Brenda sits across the table from a nervous-looking man who grabs the arms of his chair and explains, "It's not like I have to cross a bridge every day. I never have to cross bridges. But I think about crossing them constantly." Brenda asks the gentleman if he's speaking metaphorically, and he tells her, "No, I'm talking about literal bridges." I sure hope this is their first session. She asks him if anything bad has ever happened to him or anyone he knows on a bridge, and he laughs and tells her, "They collapse all the time. If you Google 'bridge collapses,' you get, like, a thousand hits." You get exactly 6,050 hits. And if you Google "struck by lightning," you get 121,000. "Eaten by a bear" yields 2,210. "Smoking-related illness" nets only 6,750, and "died laughing" will give you 15,900. I'm just saying Google searches might not be the most reliable barometer of life and death. It wouldn't benefit insurance companies to come up with their premiums this way, is all. But don't even make me tell you how many hits you get when you enter "woman drivers." Don't check now. Keep your eyes on the road!
While I've been throwing the recapping thread off of Tangent Bridge, Brenda has come to her official diagnosis of her patient: "That's a phobia, Byron." I'd be much more nervous about walking the streets with the name "Byron" unless my first name were "Lord" and this century were some other century. Byronmoves a glass abruptly across the table to show that he has OCD. Brenda tells him to imagine that he's walking down a street and comes to a bridge. She guides him across it, and tells him that it doesn't collapse, ending, "Now you're on the other side, safe and sound." He fact-checks that conclusion, correcting her, "No, I'm not. Halfway across, I jumped off." Well, now, "jumped off a bridge" is going to take a whole other Google search. Just hold on a sec while I...ah, never mind. I'll just have Ruth do it.
Brenda turns the conversation to whether Lord Byron is taking any medication, and he tells her that he's on "forty milligrams of Prozac." She takes this moment to check in with her supervisor, a woman on the other side of the glass ["MamaLane!" -- Wing Chun] who tells Brenda that they should up his Prozac, and scoffs at Brenda's radical notion that they "address his behavior." The doctor responds that Lord Byron may never get over his phobia, and Brenda asks the tough question of why he's in therapy to begin with, then. The doctor tells her, "Maybe that's the one thing that keeps him from jumping off a bridge." Brenda asserts, "I think we do better than that." Pretty much, I think this whole scene could have done better than that.