Performance Improvement Plan - Chapter 1

Well, after a little over a month, it is time to crack open a new novel-length fic!

I was honestly kind of surprised that this was the story that won the poll I put up a few weeks back! Of the four choices I offered it probably had the strangest premise, or at least the premise that was the least obviously sizey. That's sort of exciting though! This is gonna be a big change of pace from Give Yourself to Me, which is exactly what I was looking for. I hope you all enjoy it!

To set some expectations at the top: much like GYtM, this is going to be a slow, slow burn. The shrinking isn't going to even start for at least a couple of chapters. That's in part because this is a little more expansive of a story, with a cast bigger than two characters plus a couple background extras. Eventually, size-changing will be happening, and we'll end up with our uh... "hero" shrunken down to the single-digits in terms of inches.

Well, without further ado, let's get to it!

____________________________

June 15th, 2024 - Dr. Joanna Becker

This is the annotated transcript of the first session with patient Theodore Murphy, file number 00-004. Intake forms and long-term patient history can be found in the file. Patient was mandated by his employer to seek professional counseling following an anger management incident, and was referred to my office through his HR department due to previous outreach efforts.

DR. BECKER: Theodore! Hello! Please, come in, have—.

MR. MURPHY: How are you? Just “Ted” is fine, thanks! And, listen, uh, Doctor—it is “Doctor,” right?

Mr. Murphy’s demeanor was extremely positive and boisterous. His behavior could be read as “friendly,” but I would note that he interrupted the literal first thing I tried to say to him. There was an immediate undercurrent that he was trying to take control of our interaction.

DR. BECKER: Technically, yes, but you can just call me Jody. We’re all friends here!

MR. MURPHY: Great! Jody, right outta the gate here, I just want to apologize for wasting your time like this. 

DR. BECKER: What do you mean?

MR. MURPHY: Well, you know. This whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. Just a normal interaction between a boss and an employee, you know? Kind of thing that happens every day. But, HR overreacted so now I’m here, wasting my Saturday and yours. I’m sure we can get in and out of this quickly so I don’t take up too much of your time.

Before I’d barely had an opportunity to speak, Mr. Murphy had already moved to establish a flattering narrative for himself. He was well aware that I had received the HR complaints against him as part of his intake, and they did not at all indicate a “misunderstanding.” His words and attitude suggest a belief that he can convince me to dismiss these facts through sheer force of personality. Although he began with a statement of concern that he was wasting my time, he also made sure to mention that he felt he was wasting his own, as well. I would never presume to diagnose a patient off of a single statement, but from this interaction alone I was already beginning to note the ways in which he fit the profile for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. This diagnosis was further affirmed throughout our discussion, which makes him a perfect candidate for treatment.

DR. BECKER: (Laughs) You don’t need to worry about my time Ted, I’m paid to be here! It sounds like you’re pretty eager to dive in though, so, let’s get right to it. Your employer has sent you to me because they believe you have an anger problem. Do you believe that you have an anger problem?

MR. MURPHY: No, no! Not at all. I mean, do I seem like an angry person to you?

DR. BECKER: I couldn’t really say, Ted. We’ve only just met.

MR. MURPHY: (Laughs) Sure, I guess that’s fair. Well, no, I wouldn’t say that I’m a particularly angry person. I like to think I’m pretty friendly!

DR. BECKER: But you lose your temper sometimes, right?

Mr. Murphy smiled in response, but did not answer the question.

DR. BECKER: No shame in that. Everybody loses their temper occasionally. I know I do! I’m sure your job can stress you out from time to time.

MR. MURPHY: (Laughs) You don’t know the half of it.

DR. BECKER: Why don’t you tell me?

MR. MURPHY: Sure, I can try! Well, uh, I guess you already know that I’m an editor—a managing editor. I’ve got four girls working for me.

Noting the sexist language used here; the “girls” are all in their late 20s or early 30s. Two of them have more professional experience than Mr. Murphy does. All four of them have a history of HR complaints filed against him.

MR. MURPHY: And well, you know, publishing isn’t exactly a growth industry these days. The pie’s a lot smaller than it used to be, and Amazon takes a big, big bite out of it. That translates to budget cuts, which translate to being understaffed. Right now we’ve got a slush pile that eats up two entire hard drives. We’ve got three different non-fiction books going right now that need to be meticulously fact-checked. And I’ve got this G.D… sorry.

DR. BECKER: No, no! By all means, speak your mind.

MR. MURPHY: Well. I’ve got this god-damned fantasy novel, if we printed it out the manuscript would weigh as much as a newborn baby, and a good 15% of it is made-up words. Do you know how hard it is to edit a book when the author is the only person who knows for certain if the words are spelled correctly?

DR. BECKER: That definitely sounds difficult.

MR. MURPHY: Every two years, her agent sends in another 1500-page manuscript, and every two years I pray to God that the book flops when it comes out. But nope! Best-sellers, all of them! She wins awards! I cannot imagine who would read those things for fun. But, I guess I can’t really complain, it’s one of the main things keeping the lights on for us these days. But every single one of them is just so long!

DR. BECKER: So, it sounds like work is stressful!

MR. MURPHY: Oh, I could go on. We’ve got another seven… no, eight books I haven’t mentioned.

DR. BECKER: Is that stress what caused you to punch a hole in the wall of your office?

Noting the extended pause that took place at this point. 

MR. MURPHY: Hey, come on now. That’s unfair.

DR. BECKER: Unfair how?

MR. MURPHY: I didn’t… I didn’t punch a hole in any walls.

DR. BECKER: Ted, there were multiple witnesses.

MR. MURPHY: I! Look. Beth, that’s one of the girls that works for me. Huge sweetheart, but… well, she’s lazy. I’m constantly having to stay on her to get her work done.

Beth Granger has complained to HR that Mr. Murphy singles her out. According to her, she had a family emergency when she first started, and Mr. Murphy punished her for calling out by increasing her workload. As a result, she was unable to meet her deadlines, which led to further punishment, and she has never managed to break this cycle.

Noting here that as soon as I prompted a discussion about Mr. Murphy’s behavior, his first move was to pivot toward criticizing the behavior of someone else.

MR. MURPHY: I asked her about… well, it was the fantasy novel, actually. She was supposed to do a pass through the manuscript to make sure that there were no real-world references or slang anywhere. You know, things like “oh my God.” Can’t say that in a world that’s polytheistic! Anyway, doesn’t matter. Point is, that pass on the book was supposed to be done the day before, and when I asked her about it she said she was still working on it. So, I… you know, I razzed her a bit over it. And I knocked on the wall, just… I don’t know, for emphasis. And I guess it was a weak patch of drywall or something because it caved in. I barely touched it. 

DR. BECKER: Ted, that is a very different version of the story than the one everyone else is telling.

MR. MURPHY: Well! Listen, you can’t just believe—

DR. BECKER: Ted—

MR. MURPHY: —Can’t just believe what everyone else is saying just because they’re in agreement! That’s not, you know, that wouldn’t hold up in court!

DR. BECKER: Ted.

MR. MURPHY: I am a very well-liked person in our company! “Teddy Bear,” that’s my nickname with folks! But yes, the exception to that is the girls that work under me. I’m a tough boss, I realize that, but—

DR. BECKER: Ted, I gave you the opportunity to speak, and you’re going to have an opportunity to speak again. But don’t you think it’s fair that I get a turn?

MR. MURPHY: Well, no, I don’t, actually, because you’re speaking from a place of—you don’t have all the facts, so, you have a skewed perspective on what happened, and I’m trying to explain it. The girls aren’t my biggest fans, because I ride them pretty hard, but that’s just… that’s the business we’re in! And down the road that’s going to lead to raises and promotions for everybody, but only if they put their noses to the grindstone now! But, you know, you try explaining that to, I’m barely even any older than them but there’s some kind of generational divide there. You can’t say anything anymore, you try to correct anyone’s behavior and they treat it like abuse.

I waited here for several moments to ensure that he had finished.

DR. BECKER: May I speak now?

MR. MURPHY: …Sure. Go ahead.

DR. BECKER: The reports I received were that you were using very insulting, demeaning language, that you were red in the face and shouting. And everyone is very clear that you reared back and punched the wall, hard enough to knock down a picture frame in addition to the hole you made. I wasn’t there, and I’m not trying to jump to any conclusions—Ted, please, let me finish—but it is your word against four. 

MR. MURPHY: I… Look. Clearly you’ve made up your mind, and I’m not gonna convince you differently. Guilty until proven innocent, right? 

Noting here that Mr. Murphy is not merely downplaying his wrongdoing. He is not trying to shrug it off, or offer even an insincere apology for his behavior. He refuses to admit that he did anything wrong at all. 

DR. BECKER: What about this idea: you’re a tall man, and you clearly spend a lot of time at the gym. 

MR. MURPHY: Six four, two-forty.

The records sent over from Mr. Murphy’s GP indicate that he is 6’2”.

DR. BECKER: How big is Beth?

MR. MURPHY: Oh, she’s a tiny little thing, but I couldn’t be more specific than that.

DR. BECKER: Is it possible—possible—that something you intended as “razzing” came off as much more intimidating than you meant, given the size difference between the two of you?

MR. MURPHY: I mean… Sure. Sure, I guess that’s possible, but, really, the idea of anybody being intimidated by me is just… it’s silly. Fine, sure, maybe I raised my voice a little. But Beth knows me. Maybe she gets annoyed by me pushing her so much, but she knows I’m a friendly guy, that I don’t have a violent bone in my body. There wouldn’t be any reason for her to feel, you know, threatened by me. If that’s how she took it then I just don’t think she was being very reasonable.

I was initially surprised that Ted was willing to go along with my suggestion before he explained further. He’s willing to admit that he might be perceived as more threatening than he intends because it means that if someone is intimidated by him, that’s their fault, not his.

At this point I felt very confident in my NPD diagnosis. Mr. Murphy is an ideal candidate, and I should be able to advance the research project significantly by continuing to work with him.

DR. BECKER: Ted, from what I understand, this is the only session with me that your employer is mandating, is that right?

MR. MURPHY: That’s right. So, listen, I’m sorry if I got a little short with you, but you have to understand just how frustrating this whole thing has been. If you wanna just, sign off that I attended this meeting then, you know, I can get out of your hair.

(Kelly, do me a favor and abridge the section I’m marking here, as well as this note instructing you to do so. We’re in the clear legally, Mr. Murphy signed all the paperwork, but a lawyer might try to construe this section as us failing to obtain informed consent. We’ll need to clean up the audio file as well. I’ll put in three pound signs when you can stop abridging. Thanks!)

DR. BECKER: Did anyone explain to you exactly what it is I do?

MR. MURPHY: I mean… you’re a therapist right?

DR. BECKER: That’s right, but to be more specific, I specialize in hypnotherapy.

MR. MURPHY: Hypno—... You’re kidding. Isn’t all of that just, you know, fake? Stage magic?

DR. BECKER: In the way you’re probably thinking about it, yes. I don’t go around telling people to cluck like a chicken or anything. (Laughs) But no, there’s solid psychological research that hypnosis, or, if you want a less sensationalized term, guided meditation, can have an extremely positive impact on a person’s mental health. You told me that you’re stressed; stress relief is one of the best applications for it.

MR. MURPHY: Oh, um. I really don’t think that… I don’t want to offend you, but—

###

DR. BECKER: I’ll tell you what. Let me give it [the hypnotic treatment] a try with you. As soon as we’re done, I’ll sign off on your paperwork and we can wrap the session up early. If it works, then you’ll be more relaxed, and maybe have a clearer head to figure out this problem you have at work. If it doesn’t work, then no big loss, right? We’ll go our separate ways, and you’ll have a funny story to tell at dinner parties about the crank your bosses forced you to see.

MR. MURPHY: …You know what, sure, what the hell. Give it a shot.

DR. BECKER: Wonderful! Go ahead and ease back in your seat there and get comfortable while I set up.

At this point, I moved to my desk to prepare the treatment. After putting in earplugs, I turned up my computer’s speakers and began playing the sound file we’ve prepared, an MP3 file that uses gentle, ambient music to mask the hypnotic frequency embedded in the waveform. The frequency is custom-tailored to harmonize with my own voice—one inefficiency we currently have in the treatment is that anyone administering it needs a bespoke sound file, and needs to be careful to speak at the frequency the file was designed to complement; some vocal registers also have no compatible hypnotic frequency. Since we’re still in the research stages and I’m the only doctor on-staff it isn’t an immediate issue, but it’s something to flag for further consideration down the road, if and when we try to scale up. 

(Sorry for repeating all this boilerplate Kelly, but this case study feels like it could be a big deal! Best to have everything here in one place.)

The hypnotic frequency does nothing on its own, acting no differently from any other auditory stimulus. Case in point, Mr. Murphy immediately grew restless when the music started, rolling his eyes at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Once combined with my voice, however, the effect is almost instantaneous as the two frequencies harmonize in a way that penetrates deep into the neural pathways leading to the amygdala, pineal gland, and medulla oblongata.

DR. BECKER: Ted, I would like you to relax. Lean back in your seat, and focus on your breathing.

Upon exposure to the harmonized frequency, Mr. Murphy became entirely nonverbal, but complied with the provided direction.

DR. BECKER: Focus on the sound of my voice, and the sound of the music. Let the sounds wash over you as you take a deep breath in, hold it, and release. Again. Breathe in, 2, 3, 4, hold, 2, 3, 4, release, 2, 3, 4.

Abridging the transcript at this point as we continued in this manner for several minutes. We have seen limited success with “brute forcing” hypnotic suggestions exclusively using the frequency, but have found a much, much higher rate of success combining it with traditional hypnotic and meditative techniques.

For some of our more complex treatments, a visual focus is also used, but that was unnecessary for this preliminary session.

Gradually, I directed Mr. Murphy to relax his entire body, until he achieved a state of complete mental operability. I say “complete,” but it is important to note that any changes to a patient’s long-term mental state are very difficult to implant, even with the hypnotic frequency. Our research thus far suggests that for best results, the subject needs to receive minor suggestions, reinforced over many sessions, which can add up to significant changes in aggregate; consequently, the first suggestion we implant is always that the subject must return for a follow-up appointment.

A brief note on consent, since that is obviously a topic of serious concern given the nature of the treatment: Mr. Murphy signed an agreement with his employer that he would attend one session of a therapist of their choosing and fulfill whatever treatment regimen they prescribed, and signed additional consent forms during intake, granting our clinic and me specifically full permission to administer whatever hypnotic treatments I deemed appropriate. All of this paperwork can be found in Mr. Murphy’s file

(Not that the jackass actually read any of it. Oop, delete this line Kelly!)

DR. BECKER: Ted, are you feeling relaxed?

MR. MURPHY: Yes.

DR. BECKER: Are you paying attention to me?

MR. MURPHY: Yes.

DR. BECKER: I’m going to give you some instructions now. It is very important that you follow them. Do you understand?

MR. MURPHY: Yes.

DR. BECKER: Please repeat back what I just said.

MR. MURPHY: You’re going to… [unintelligible]—instruct…Very important.

DR. BECKER: What’s very important?

MR. MURPHY: Very important… that I follow. Follow ‘structions.

***

What a crock of shit.

A hypnotist. They’d really sent him to a hypnotist? Not even like, a real therapist? Well, whatever. It’s not like he needed therapy anyway. Apparently, the only thing he did need was a power nap; he’d nodded off while Jody was going through those breathing exercises, and when he snapped awake a few minutes later, he was surprised by just how refreshed he felt. None of the bleariness or disorientation that tended to come from a midday nap. If that’s really what counted as “hypnotism” then he supposed he couldn’t exactly call Jody a fraud, but some soft music and a comfy couch didn’t strike Ted as anything worth the copay he’d had to shell out.

At least this whole thing was behind him now. HR would leave him be to do his work instead of dragging him into meeting after meeting. Well, it was almost over, anyway; the traffic to get out of the parking garage was brutal. Ted kept inching his SUV a little further out of the garage, but there was just never a good opportunity to pull out onto the road. He grumbled to himself as he realized an oncoming car was going a little more slowly than he’d anticipated, meaning that he could’ve gone. Too late now though, and another car was right behind it. Why couldn’t he find a damn opening in the traffic? It was 2 PM on a Saturday!

Finally, after entirely too long, a traffic light down the street turned red, and Ted was able to pull out. He frowned at the dashboard clock. He was really hoping he’d be able to just pop in and out of here and still make it to the gym, but Jody had kept him there the entire hour. Ugh. He could still go, technically… but he still needed to get groceries, and he had chores at home to see to. He hated to miss a workout… but a one-time skip day wouldn’t kill him, and he did have some weights at home.

The grocery store was just as much of a zoo as Ted feared it’d be on a Saturday afternoon. He didn’t even bother trying to find a good parking space; the traffic at the hypnotist’s office had been a sign of things to come, and after getting cut off and tailgated and held up at every stop sign on the way here, Ted was quite finished with other drivers. Instead he just pulled all the way to the back of the lot; it didn’t exactly replace a session on the treadmill, but he supposed he could use the steps anyway.

It was worse inside, and Ted struggled to make his way through the throngs of people to get what he needed. Honestly, he was a little surprised by just how difficult it was to navigate the crowds. Ted was a big guy, and more often than not people tended to move to get out his way without any kind of prompting. No such luck today. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he kept catching himself slouching; he’d felt great leaving Jody’s office, but something about all these people was tiring him out. No matter where he moved, he found himself in someone else’s way, and there must’ve been something in the water or something because no one was even bothering to say “excuse me” as they pushed past him. In fact, when he’d finally gotten everything he needed and queued up at the register, someone actually cut him in line!

“Hello!?” Ted shouted angrily, surprised by just how much the noise of the crowd swallowed his voice. The woman that cut in front him turned to look, then did a double-take.

“Oh! I am so sorry, I didn’t notice you!” She sheepishly pulled out of line as Ted eyed her disapprovingly. “Didn’t notice him?” How the hell do you not notice a man with a full grocery cart? What a stupid lie to tell. He had half a mind to chew her out over it… but decided to just let it drop. He was too tired and frustrated; he just wanted to get through the line and go home.

His exhaustion had only grown worse by the time he made it back to his townhouse. The traffic had been just as bad on the second leg of his trip, and he felt mentally drained. Chores could wait til tomorrow; Ted just put his perishables in the fridge, left everything else out on the kitchen counter, and dragged himself up to bed. It wasn't even 5 PM, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Within minutes of lying down, he was out like a light and laid there, face down on top of his covers, still in his clothes, fast asleep until morning.