by Kim Cayer
“Alice, this could have serious repercussions,” Bill warned.
“I DON’T CARE! I QUIT! YOU HEAR ME? I QUIT I QUIT I QUIT!!!” I turned around and walked back to my office. I was still fuming as I grabbed my coat. Lilli paged me on the intercom.
“Alice, Largemar Productions on Line 3,” Lilli said.
I grabbed up the phone. “What?”
“Troy LeRue here,” a man identified himself. “It’s December l5, and we were wondering if you’d given any thought to our offer. How’s it going at Sebrings?”
“Ohhh, just fine,” I said sarcastically. “Matter of fact, I just quit. And I’m sooo happy!”
“Oh, we are too! Can we hope that you’ll be coming to Largemar?” Mr. LeRue asked.
Oh, sure. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Was he serious? “No, I will not work for Largemar either,” I said. “I’m getting right out of show business because IT SUCKS. So to hell with you guys too!”
“We can increase our offer,” Mr. LeRue said.
“Go ahead. Offer me a million bucks a week. I wouldn’t do this job again for ANYTHING, so leave me the fuck alone!” I hung up on Largemar.
Storming out of my office, I noticed Lilli painting her nails in full view. How professional. I wanted to slap her as a grand exit gesture but feeling mean and out of control, I simply said, “Lilli, you’re fired.”
“Whaaa….?” she asked, looking extremely worried. Good! I WAS capable of firing her. I didn’t know if it’d have any effect as I no longer worked for Sebrings, but it was worth saying it just to see her fret.
I went home to nurse my breakdown.
* * *
And it was a good thing I was home. I wasn’t being myself at all. A cab driver picked me up outside of Sebrings and told me his sister worked there. That launched me into a diatribe against Sebrings and then against show business then against taxi companies and then against families. My doorman wished me a Merry Christmas and I snarled that it wasn’t Christmas yet and who needed Christmas anyways? I took the elevator up and pressed every floor button before it went back down. I got into my suite and started pacing.
“You’re outta there, Alice. Told ‘em to go to hell in a big way, didn’t ya? The bastards, you don’t need them.” It was all a pep talk but I wasn’t feeling any better. I still felt like I was coming apart and I was still angry and I didn’t want to feel this way.
I called my mother. “Yah-lo!” she answered.
“Mom, it’s me, Alice,” I said, starting to sob. “I quit my job, Mom. I just had to; it was so awful…”
“You QUIT your job?” my mother shrieked. “Oh for God’s sake, Alice, what are we supposed to do for money now?”
“I don’t care about stupid money!” I cried. “I’m rich!”
“It costs a lot to live in that fancy city,” Mom reminded me. “Just make sure you buy me that coat before you spend it all.”
“Mom, I’m scared! I don’t feel right! I feel funny…like I want to really hurt somebody! A fur coat is the last thing on my mind!”
“Well, it’s the only thing on my mind, Alice,” Mother said. “Don’t you dare come home if you don’t have a fur coat for me.”
“Alright then!” I screamed. “I just won’t come home then!”
“Fine, then you can ship it to me,” my mother said. “And Alice, another thing concerns me. How are you going to send me my money if you don’t have a job?”
“Your money? It’s my money! You didn’t deserve one cent! Use THAT money to buy a fucking fur coat already. And thank you very much, Mother DEAR, for helping me with my problems. I knew I could count on you. Have a merry Christmas.” I slammed the phone down so hard the receiver cracked. I prayed her eardrum did too.
I liked the look of that broken phone. I picked up a rack of dried dishes and slammed them down too. Then I grabbed scissors and cut up my clothes. Aaahh, I’d found something destructive to do with my time.
An hour later, the apartment was trashed. I was ready to start on the neighbor’s but tried to get a grip on myself. It wasn’t easy. I was definitely having a nervous breakdown but was sane enough to realize it.
I found the ‘P’ section in the yellow pages I’d ripped apart. I found an address and packed a small overnight case. My two big bottles of Tylenols and jug of diet pills took up most of the space. I fought an urge to set fire to the apartment and went downstairs to hail a cab.
I was checking myself into a psychiatric institution.
* * *
Bound in a straitjacket, I was hauled into a tiny cell by two young guards. No, that is not what happens once you present yourself at a psychiatric hospital. And it wouldn’t have happened to me except they tried to take my overnight bag away.
It started off well enough. The cab drove me to Lyman’s Institute for the Criminally Insane. I chose that particular place because I figured I was fully capable of committing a crime at the moment. Besides, wasn’t I already some kind of criminal? The cabby didn’t say a word to me after I’d given him the address and I sat in the back seat, trembling. Get me there…hurry…you’ll be OK in a while, Alice…
The nurse at the front desk admitted me very properly. “Your name?”
“Alice Kumplunkem and I think I’m having a nervous breakdown,” I panted.
“Fine. Haven’t you simply considered a hospital for this, or some other psychiatric institution?” Nurse Lavally asked.
“No, this one suits me,” I replied. “Believe me. Ma’am, uh…I’d like to stop feeling this way.”
“Alright. We have extra beds. How will you be paying for this?” she asked.
“Uh…I’m covered by Sebrings Productions for medical expenses,” I said. Surely I had some benefits coming to me; I’d only used up two doctor appointments.
“Next of kin?” the nurse asked.
I started sobbing and could barely gasp out, “Sorry…I can’t stop crying…”
“Nothing unusual,” Lavally reassured me. “Next of kin?”
“No, none,” I said. None worth mentioning anyways.
“Just sign your name here, here and here,” Nurse Lavally said, turning some papers around to face me. “The last place you sign says that you have voluntarily committed yourself.”
I gripped the pen in both hands. Sheesh, I tore a phone book in half in my rage; how did she expect me to delicately handle a pen? I scratched out an A.K. “Can I see a doctor now?” I anxiously asked.
“In a moment. I’ll just take that bag from you…”
“WHAT?” I said, clutching my case to me.
“We have to search your bag for drugs or weapons…”
“No one’s taking this bag from me!” I declared. I noticed the nurse furtively press a button under the countertop. “I SAW THAT!” I yelled.
“Miss Kumplunkem, it is a rule here that we search the bags. Your bag will be returned to you. Now we don’t want any trouble here, do we?” Nurse Lavally questioned.
“I’m not causing trouble! You are! I don’t have anything in this bag! Just a nightgown and my pills. They’re PRESCRIPTION. I MUST take them!” I could have gone on but the two young guards came running up to me.
“Everything OK, Nurse Lavally?” one asked.
“Could you please give me this lady’s bag, Ted?” Lavally asked.
“Maybe I’ll just check out,” I said.
“You just checked IN,” the nurse told me. “Now the doctor will have to check you OUT. Her bag, boys.”
“YOU ARE NOT TAKNG MY BAG!” I shrieked. I tried to make a break for it but I was nabbed. I clawed, scratched, kicked, gouged, punched, slapped, bit and swore at the guards in an attempt to keep my bag. All to no avail. One finally broke the straps and handed the best part of my bag to Nurse Lavally. She in turn handed him a straitjacket which I tried to fight off, but I was just too tired from the first struggle.
It’s hard to have a nervous breakdown in a straitjacket. You’re bound up, so all the energy rushes to your brain. N
urse Lavally walked into the cell I’d been placed in. I was yelling so hard, I was red in the face. “Get me a doctor before I blow up for real! I’m sick! I need help!”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” the nurse said. “The doctor is busy right now. I’m going to give you a heavy sedative and when you wake up, you will have your damn bag back. Your straitjacket will have been removed and your clothes will have been searched, as well as your bag. There is absolutely nothing in this room with which to harm yourself. And until you fall asleep, these guards will be keeping an eye on you.” That said and done, she forced a big tablet down my throat.
She left and I ranted at the guards for a while. They ignored me and discussed the local hockey team’s results. Before long, it became a real effort to call them bastards, and when I did say it, that one word took five seconds to leave my mouth. I stopped my harassment and just sailed on the wings of a drug to precious, peaceful sleep.
* * *
I woke up hungry. The straitjacket had been removed, true to the promise made me. So had the wallet I carried in my pocket. By habit, I began craving a few Tylenols. After all, I was awake. Usually my three-course breakfast consisted of three Tylenol 2s, a bran muffin to provide fiber to produce a couple poop pellets, then a couple diet pills. That was usually enough to hold me until lunch.
Suddenly my pangs became acute. My pills were completely out of reach! How was I going to get one? I started panicking. What if I couldn’t get one?! What then? Maybe…yeah! I’d go see the nurse and pull another freakout. That would be good for a sedative at least.
I tried the door, only to find I was locked in. I yanked on it and then started banging on the door, yelling through the opening. “Hey! Nurse! Guard! Someone! Hey! Hey!”
“Hey hey for the Monkees!” another voice chimed in.
I ignored it. “Helloooo?” I called out.
“Hello, I love you, won’t you tell me your name?” the voice sang.
“Shuddup!” I yelled at whoever the jerk was.
“Shuddup yourself!” she yelled back. “We’re trying to sleep!”
A guard came up. “Oh, it’s you. Finally woke up, huh?” It was one of the guards from the night before.
“You’re still working? What time is it?” I asked.
“Midnight. You checked in last night. Been asleep over 24 hours.”
“No wonder I’m so hungry,” I marveled.
“I’ll be right back with your supper. Then the doctor wants to see you,” the guard said before walking off.
A supper! The thought of food appealed to me more than a Tylenol. Then I stopped short. Why, I didn’t have a headache! None whatsoever. I was totally clear-headed. If I could fight the withdrawal symptoms, then I’d be free of Tylenols! However, I still wanted to lose 30 more pounds.
The guard returned and spoke through the opening of the door. “Move away now. Move back.” I meekly stood in the far corner and awaited my room-service meal. “Doctor will be up in ten minutes,” the guard informed me.
He didn’t leave the room so I stayed in the corner. “Go ahead,” he said. “Eat. I have to watch you in case you try something.”
I moved towards the food. “Every time I eat?” I asked.
“Until you’re moved into the next ward. Then you’ll eat your meals in the cafeteria, although there are guards there too. After meals, you get searched for hidden utensils.” My guard appeared to like his job. “We only have three of these mattress rooms. They’re used for active criminally insane or for people like you.”
“Like me?” I asked as I began to eat my supper. One boiled potato, no butter, carrots (and too many at that), a boiled piece of chicken and some Jell-O. I licked my plate clean.
“People who give us a rough time when they come in,” the guard replied. “We don’t know what peak of insanity they’ve reached and so that we don’t get sued, we take the precaution of putting them in here.”
“Do you always work nights?” I asked.
“Always,” he said. “4 p.m. to 4 a.m. We move from ward to ward though. Same shift, different pile.” He laughed and I laughed along with him, although I didn’t get the joke. I was just so happy to feel sane again.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Pegli,” he replied. “Well, I’ll take your tray now.” He opened the door just as the doctor appeared. I was dismayed to see Pegli leaving.
“Any trouble?” the doctor asked.
“None, but you can never tell with these people,” Pegli said and left.
The doctor entered my padded cell. “Hello, I’m Dr. Stavefield,” he said. He looked at a chart he was carrying. “Goodness, it says you voluntarily committed yourself. Why?”
“I had a nervous breakdown,” I explained. “I truly believed I was dangerous.”
“Well, we need more citizens like you,” Dr. Stavefield commended me. “Why don’t you come with me and we’ll give you an examination. Guard!” he shouted down the hall.
“Oh, that’s alright,” I reassured him. “I don’t feel dangerous anymore.”
He was still being nice. “Just a precaution, you understand, until I can assess your mental status.”
“Of course,” I said. The guard appeared – Pegli again – and I was led out of my cell. This was the first time I really focused on the place I was now residing. It actually did resemble a hospital. I was in a room at the very end of the corridor. Every room had a window that you could look through. Not very private, I thought. We passed the nurse’s desk and I saw Nurse Lavally counting out pills. My glands salivated.
I wanted to see what kind of loony went behind these doors. I angled my steps closer toward one of the rooms then stopped. “Aren’t these the new kind of fluorescent lights?” I asked and pointed up.
Pegli and Dr. Stavefield stopped briefly and looked up. I spun my head to look into a window. All I saw was a fat man picking his nose. If that was a sign of insanity, then a third of the car drivers in New York were lunatics.
“I couldn’t say,” Dr. Stavefield said. “Come on, let’s go.”
We went up a flight of stairs and then began going up to the third floor. “What’s on the second floor?” I asked.
“That’s the men’s ward,” Pegli said, proud of his institution. “If you check out with the doctor, you get the fourth floor.”
“What about the first floor?” I enquired, not that I was overly fond of my cell.
“That’s the mattress rooms and cells for the people who still need to be constantly monitored,” Pegli said. “The fourth floor is open; it’s got about forty beds and only one guard.”
“We’ll give you a little tour,” Dr. Stavefield said. “I’ll show you the third floor; that’s the kitchen, eating area and recreation area. Of course we can’t show you the second floor as women aren’t allowed to mingle with the men.”
“Of course,” I said again. Pegli opened the third-floor door for the doctor and I. It was eerie seeing the place at night. Deathly silent and still. I began to feel nervous about Pegli and the doctor; after all, they were complete strangers.
“I’ve seen enough,” I said.
We went up one more floor. “This is the women’s ward,” Pegli said. There was a small staff lounge, a nurse’s area and a huge open space filled with cots. I saw one woman dart from another’s bed as we entered.
“Where’s the guard?” Dr. Stavefield wondered.
“Probably on his break,” Pegli thought. Everyone was in bed and under the covers. It was still fairly early – just past midnight – but it was clearly past lights-out time.
I noticed a women’s washroom. “Excuse me…?” I said. I really had to take a piss.
“Oh, no,” Dr. Stavefied held me back. “Save it for the urine sample, please.”
I thought I could hold on that long. We went up one more flight of stairs. “Top floor,” the doctor said. “The best for last! This is where I spend most of my time, in the laboratory. We have the finest equipment in New
York City.” Dr. Stavefield was vainglorious about this floor. He introduced me to superior blood pressure machines and the latest in electrograms.
Finally, “And here’s my examination room.”
“Great why don’t we get started?” I asked, my legs crossed. My bladder was ready to burst. “Where’s the container for the urine sample?”
After washing his hands (subtle torture), Dr. Stavefield took one out of a cupboard and passed it to me. I grabbed it and started off towards the washroom. “Wait, Alice,” the doctor halted me. “Take this robe and change into it.” I ran back and snatched it from him.
As soon as I saw the toilet, I involuntarily started pissing myself. I threw the robe on the floor, undid my pants, squatted over the seat and began filling the container. In no time, my hand got hot. Oh shit! I’m overflowing the thing! I yanked my hand out from under myself and spilled some pee on my robe. Piss on it. I was glad to empty my bladder. I capped the full-to-the-brim urine jar and changed into my robe.
The doctor ran me through a battery of tests then sat me down and had a talk with me. I told him a few of the circumstances that led me to Lyman’s Institute for the Criminally Insane. The doctor examined a couple x-rays then studied me for a moment.
“Alice, since you checked yourself in, you can also check yourself out. I’ve given my examination and legally, you’d be allowed on the streets of New York,” the doctor said. “However, I’d like you to consider staying. I’ve found heavy traces of Tylenols and diet pills in your system and I’d say you were an addict…”
“I need them!” I said.
“You don’t NEED them, Alice,” the doctor sternly said.
“OK, I don’t need the Tylenols. I’m off them anyways. But let me stick to the diet pills!” I begged. “I need to lose 30 more pounds!”
“You don’t need pills to lose weight. There are more sensible diets,” Stavefield said. Yeah, like carrots for breakfast, lettuce for lunch and celery for supper. “I’d like to treat you for your pill dependency, put you on a proper nutritional diet, monitor your nervous breakdown…”