The Reenactment

I went to see my doctor today. You know how some white people are just really white? Extra white, even? My doctor is one of those people. His resemblance to Dick Cheney happens to be striking. He could easily pass for Dick's younger brother.

I have never seen Doctor without his little American flag pin on the left lapel of his suit jacket. Do you remember years ago when it became fashionable for men to wear a pale pink dress shirt underneath a suit jacket? This style is still widely accepted, and it is one that my doctor decided to engage in today. The only problem was that he decided to pair his shirt with pink socks that were about 82 times brighter than the pink shade of his shirt. Overall he's a nice guy. It's not his fault that he has almost no personality... or that he's just so white.

Our sessions are usually cut-and-dried; solely focused on the task at hand, which is medication management. Very rarely do we deviate from this task in our conversations, except for the one time he mentioned that he has no understanding of abstract art, so I took it upon myself to begin teaching him. This proved to be as effective as the time my father tried to explain football to me-- he ended up just telling me to leave because he couldn't take it anymore. So, other than the abstract art lecture, our exchanges are very dry, and very practical.

Imagine my surprise today when the following exchange occurred:

Doctor: So, how have your moods been?
Me: They have been pretty even.
Doctor: What about your attention and concentration?
Me: Same. Not improved. Frustrating.
Doctor: What else?
Me: I still struggle with feelings of emptiness; always trying to fill a void.
Doctor: Well, what things can you use to feel more fulfilled?
Me: I can work on art, spend time with friends... I can write... I can continue being active in Jewish life... stuff like that.
Doctor: So, if you've identified those things, then why don't you do them?
Me: Because I like the quick fix. You know, like spending money-- it feels really good, really quickly-- but then I end up feeling awful and empty again.
Doctor: (Suddenly looking uncharacteristcally enthusiastic) Well, sometimes you just have to realize that a cracker is a cracker!!
Me: (Nodding my head with an interested look, so that it appears that I wholeheartedly agree with his statement even though I have no idea what the hell he's actually talking about).
Doctor: Did you ever see that Eddie Murphy skit?
Me: No.

At this point, Doctor launched into a full-blown reenactment of the following skit: You may watch it here. I'm pretty sure that he brought up this reference to illustrate that that sometimes people try to fill a void with things that they think are exciting quick-fixes, but they really are just regular things.

Doctor really went all-out for this one-- he even imitated Eddie Murphy's cracker-eating hand movements. The worst part, however, was when Doctor made it to his grand finale, which is when Eddie Murphy says: "Hey-- I just got them regular 'ol crackers." My ultra-white Doctor tried to say it as though he was black. The entire thing was just painful to watch.

I was interested in seeing this Eddie Murphy skit for myself, so I looked it up on YouTube. Doctor neglected to tell me that the title of the skit is "The Best Pussy," and that it's about a man's distorted view of sex after he had to wait for it for five months.

It's a shame that I've wasted so much money on insight-oriented therapy when I could have just taken a minute and-a-half of my wretched life to watch "The Best Pussy." I get it now. I get everything. I really do. Thanks, Doctor.