I'm a fake therapist, and my patient is going to be the next shipper

"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Harper," said the high schooler sitting before me. "Wait, why are you here? Didn't something major happen to you? I don't remember what it was, but I swear I saw your name in the news."

"Oh, no, that wasn't me," I hastily assured him. "You're probably thinking of my evil cousin, Dr. Hap-rer. He's a total fraud. He doesn't even have a psychology degree. Unlike me! I'm the real Dr. Har-per. With a degree. I am most definitely not secretly Dr. Haprer impersonating his non-evil cousin."

I pulled out some yarn and began knitting a sweater anxiously. Darn it. Therapists weren't supposed to have nervous habits.

"So uhhh, what are you here for again?" I asked. "My assistant Noaj—I mean, Joan—sorry, I somehow made a typo out loud. Anyway, she stole my iPad and sold it on eBay, so now I don't know who any of my patients are."

"Oh, it's cool," the patient said. I didn't know his name, so I decided to just call him Some Kid. As I was dubbing him this in my head, Some Kid's eyes began to brim over with tears. "You see, Dr. Haprer—I mean, Dr. Harper. Someone stole my iPad. Now I'm traumatized for life."

"A stolen iPad!?" I leapt up from my chair. Could it be...!?

I sprinted from the room, heedless of Some Kid's shouted requests for a refund since I was ditching the appointment he'd paid $329 for. Come to think of it, that's exactly the starting price for a current gen iPad. I have no idea why he didn't just buy a new iPad instead of paying for therapy for his devastation over not having an iPad.

I found my assistant Joan in the parking lot, shoving stacks of iPads into the trunk of her car. In spite of the hot sun beating down on her, she was dressed all in black, with a black skull-shaped nose ring, black lipstick, and probably enough black eyeliner to have flooded the earth in Biblical times. Her hair was naturally black, but she'd dyed it black, too, just to be thorough in her goth aesthetic.

"Joan!" I yelled. I skidded to a halt beside her. "Did you steal Some Kid's iPad?!"

"Nope," she replied.

"Drat!" I exclaimed. "A dead end."

Before I could admit defeat, I was struck by a sudden thought. Could Some Kid have simply forgotten his iPad at home?!

"Joan, I need to borrow your car." Without waiting for a response, I snatched the keys from her hand and jumped into the driver's seat.

"Hang on, Dr. Haprer, at least let me close the—"

Ignoring her, I slammed my foot on the accelerator. iPads flew from the open trunk as I sped out of the parking lot. I heard an ominous cracking sound and glanced back to see the iPads' screens shattering as they pavement. Joan wailed in despair.

"Oops," I said.

* * *

I was trying to figure out how to reverse off the sidewalk several streets down when I heard sirens approaching. No, not like fish ladies singing to me. I mean police sirens. There were even flashing red and blue lights reflected in my rear view mirror. See? Not mermaids.

A police car pulled up next to me, except it was still on the street instead of on the sidewalk with its front bumper smashed into a tree. An enormous, muscular man who kind of looked like a jerk emerged from the vehicle. I noted his lack of scales and fins with relief.

"Hey Officer Donahue," I said, trying to act casual. I pulled out my knitting bag and continued work on my sweater.

"Actually, I'm Officer Donnyhuge," he gruffly corrected me, flexing his biceps. "You must be mixing me up with my evil cousin."