Blake's Addiction

Blake did the right thing

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A nervous Blake Jenson tiptoed past numerous therapist rooms in his casual college clothes. He hadn’t been in a therapy building since he was a kid because his father used to go to one to get help and guidance for his family problems.

He was looking for office #160 and the name John Jones, the therapist he was assigned to online when he applied for one three days ago. The closer Blake got to his therapist, the more his anxiety increased.

He didn’t want to see a therapist about his increasing issue, but he knew in his heart that if he didn’t see one now about it, his mind would get to the point where it wouldn’t want him to get help.

Blake was getting close to his destination. He saw offices #152, #154, #156, #158, and #160. He finally arrived in front of the right office. He saw the name in bold black letters.

Dr. John Jones…LCADC.

Blake took a deep breath and contemplated whether to cancel his appointment or go through with it.

‘‘Maybe I should go back to my apartment. It’s no big deal. I can handle this addiction.’’ Blake thought.

He looked left and took one step back to where he came from. Door #160 opened with a charging John Jones catching himself just in time before running over the shocked Blake.

‘‘Whew, I almost ran you over. My fault. Were you coming in?’’ asked Dr. Jones.

‘‘Um, yeah, I was. I have an appointment soon with you.’’

‘‘Yeah! Blake Jenson…correct?’’

‘‘That’s…right,’’ Blake said with his head slightly down.

Dr. Jones offered his right hand to Blake. Blake, in turn, extended his right hand to Dr. Jones’s hand.

‘‘It’s good to meet you, Mr. Jenson.’’

‘‘And you, too, Dr. Jones.’’

‘‘I’m gonna run and get some water. Did you want anything to drink? Orange juice? Apple juice? A soda like Mountain Dew?’’

‘‘I’ll take a water, thank you.’’

‘‘You got it. I’ll be right back. You go ahead and have a seat in one of the two flowery chairs. Make yourself comfortable.’’

‘‘Okay, Doctor.’’

Dr. Jones ran to the break room on the other side of his office in his white coat, a light blue dress shirt, and light brown pants. Blake slowly entered his office, observing the environment around him. He heard jazz music playing quietly on invisible speakers.

Blake then noticed the numerous awards Dr. Jones had on his wall behind his desk. The ‘‘Doctor of the Year’’ one stood out to him because of its large size in a golden-brown frame. Blake turned his gaze to Dr. Jones' pictures of his family of four, which contained his white American wife, his two teenage daughters, and his eight-year-old son.

Seeing those pictures inspired Blake, who still felt lost in his own life. But there was one goal he knew he wanted: to have a family of his own, like his father and German mother had with him, his older brother, and younger sister.

‘‘One day. One day.’’ Blake thought.

Blake finally sat down in a flowery chair. He quickly noticed how comfortable it was. He could fall asleep in it if he allowed himself to. The vibe it gave him, plus the jazz music, put him at ease.

Dr. Jones had returned to his office.

‘‘I got you your water. Nice and cold. Straight from Antarctica’’

‘‘Ha, thank you, Doctor.’’

‘‘You’re very welcome.’’

Dr. Jones got situated in his rocking brown chair before looking over Blake’s paperwork.

‘‘So, how’s your day going, Mr. Jenson?’’

‘‘Eh, it’s going alright. It’s just starting, honestly.’’

‘‘Yeah, I hear you on that. My day started three hours ago.’’

‘‘Oh wow. I’m still asleep at 7 am.’’

‘‘It must be nice, huh?’’

‘‘Yeah, I can’t complain too much.’’

‘‘Alright, well let's get into it, shall we? I understand you’re dealing with an issue that’s been bothering you for months, is that correct?’’

‘‘That…right, Doctor.’’

‘‘Would you like to share a little bit about your addiction?’’

All Blake could feel now was shame, shame that he had his addiction in the first place. His hesitation made him feel uncomfortable about sharing what was bothering him.

‘‘You can do it, son. Speak your truth. The truth will free you. Let that weight fall from your shoulders. Just know that whatever you tell me stays in this room. It could be drugs, porn, etc. I’m not one of those therapists who’ll expose you on TikTok or Instagram. I respect my clients too much for that.’’ said Doctor Jones, gliding around in his rocking chair.

‘‘Okay, well that’s good to know,’’ a relieved Blake said. ‘‘It’s Pancakes.’’

‘‘Pancakes?’’

‘‘Yes, Pancakes. IHOP Pancakes in particular.’’

‘‘Oh, I see. That’s a great restaurant.’’

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‘‘Hmmm, what is it about IHOP Pancakes that you believe has you addicted?’’ asked Dr. Jones while playing with a pencil in his hand.

‘‘They keep calling me. I’m compelled to order them on Uber Eats every Friday. It’s the heaviness of the pancakes. They taste so good! I’ll keep adding maple syrup on them because the pancakes soak up the syrup so quickly. I like to eat IHOP pancakes with eggs and sausage links.’’

‘‘Now that sounds good.’’

‘‘Right?’’

‘‘Oh yeah. Those IHOP Pancakes will have you hooked before you know it.’’

‘‘I must admit, your situation is…unique, but I’m committed to getting answers to help you with this problem. So, how about we schedule our next meeting next Tuesday at 11 am. How does that sound?’’

‘‘That sounds good. That’ll work for me. I’ll make time to come back.’’

‘‘Good, by then I’ll have enough info to set up a plan on helping you break your IHOP addiction.’’

‘‘Awesome. Thank you so much, Doctor. I feel so much better sharing this with you!’’

‘‘Of course. You’re welcome, Mr. Jenson. We’ll fight this together, alright?’’

‘‘Yeah. Together.’’

Dr. Jones rose from his seat after finishing writing his notes. He grabbed one of his small white cards from his desk and handed it to Blake.

‘‘Here’s my card with my number and email on it. If you need to ask a question or anything, feel free to reach out.’’

‘‘Will do, Doctor. Thanks again. I already feel like I can beat this addiction.’’

‘‘And you will, son. You will.’’

Dr. Jones watched as a cheerful Blake Jenson walked out of his office. After pondering for a few minutes, he couldn’t contain himself anymore.

He ran to the breakroom again. The only person there was an older male housekeeper watching TV in one of the chairs. Dr. Jones ran to the refrigerator and saw his stack of IHOP pancakes sitting in front of him.

‘‘A couple of bites won’t hurt.’’ Dr. Jones told himself.

Dr. Jones grabbed the silver container of pancakes and put them in the black microwave nearby. While they heated up, he pulled out four small packs of IHOP original buttermilk syrup from his left pocket.

The abbreviation IHOP stands for International House Of Pancakes, a popular American restaurant chain known for its wide variety of pancakes, breakfast dishes, and comfort food. Commonly used in the context of dining and food culture, IHOP has become synonymous with breakfast and is often referenced in discussions about casual dining establishments across the United States and beyond.

Jerry Lapin, Al Lapin, and Albert Kallis established the International House of Pancakes with the help of Sherwood Rosenberg and William Kaye on July 16, 1958. The first IHOP opened its doors in Burbank, California.

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