I’ve unconsciously associated classical music with shrinks’ offices.
The waiting room is always a combination of white walls, repulsive carpeting, classical music that always seems to know how you’re feeling and plays accordingly, potted plants (real and fake), and paintings or art pieces which are abstract in the simplist ways in bright primary colors or pale pastels (I never stare at these long enough because I feel they are meant to trick people, like instead of a house it’s actually a bloody dog). There are also toy boxes for the tots as well, under or near the magazine table consisting of building blocks or legos, and the unspoken rule for us psychos is to never talk or make eye contact with one another. Well there was that one guy who broke the rule, but I guess he doesn’t count since his wife was the one seeing the doc and he was passing the time by untactfully staring at my boobs.
