Jerry.

She had been everywhere. Her friends always seemed impressed that she was able to travel for her job, but what they didn't see was the job. Sure, she got to travel across the United States for her job, but it was still just that: a job. She worked for the Department of Alcohol and Drug Programs, which inspected rehabs across America. It sounded interesting, but really, it was just a job. A lot of people figured that inspectors only worked locally, but the actual math of it all was surprising. It was cheaper to fly her from state to state, inspect rehab facilities, then fly out again than it would be to employ someone in each state. The difference wasn't astronomical, but budget cuts had made every dollar count, and in that respect she was just happy to have a job. She had gone to college for public relations, but here she was, walking the hallways of a California drug rehab in the middle of July. She was on her way to meet with the caretakers at this particular facility. This was her favorite part of the job, because everyone seemed to think she had more power than she actually did. Really, her job was simply writing down what didn't work, and advising them to change it or risk losing any licenses they held. Most of the time, it came down to pointing out the hours on the website differed from their actual hours. It wasn't glamorous. But here she was regardless, inspecting rehabs in California, sitting down with their staff. The interviews went by quickly as they usually do. What do you enjoy about working here? Stuff. What could this facility be doing better to more effectively care for its patients? More stuff. It was pretty basic at this point. What wasn't basic, however, was Jerry. 

Jerry was sitting in front of her, visibly trying to conceal his anxiety. He was sweating, which didn't make sense with the California high-powered AC that had left her shivering in the cold, white office they found themselves in. He was pudgy, and seemed to retreat behind the large, black-rimmed glasses that framed a soft, kind oval face. He was impeccably, unbelievably nervous, and she wondered if he'd try and lie. In all her years of inspecting, she'd never had anyone lie. Usually, they just told the truth, not realizing that their answer was far from correct. However, Jerry seemed like he knew that whatever he said, it would be the wrong answer. Eager to see where this interaction would go, she dove in head first. 

"Hello, Jerry. I'm Sarah, and I'll just be asking you a few questions about your facility. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sounds fine" he said quickly.

"Ok, so, what do you enjoy about working here?"

"The food, the food is good."

"The food is good?" she thought. That's new. Just when she thought she had heard it all.

"The food? Anything else?"

"No - I mean, I don't think so. I don't hate it. I'm sorry." He trailed off.

Concerned, she pressed.

"Is something wrong? Do you have any concerns about working here?"

"No. No, it's fine." he paused. "It's just, it's just so sad, you know?" he said, meeting her eyes with his for the first time.

"What do you mean?"

"All these people, they're hurt, and they're trying to get better. I can't really help them. I just clean the rooms. I've seen so many rooms empty after the first night. So many trashed and messed up. I don't mind the cleanup, I mean, that's my job. It's just, when did cleaning become so sad?"

She wanted to respond, but had no idea where to begin. Despite spending years in rehabilitation facilities just like this one, she had no idea what it was actually like, even for people who play the smallest roles.

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "I understand." She didn't, but he seemed like he needed the encouragement.

"Thanks. I'm sorry, I'm sure that's not what you want to hear. It's a fine job. Please, don't tell my boss."

"I won't."

Jerry left, and before she invited in the next person, she added a small detail to her notes. Recommend: staff therapy. If she couldn't help, she wanted to make sure someone would.