Well, What's The Story?

Part 3: What a company!

I decided to go to my dad's job because it would be dumb to go home and waste fifteen minutes of my life and the energy of my feet so I could only spend half an hour there and walk back.
I crossed three streets, noticed a sleeping homeless person leaned against a furniture shop's wall, a cute little scared puppy that a little girl was trying to pick up and a couple making out in the bus stop, trying to cover their faces with a folded guitar's neck.
I opened the record shop's door, and my dad was selling a Dr. Dre's CD for some guy with a brown flannel.
"Where do you keep rap records?" I asked my dad when the guy left the store.
"They're hidden under the counter, so they wouldn't ruin my punk image," he laughed and hugged me. "How was the week?"

"It was fine, my favourite lecture of all time happened today. We had a past drug addict telling us about a drugged person's mind. You know I'm really interested in that. And he really made it clear that any of us can't help for a person unless he or she wants to. This is really upsetting, I'd do anything just to carry them away from their demons."

"Lilly, don't get too deep into that. And do not ever try to help a drug addict, no matter how hopeless and lifeless he or she seems. You don't need to start attracting unnecessary problems for yourself, it's unhealthy."

"Dad, that's what psychology is all about if I plan on working as a psychologist."

"At least don't take it too early. When you have a workplace, go ahead, collect everyone's emotions in yourself. But don't start it when you don't know everything you're supposed to know, you have three years ahead of you, and only two months and a bit passed."

"I'll still imagine myself working in a rehab center or something like that in my mind, what's it like to do so."

"Please," he said strictly and irritated. "Just stop overthinking everything. You're so young and inexperienced, enjoy this time. Clear your mind. It's not going to be like you're imagining, and you may just raise your hopes too high."

It's still what I am and what I want to be, I thought to myself. But the least thing I want is arguing with my dad, moreover, he may be just right about that. It's the hormones that can't keep me calm.

"What do you want to listen to?" Dad inquired, seeing that I spent a minute in my thoughts surrounded by awkward silence.

"Maybe Foo Fighters' "The Color And The Shape"? I'm missing the old grooves."

"Sold the last one original today. Good thing we have samples," he stated. "So maybe we should grab a pizza after work ends? Mum's not going to be back until 8pm, I don't think she will cook today. And I'm too lazy, so are you." As the first chords of "Doll" filled the space, sounding extremely soft in the vinyl player, my dad suggested.

Honestly, I was avoiding the fact that Monday's lesson was one of the best, but I was dumb enough to forget I'm not going to be able to hide it. It's already 5:13, time is running out, and I didn't even tell I - most likely  - made a friend.  It's one of those teenage things, parents always talk like you're gonna get married to a person you just dropped a sight at.

"Actually, I don't know how I forgot to tell you about Monday - probably it's because of today's impressions," I lied as always. I was thinking about today ever since Monday ended."But I have a thing to tell you. Monday's lecture was a differential psychology, and we're studying personality types-"

"Which you wouldn't shut up about since you started being taught about them, actually, being taught by yourself in like eighth grade," he ended the sentence.

"Well, you can say that. Anyway, we did a personality type test, and I discovered I'm an INFP. Surprisingly or not, my table neighbour had the same type, and we were the only ones in the room. At the break, we talked a bit, he asked-"