My First Psychopath
The attitude toward anti-social personality disorder seems to be shifting toward a kinder view of the previously demonized, without account for their danger.
“The new guy looks like Brick from Anchorman,” a co-worker told me at lunch. It was an apt description: short, average to slim build, dark hair, nerdy vibe.
Our Brick was the new on-staff attorney, hired to direct the Planned Giving arm of our Development Department. He’d actually started two weeks late because, according to our Vice-President, his wife’s parents had died in a traffic accident in Puerto Rico.
It was obviously heartbreaking, and, although we were already a friendly office, we’d made sure to really roll out the welcome mat. We had cake and sparkling cider. His desk furniture was replaced, and the office assistant purchased flowers for his desk. We were all smiles, asking after his wife, encouraging him to bring his kids by.
As a child, I used to skip to the end of my Nancy Drew books, find out who the villain was, then go back and read everything that led up to their capture. As an adult, I’m constantly seeking “spoilers” in social media posts, wanting to…
