Note: This piece is fictional and is part of our satire section, A Reflective Laugh. It uses wit and humour to highlight social and environmental issues, aiming to provoke thought, spark conversation and bring awareness to the complexities of the world around us.
I managed to live 45 years without being invited to an intervention. When I finally was, it was for a person I didn’t even know. My friend Gwen said she needed more people, and two of our game-night friends would be there, so out of curiosity, I agreed to attend.
I sat in Gwen’s living room with Patty, Herb and the intended beneficiary, ready to swear that I would never talk to the addict again unless he mended his ways. For me, it would be easier if he didn’t, because not talking to him was my current situation. We had never met. I had no idea what he was addicted to but figured I’d find out soon enough.
Gwen knew I liked Michelob. She handed me a cold mug and gave another to the intended beneficiary, so I knew alcohol wasn’t his issue. I thought that Gwen would begin the intervention, but instead, Herb stood up and addressed Gwen.
“You know that we support you, Gwen, or else we wouldn’t be here. But this is going too far.” He looked at the original intended beneficiary, then back at Gwen. He seemed to have hit a roadblock. He then looked at me, so I took a long drink from my frosty mug, which was large enough to conceal most of my face. I had no experience in these things, but I was fairly certain this wasn’t the way it had been planned. At least, not by Gwen, who looked confused.
Herb stood there like a deer in headlights for a few seconds, before Patty rescued him. “Gwen,” Patty started. “I can’t thank you enough for the way you helped me, and you were right—I was thoroughly obsessed with wandering house plants, and my home did look like a tropical rainforest, and the humidity was through the roof. It was negatively impacting my emotional availability.” Patty turned towards Herb. “And I know that Herb’s quality of life has improved immensely since we confronted him about his obsession with rail transport. It’s been weeks, already, since the last time he expounded on the carbon emissions society could avoid by taking a train rather than a plane, or a car, or even walking—”
Herb cut in eagerly. “Believe it or not, combined with the CO2 used to produce, refine and transport the food our bodies expend as fuel, the toxins in our respiration, and the rubber needed to create comfortable shoes, which wear out quickly…”
Patty gave him a sharp look, and continued. “Gwen, your interventions have helped many, but this has grown into an addiction of its own. Your closest friends need you to know that we are here to help you through it.”
By this time I had almost finished my beer and seriously needed something to hide behind—drinking the last of it would have robbed me of my cover. I noticed that the original intended beneficiary had hardly touched his drink, so I stealthily swapped his full mug for my nearly empty one and continued to imbibe, demonstrably too occupied to contribute to the proceedings.
Patty sat down. Silence reigned. Gwen looked from one of us to the other. I took another swig. The intended beneficiary looked at his hands.
Gwen stood up, tears welling. “You are so right! I can’t believe how blind I have been. Thank you so much! Without your courage and fortitude, this intervention would never have happened, and I would still be lost. I treasure you all so dearly!”
Everyone hugged her in turn. I was last, and nearly done with the second beer by the time it was my turn to console and comfort Gwen. I assured her of my unwavering support for her new direction, leaving behind her compulsive need to intervene in other people’s lives. Then, we all left. It seemed like a short intervention to me, but what did I know? Walking to our cars, I paused to ask the original intended beneficiary what behaviour he thought we might have been there to correct.
“I don’t know. Last week Gwen was like, ‘Please come to my house next Tuesday. I’m having some friends over to play Catan, nothing formal.’ And I’m all like, ‘Sure Gwen! That sounds so fun.’ You know? Then, I get here and, like, I don’t know. Is that how interventions usually work?”
I just shook my head. “I don’t know either, but it sure made me thirsty. Do you feel like having one at the pub on the way home?”
