Drugs, ladies.  Drugs."  That was my parting shot. But something tells me we'll be revisiting this topic again soon.  How else will Darlene get in the building?