“My name is Cal, and I’m a Picker.”
“Hi, Cal.” The group chanted in unison.
Mrs. Juniper smiled with lipstick and coffee teeth. “Now Cal, why don’t you tell us your story? When did you first discover you were a Picker?”
“Um, I don’t know.” Cal stared at his shoelaces. “Sorry, I’m a little bit nervous…”
“It’s alright, we’re all friends here.”
“I guess… I guess it was about two years ago. I had been picking so long I didn’t really notice it, I had a system down, sort of an art. I guess that sounds silly.”
“No, it doesn’t sound silly at all.” Mrs. Juniper set her nail file in her lap and reached over to Cal’s hand reassuringly. “We all have systems, don’t we?”
“Yes,” chanted the group.
“Mine’s called the Shoulder Glance Pinky Twist,” volunteered the man in the floral print shirt.
“Shh, Harvey, wait your turn,” said Mrs. Juniper, her left index finger drifting idly toward her nostril.
“Anyway, my wife and my mom, they… they staged an intervention. They said everyone knew, I mean everyone! …I need help.”