Counselor in a “Teenage Lock-Down Drug Rehabilitation Center”
Posted: Wednesday, May 04, 2011
by Calvin Pstone
No Smoking 101
(from Chapter 5 in my book, " No Smoking 101 "
I worked as a counselor in a “Teenage Lock-Down Drug Rehabilitation Center.” Interacting with the most unruly group of young people possible, you learn just how intense each hour of an adult’s existence can become. This job made me seem like a prisoner in a teen-age lockdown facility for three months, part of my “boot camp” for wannabe state-certified drug counselors.
Counseling caged teenagers is right on par with battling aliens. Picture me in a room with 15 of them, all armed with high-velocity brainwave guns, while my only weapon as their counselor emerges as my naked brain—a brightly colored bull’s eye painted on my frontal lobe.
Their leader—there is always a head guy, trust me—carries three wallet-sized, “Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrators”—little burrowing miniature H-Bombs. If such a leader’s troops fail to destroy you, he will personally finish you off. In this instance, my key adversary becomes a teen who will, absolutely, positively, assault you, just to watch you die.
My relatively nice classroom featured a heavy-screened window providing an eastern exposure, a desk, chairs for 20, indirect lighting, and a blackboard. “Yes,” I thought to myself, “I can do some teaching here. I have spent years slaving away at securing my counseling degree—although undercover. I’m going to break a leg for these teens.”
Yes Reader, a question? Oh, the “undercover” . . . well, I was working for the government, ah . . . as a spy, preparing a detailed report about lockdown teen drug facilities. You know . . . why do 85 percent of teens in these facilities return to jail and or prison?
Actually, I was carrying out a pre-designed three-year plan to infiltrate all seven drugs and alcohol counseling agencies in a town of 60,000. In fact, I worked at each agency during the assigned three-year period, the teen facility emerging as the most memorable. And yes, I had to actually get a state certification and be a real counselor to get into each drug agency. Hey, my “Fed” contact, “Blue Rose,” had previously warned me that it might take years. No problem, they wanted to know what was really going on with drug rehabilitation. My mission: determine why the United States government was losing the “War on Drugs”.
Well, back to my first day at the “Youth Center.” Just 10 minutes into my first class with the teens, it became crystal clear to me that I had to toss my education in the trash and take all my life’s experiences and forget them. I had to realize I was on my own; completely naked, at least in a mental sense. The teenagers, in their effortless way, had torn off all of my mind’s clothes.
In response, I needed to smash these teens in the face as hard as I could or they would, in about 2-3 more minutes, shred me, and carefully pick up all my pieces, and place me in the trash can. And then light the can’s contents on fire. I was about to become a pile of burnt crumb toast in their mind’s eyes. They eat counselors for breakfast.
The agency expected me to teach these teens, using a stack of textbooks my employer had stacked on my classroom desk. I picked one up and saw the name on the front cover in large gold letters, “How Drugs and Alcohol Kill You”.
Speechless, I pictured myself offering this insulting volume to these young people. I would look like a complete jerk presenting this caliber of—and I use the word loosely—teaching. Sensing that the agency lacked any clue, I felt stunned and shocked on my own. In spy terminology, I was about to become road kill.
Like a bunch of well organized monkeys, the teens waited for me to hold up one of these stupid books and tell them to turn to page so and so. No one could ever catch me endorsing a textbook with such a stupid approach.
Desperate, I decided to toss a grenade in the middle of them. I reached in my back pocket and took out my wallet. Opening it, I extracted a twenty, which was a lot of cash back then. Holding the currency in the air, I told them that I had figured out how much money the center spent for me to teach them their classes each day. I pointed to the twenty and said that this class hour cost the center $20.
As their curious eyes locked on the twenty, I said that if the agency wanted to waste $20 every day, that was fine, “But why not give the money to you teens here in this classroom?”
Instantly, a hearty, “Yeah, give it to us,” arose. Chair/desk hand slaps and snorting and more chants of “Yeah, give us the money” filled the classroom.
While they were laughing and mocking, they didn’t notice the cigarette lighter, my “Zippo® Special,” in my hand. I moved the Zippo® under the twenty and lit it off.
They freaked! . . . Spellbound, each watched as flames engulfed the paper bill. In unison, they screamed, “No, no, don’t do that!” Their taunting smiles had quickly turned to an expression of horror. As they started to move towards me in an effort to extinguish their pain and my ignited money, I climbed onto the top of the big desk. Holding the incandescent currency higher, they arrived at my desk and started jumping in the air in an effort to grab the now flaming, U.S. government Silver-Certificate. (Do not try this at home, it is illegal.)
At about three quarter’s burn, I wadded it quickly in my hand and extinguished the flames. The head guy, I probably shouldn’t reveal his name, oh what the heck, Steve, just sat in his chair, quietly watching, as was the custom of those in charge. His long black hair remained still and his steel-cool eyes caught everything. If he was feeling even the slightest emotion, it remained well hidden.
I said to the flustered small mob of 14 teens, “Have a seat, this twenty is Steve’s.”
They looked at each other and then at Steve. Some shrugged their shoulders, others assumed looks of, “Oh, OK,” and slowly went back to their seats. Their usual “permission-to-be-seated” look at Steve didn’t happen because they were in shock. Until this point, no one had ever branded their brains by burning money in front of them.
Amazingly, I had burned their money, acknowledged their leader, and they, for the first time, obeyed my direct order. I had stolen their attention as no other counselor ever did. You won’t find this technique in any other texts.
I climbed back off my desk and said, as I again took out my wallet, “I apologize for burning your twenty-dollar bill, Steve.”
I slid another twenty out of my wallet and added the three-quarters-burned one to its company. I walked to Steve and handed him the ruined and the crisp new twenty dollar bill and said, “Here’s your twenty back, Steve. Keep the burned one as a prize and thank you for your help with the beginning of today’s lesson, ‘Wasting Money and Burning Time.’”
Steve reached out for the money, unable to contain his small smile. He was totally amused by my ability to give everyone a bloody nose. I had also just proved, as the Bible mentions, that a bribe can sometimes do much good.
Needless to say, I had them, explaining that wasting the counseling center’s money on this class was blowing their money. By funding this session, the facility was taking twenty bucks every class and burning it up. Wouldn’t it be better to simply give the cash to the teens? I conveyed to their angry minds that I would give Steve $20 during every class session, and he then would distribute the cash to them as he saw fit. In return, they would take my instruction seriously, and learn how to apply the text’s feeble lessons to my teachings about their surviving on the streets. And we would learn the managing of our addictive behaviors, me too, everyone has addictions, and learn how to be more effective in securing whatever they really wanted. I gave them respect and Hope. In my opinion, as a handle-with-care subject, hope serves as a critical ingredient for any counseling situation. The clinic’s dull text only compounded their hopelessness because if offered no Faith in themselves.
I felt fortunate that Steve became amused by my bribe offer, and his followers, too. They all thought, “Cool, we’ll give Cal’s teachings a go; they could be fun".
Yes, fun that kept them and the head guy, out of trouble for one day. You know—one day at a time and all that. The bribe was good for them, and the bribe was good for me. Of course that process reinforced violence with regards to blackmail and breaking federal laws, but the lockup facility would fail to help them, only make them angrier. I gave these teens some teachings they could sink their teeth into.
As my time on the job matured, several young clients confided in me and we actually had real and quality counseling time. I feel I made a difference in their lives for the positive. They probably, to this day, still remember “Counselor Cal”.
When I started at the agency, I spotted the toughest teen male, Steve, the first day. The second day, I personally bribed him. I wanted to get the ball rolling to actually have quality teaching time with the teens. I wanted to create change and I had to because failure was not an option—for I was a spy. I had infiltrated the most-high place. Thinking I was a counselor, everyone lacked any idea of my real purpose for being there.
However, I was also human. Compassion ruled my heart and I switched my priorities to counseling first and spying second.
Prisoners of war and spies often exchange certain items and information. So on that second day, because there was a drug war going on there, I needed a quick, efficient way of making friends with Steve. I reached into my bag of assault weapons and pulled out an automatic 40-millimeter bribe.
Always remember that the number-one item that stops the action of, shoot-first-and-ask- questions-later—Steve’s method of operation—is giving a carton of cigarettes to the head guy—just for openers. Unable to offer him cigarettes, I gave him a book titled, “The Polite Gentlemen in Pros”.
His first reaction: he raised his right eye high and produced an expression of, “You can’t be serious, dude.” I told him to open the book. He did and his mouth opened also. Creating a hollow space, I had carved out the pages and the space was now occupied by a complete assortment of six precious “Mars Candy Bars,” a treat since authorities prohibited candy in the compound.
He smacked the book shut, smiled, and offered me “nodding head” approval. Then, we nodded heads, the prisoner-spy equivalent of shaking hands. He became my impressed adventure partner. I could move freely around the agency without having to deal with the constant needling the teens invariably give their captors. Steve ordered them to give me leeway.
I needed unobstructed time to prepare a report for my contact about the agency’s true effectiveness. . .(and the story continues. . ., free pictures and illustrations from the book: www.nosmoking101.com )
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Top-level comments on this article: (1 total)I loved the pink diaper and blue diaper dinosaur illustration and the story of the counselor with teenagers and how he did not follow protocol. The $20.00 bill for the so called leader, and then burning it must have happened with this author in real life. It is great to read and maybe know that the author may have experienced all of this that he has written about. This book can still be read to young children by their parents and young teenagers may read this book as well there is a lot of instruction as well with the illustrations to show not to smoke. I recommend this book very highly.
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