Crabfoot

What is conflict?

The lady in front of me asked softly.

I stared at her in abject horror. We sat mere feet apart facing one another. She was wearing lots of floaty things and had mad lion-like hair

But that is not what horrified me. That is not what drew my eye and filled me with the deep-seated need to projectile vomit and run away at the same time.

She was wearing open-toed sandals and her toes were poking out. On each foot her middle toe was bigger than her second toe.

Each middle toe looked like one of the legs of an Alien Facehugger. It made each of her feet look like awful blotchy crabs.

I drew my eyes away from it with a shudder and back to her face. She was in the middle of blithering something inane about conflict.

It was the second of my one-on-one coaching session's which my work had bizarrely decided would be a fabulous idea for all its staff. They were meant to boost morale and productivity.

My first session had been a load of pish.

This didn't look to be shaping up to be any better.

So... Conflict can be many things, can't it?

She answered herself with a confident yet rhetorical questioning air.

Um, yes, it most certainly can.

I managed to get out through gritted teeth.

How do we deal with conflict?

I made a face as if receiving a hot rum enema.

Mmmm mm?

I mumbled, trying to look wise.

On her right foot her middle toe twitched as if rooting for grubs. I made a coughing noise.

She smiled, a knowing smile.

Have you heard of reflection?

Of course I have you crab-footed nonce. I am not an idiot. Instead of saying this I elected to nod and screw my eyes closed a little as if peering through smoke.

She smiled again and moved one of her alien feet to within striking distance of me. I pressed myself back in my chair in case it leapt up at my face.

When we reflect we ask questions. By asking questions we can ascertain the issue and perhaps suggest alternate methods of resolution.

She leant forward in her chair.

The broad aim of these sessions is to enable you. How does that make you feel?

She said brightly.

Fucking horrified at the state of your feet, put them away. I was tempted to say.

Instead I forced a grin out from somewhere deep and black inside me.

That makes me feel good, I am learning so much from these sessions. Really good stuff that I think will give me that little jump start that I think we can all, at times, require.

She let out a little yip of pleasure.

That's great, isn't it remarkable just how much of a difference we can make just by talking?

I swallowed down my fear of her crabby feet along with my most of my pride and smiled and nodded and continued to do so like an obedient work puppy throughout the rest of the session.

At least it's Friday.