Dr. Quizell's silence was taken as approval by Zhang Dianyu.
He opened the program panel and saw that after being suspended for a week, the number of prisoners queuing up for drug addiction treatment and Alcoholics Aid meetings suddenly increased a lot.
But there was only one psychiatrist in the prison at this time. Zhang Dianyu has arranged for his current work to focus on behavioral therapy, providing psychological counseling to violent prisoners.
Then there is no one to host the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting for the time being. Zhang Dianyu glanced at Dr. Quizell and frowned slightly.
The female doctor didn't look very strong, but AA should not be so violent. She just pretended to listen patiently to the confession of the prisoner, and then gave an encouraging smile.
"Then, Dr. Quizell." Zhang Dianyu thought for a while, "Currently, the prison has not officially accepted mentally ill criminals. If you don't mind, would you like to temporarily take the post of psychiatrist?"
Dr. Quizell looked disappointed: "I don't mind."
Zhang Dianyu: "...doctor?"
No, is this the correct attitude towards your boss
"Sir," Dr. Quizell's disappointed expression suddenly changed, and he licked the corner of his mouth and laughed, "You know this, what a fascinating...psychiatry is."
Zhang Dianyu didn't think so.
"But if you need it," said Dr. Quizell with a strange smile, "it's not impossible..."
Zhang Dianyu felt that the atmosphere was not right.
"So… "
Dr. Quizell was interrupted by Zhang Dianyu as soon as he spoke.
"Then doctor, the public room is in the middle of the prison, and the Alcoholics Mutual Aid Society is held there." Zhang Dianyu pretended to look at his watch, "The participants of this issue should already be waiting for you there, so don't worry about it." You're wasting your time, Doctor."
He quickly picked up the internal phone: "Peter, send Dr. Quizell to the common room."
Dr. Quizell showed some confusion, and stretched out his hand to scratch his hair.
Peter pushed the door open, and when his eyes fell on Dr. Quizell, he squeezed his fist slightly and rolled his throat.
Zhang Dianyu knew in his heart that he saw someone he knew.
He waved his hand: "Go, Peter."
Peter's behavior seemed inexplicably nervous. He swallowed and looked at the female psychiatrist on the chair: "Please go this way, Dr. Kui... Dr. Quizell."
Quizel thought for a while, then stood up in a good manner, showing a bright smile: "Okay, Peter?"
Peter took a step back, the expression on his face more tense.
When Dr. Quizell arrived at the "center of the prison", he couldn't help but be infected by the atmosphere present.
Isn't this the fucking cafeteria
"Uh," Peter scratched his hair a little embarrassedly, "the public room is over there."
He pointed to an open space in the far corner of the cafeteria. There were seven or eight people sitting there, all of whom looked listless and silent, looking at each other in blank dismay.
Explaining the inexplicable state of the prison to a super-criminal makes Peter feel a little awkward—but he's not wearing the Spider-Man suit now, so he can pretend he doesn't know Harley Quinn.
Yesterday, Batman asked him to stay still, and Mr. Stark also said not to startle the snake, so Peter had to try his best to show his acting skills.
Fortunately, he's experienced in this matter - he has long lived a double life of going to school by day and fighting crime by wearing a Spider-Man suit at night, except for Ned, Aunt May and Mary Jane and Mr. Stark and Commissioner Fury No one has yet discovered his identity.
... But summing it up like this, it seems that there are quite a few people.
Peter scratched his hair and tried to explain: "It's like this, Dr. Qu... Dr. Quizell. The area next to it used to be a public area, and the warden also arranged public entertainment facilities such as billiard tables for the prisoners. Not long ago It has only just been converted into a new detention cell."
After listening to Dr. Quizell, he tilted his head and looked at Peter for a while.
Peter: "..."
It seems that this explanation is indeed more strange.
"Very interesting, little sir." Dr. Quizell smiled lowly and winked at Peter.
Peter: "..."
Fuck, he also made Harley Quinn feel funny here, and he screwed up the mission again!
It's not time for dinner yet, but the restaurant is already filled with the aroma of food.
After a week of spinach, it was day two of going back to a moderate diet.
Prison schedules rarely include dedicated incarceration time. Once the particularly restless prisoners were identified by Zhang Dianyu, they would be directly handcuffed and thrown into the confinement room for self-reflection. Other than sleeping, showering, and eating, the rest belonged to free time.
Free time includes labor and study in prison, as well as group therapy for alcoholics under the charge of Dr. Quetzel at this time, and so on.
Zhang Dianyu took great pains to get them to reform and get parole as soon as possible (and bring a reward of 3,000 yuan).
As for the prisoners who can't survive the frequent friction caused by a lot of free time... the strong are suitable to survive in society.
After Peter ran away as if fleeing, Dr. Quizell looked at the sluggish crowd not far away, and walked over with a clipboard between his hands.
This feels both familiar and strange.
She hadn't known how long it had been since she put on a doctor's white coat and studied the mental state of patients—in fact, she was only concerned with the mental state of one person now.
Her charming Mr. J.
His crazy laugh when he robbed the bank, and his happy shrill laugh when he played hide-and-seek with the flying big mouse, all made her addicted to it.
Thinking of this, the smile on Dr. Quizell's face became sweeter.
The dining room is filled with the aroma of food, but at this time it cannot impress the 7 prisoners sitting on the 8 chairs in the corner, because their minds are occupied by another thing-the constant surge of alcohol addiction.
Dr. Quizell casually flipped through the clipboard in his hand.
"Okay, I'm the host of this mutual aid meeting. Are you...alcoholics?" She pointed at someone beside her boredly, "Let's start with you, let's talk about the alcohol addiction that plagues you."
The skinny prisoner next to her in an orange jumpsuit winced. "I... Me?"
Dr. Quizell: "Bullshit?"
"Oh, yes, yes." The prisoner swallowed, slowly sinking into painful memories.
"I... I am the father of three children."
"Okay, next one," Quizel said.
Skinny Prisoner: "...?"
The overweight prisoner next to him in a dark red prison uniform was also caught off guard: "Uh..."
Quizel: "Next."
Prisoners: "..."
It took Dr. Quizell 3 minutes to solve the mutual aid meeting, and then he glanced at the prisoners who were a little bit unwilling, and said with some crazy joy in his tone: "You can leave—guys?"
The prisoners didn't dare to raise any objections, and left their chairs disheartened.
Until three o'clock in the afternoon, Dr. Quizell, who once again spent a few minutes driving the prisoners away, slumped on a chair with an unhappy face and gnawed a beet head that slipped out of the refrigerator, becoming more and more irritable as he thought about it.
She just went to the kitchen to explore the terrain, and was told by the guard that it was time for group treatment for alcoholics, and he was responsible for protecting her safety here.
and overseers.
It's a long story. After all, it is quite expensive to hire a psychiatrist, and if they are killed by prisoners, there will be a period of vacancy in the middle, which is a potential loss. Zhang Dianyu must send a guard to follow him every step of the way.
That means Dr. Quezel lost the chance to connect with her little pudding, she thought resentfully, nibbling at the head of a beet.
The guard held a stun gun in his hand, and was not affected by her murderous eyes in the slightest.
In addition, what suffocated Dr. Quetzel the most was that this mutual aid meeting lasted from 8:00 am to 11:00 pm every day when the prisoner’s dormitory was turned off, and there were only two meal times in between—but it didn’t make any difference to her, it was still in this cafeteria.
She felt herself soaked in the smell of smoked sausage now.
She's even a smoked sausage that gnaws on the head of a beet.
"I want to see the warden." Dr. Quizell finally couldn't bear it anymore and said to the guards.
The guard dutifully went to inform her of the request, and soon returned to inform her that the warden was waiting for her in the office.
Little did he know that Zhang Dianyu was also looking for her to talk to at this time, and he was very saddened by the passing rate of group treatment for alcoholics today.
The efficiency of the last psychiatrist has already made Zhang Dianyu very distressed about his 200 dollars per session. You must know that at least 6-7 sessions of treatment plan should be arranged every day, which is really pushing his lungs.
If the last psychiatrist had made his heart ache, this Dr. Quizell's sabotage was suffocating him.
Today, 5 phases of the treatment plan have been carried out, and the pass rate is astonishingly 0, 0%.
"Doctor," Zhang Dianyu said to the female psychiatrist who walked into the office, "... Are your requirements too strict for the prisoners? I found that the treatment pass rate is still 0 for the time being."
Dr. Quizell thought for a while: "So we have to let them pass?"
Zhang Dianyu: "..."
"That is to say," Dr. Quizell tilted his head, a strand of golden hair fell from her ear, which seemed to suit her better than the original meticulous hairstyle, "as long as they all pass the treatment plan, I can leave that damned place?"
"That's right..." Zhang Dianyu hesitated, "But what I didn't expect was that there would be people who don't like cafeterias?"
You must know that prisoners like to play billiards, watch TV and lift barbells in the cafeteria.
"I only like one kind of food..." Dr. Quizell smiled strangely, "That's my little pudding." She paused, "and his favorite lemon cream sandwich chocolate, in the shape of a little turtle."
Zhang Dianyu: "..."
Unfortunately, the psychiatrist he had just hired apparently couldn't count.
Dr. Quizell returned to the dining room filled with the smell of food.
The chefs here cook almost all day. In addition to the concentrated meal time, prisoners often come over to watch TV with dinner plates at other times.
The warden was right, the prisoners in this prison really liked the cafeteria.
But Dr. Quetzel was only concerned with getting his Alcoholic Aid Society dismantled—that is, getting all the inmates in it through the treatment program—quickly.
The participants in the last Alcoholics Anonymous meeting before dinner were already in place, and Dr. Quizell immediately selected one of them.
"You, you can start."
The prisoner who was targeted was slightly taken aback, but immediately understood what she meant, and it seemed that this was not the first time he had attended an AA meeting.
This is a serious prisoner wearing a dark orange prison uniform, with a strong nasal voice, greasy and dull skin, and obvious characteristics of alcoholism.
"This is the seventh time I've been to AA," he wiped his nose loudly, "and the third time I've been in jail... Each time for DUI, the addiction followed me like tarsus maggots, once dragged me into this abyss again..."
Dr. Quizell was very impatient, trying to suppress his feelings: "So, you don't feel like you have any alcohol addiction now, do you?"
The alcoholic prisoner rubbed his eyes in bewilderment: "No, doctor... I mean, I can't get rid of it." His eyes gradually turned red, "I tried my best, doctor. But whenever I'm lost, only Drinking hard can get me out of self-blame for a moment, I... I went to prison this time because of a car accident, and a whole family died in the sea of fire..." He suddenly began to cry, "Doctor, there is also a two-year-old year old kids…”
Dr. Quizell took a deep breath: "So... are you feeling better now?"
"No, doctor," cried the alcoholic prisoner, "I can't forgive myself, I shouldn't have survived that tragedy..."
Dr. Quizell showed a look of sudden realization.
She suddenly grabbed the only vacant chair, weighed it in her hand, and swung it on the head of the prisoner who had just spoken with all her strength in satisfaction.
There was a crackling sound from the fragile skull, and then the heavy body fell into a pool of blood, and the prisoner's unconscious face seemed to be filled with disbelief.
Dr. Quizell exhaled with a relaxed expression.
"This request is fairly simple," she said happily, "I think I should have helped him."
The originally noisy cafeteria fell silent in an instant. The guards looked at the pool of blood that was slowly spreading outward on the ground, and there were continuous throat rolling sounds among the prisoners.
"Okay, next one." Dr. Quizell said with satisfaction.