WITHIN LIMITS

by Harriett Fjaagesund

T he room was hot and crowded. I felt foolish standing in the doorway
with a big fluffy blanket tucked around my arm. I knew I should be used
to this by now, but somehow the idea of carrying a blanket or a pillow to a public function
strikes me as somewhat peculiar. I always feel like I'm about to be arrested for breaking
- some mysterious law about flashing bedding in public. .
This was my third session at the Charles Borden Stop Smoking Seminar. These hypnosis
seminars are successful for approximately 94% of the people who attended. Obviously I am
not one of these lucky people. I fa!l into that small category of people known in inner circles
as "diehards". Successful quitters tend to gloat slightly whenever known diehards pass by.

Carrying my blanket, last week’s newspaper which I still hadn’t read but firmly intended
to just as soon as I found a seat, a registration form, a pack of cigarettes for that all
important “last cigarette” break, and my lifetime membership card, I struggled up to the
desk to register. My fluffy blanket somehow managed to unravel itself and trailed along
behind me, like an obedient dog. Feeling totally ridiculous by now, my flagging self--
confidence finally gave up and fled back out the door.

Norm, our hypnotist for the evening, patiently explained that no one would be clucking
like a chicken or making loud and embarrassing armpit sounds while under hypnosis. We
would, he assured us, be in complete control at all times. Nervous sighs of relief filled the
room. I sympathized with these people. I had faced that same nagging worry three seminars
ago, but nothing even remotely interesting has so far occurred. Not a single cluck.

The last cigarette break finally arrived. We smokers stampeded for the door like a herd
of charging elephants. Successful quitters who had returned for reinforcement eyed us with
disdain, but we were past caring. We were desperate to light up and fill our lungs with some
nice toxic smoke.

By the time I'd pushed my way out onto the sidewalk the air was thick with heavy clouds
of smoke. Anyone passing by who was unaware that a stop smoking seminar was taking
place would probably have assumed the puilding was on fire. I envisioned big burly firemen
blasting us with hoses, and the startled look on their faces when they discovered not flames
but a bedraggled group of angry smokers.
| Some people can relax comfortably on a chair, but most of us relax better when lying on

the floor, Norm instructed everyone to take a deep breath and relax. Easy for you to say, I
thought, you're not the one kissing a thinly-carpeted cement slab. I scrunched my blanket
around, trying to get comfortable. It didn’t seem quite so fluffy anymore, and the more I
thought about it the more I realized that it was actually a pathetic example of a blanket.

I rolled over onto my side and tried to focus on Norm's pleasant voice as he rolled
through his relaxation technique. I was just beginning to drift when a vicious thought popped
into my head — what if ] began to snore loudly and disrupted the whole seminar! This shook
me. Already I could see Norm politely but firmly escorting me from the building while the
girls at the registration desk chopped my lifetime membership card into several small pieces.

I was trying to figure out how long I could actually hold my breath and still survive when
Norm’s voice snagged me again. I wondered sleepily if anyone would cluck like a chicken this

time.

Terrace Review — March 6, 1992