“Okay,” you reply, doing your best to maintain a professional demeanor. “We do have that behavior in common, but perhaps we use it for different purposes. For example, I take notes so I can get to know someone and find ways to help them. I think you may take notes as a way to hold people at a distance.”
Robin shakes his head firmly. “No. You’re wrong. I also do what I do to get to know people. Some may find my behavior creepy, sure.” He looks you directly in the eye now. “After all, I can guess where you live and your salary by your clothing choices, transportation choices, and the kinds of food I smell on you. In fact, I’d argue I can get to know someone better than you do.”
You’re tempted to test him to see if he really does have a clue where you live. “I doubt that. Direct communication allows . . .”
“It allows for people to lie,” Robin interrupts. “I, however, can strip away the lies and see what lurks beneath.”
You shiver. It’s days like this that make you wonder why you became a therapist in the first place.