They lead me to a room labeled 'holding'. It was puke green, with mint green floors. When someone said make the room green, I guess they never clarified that the greens had to look good. I looked at PGG.
“Can I just go to the bathroom?” I pleaded, “you took everything I had to communicate with people so it's not like I'm going to call in the cavalry, I just need to pee.”
He looked at me, deciding whether or not I was worthy of their cheep, pee splattered crapper. I put on my best cutesie face, looking up at him through my lashes and pouting slightly. I knew it wasn't going to affect him, but it sure as hell made me look like a shallow innocent little blonde. Ha.
“No. Not until you get your evaluation.” He said, turning around.
“Why exactly? Am I going to drown myself in piss water or eat my own crap, make myself vomit until I die? I am not going to sit in this ugly little room with a full bladder. So I either empty it here or in a stall. Take your pick.” I gave him a withering look and folded my arms, flipping my hip out like my mom did when I gave her attitude. The look that says do what I say or face the pain, honey.
“After your evaluation.” He said, steadily. I was not going to tolerate this.
I brushed past him, hoping he wouldn't care enough to go after me. I walked maybe half a step when he grabbed my arms behind my back and dragged me, literally, back to the holding room. He pushed me in and closed the door. I heard the all too familiar cer-chunk of a lock on the outside. Oh poo.
I was taken out of my room by the PGG and his oily companion. His hair looked wet it was so greasy, and his skin was dripping with saturation. Acne bubbled up in every pore it could find, and believe me, this guy had quite a few pores. They lead me to a cliché therapist office, with the long, lounging patient's chair, and the large floofy armchair for the therapist/evaluator. I walked in and perched on the edge of my chair, and looked at the fat, balding man expectantly. Time to fake it.

He looked up from the notes past therapists and institutions had wrote about me. So much for let sleeping dogs lie. Turn a page and all that.
“Sophia.” He said, nodding. Like that was supposed to mean something I understood.
“It's Sophie.” I corrected, sliding down the armrest to land in the too soft chair.
“Sophie.” He said, “How are you?”
“I'm fine, I guess under the circumstances. I got my phone and my iPod taken away, and they confiscated my duffel. I don't have clothes I'm comfortable with and I'm stuck in this thin, ugly hospital gown.” I know how to sound like an airhead. I just keep forgetting those notes about me. How they know I say exactly what they want to hear, exactly what I'm supposed to say.
“How are you really feeling?” He asked.
“What I want to know is why you have an unknown eval at check-in.” I glared at him.
“Some individuals, such as yourself, like to give the woman at the desk some difficulties for your own amusement. The unknown evaluation is helpful because it gives us a hint as to what you actually behave like. Because some individuals, also like yourself, don't answer honestly or say the truth in evaluations like this because you already know what to say to get the placement you would like.” He said, looking at me matter-of-factly.
“Well that's not really fair then, Doctor. Because I just wanted to have a little fun before I'm not allowed to laugh anymore.”
“I hardly think harassing that woman was having fun. And also, what makes you think you can't laugh here?”
“Well it is. End of story. Because you don't, how should I say, appreciate, my sense of humor.” I smiled at him, and the doctor drank it up. Valuuable insight or something. He scribbled this down, and looked up at me again, prepared to continue his interrogation.