Sarah, a streetwise social worker wearing a hoodie, was my guide as I toured the facility. 
     "So THIS is where they end up" I said, as we walked down an echoey, institutional hallway. 
     "Not so loud" Sarah cautioned me. "Where we're going any sudden noise or rushed movement could startle them"
      "They've been traumatized?"
     "Severely. Some may never recover. We do our best to attempt reintegration into the outside world, but it's a step by step process"
     On our left an open door gave us a view of a group of people sitting in a circle. Here we paused. 
     "Therapy session. Part of the process for marginal cases. Here people can share stories, and receive feedback, under the tutelage of an experienced PTSD counselor"
     "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?" I gasped. "They have that? I thought that only applied to veterans and sexual abuse victims"
     "These people HAVE been severely abused" Sarah admonished my unenlightened observation. "Fortunately, their encounters with abusive customers were short term. John, leading this group, is a former CSR turned counselor. He can reach these patients and bring them back because he's been there. Let's move on to the Day Room- where those we can't bring fully back are cared for"
     "Can't bring fully back?" I queried, feeling suddenly anxious. "But I thought...."
     "You ASSUMED that counseling would be enough to bring back people traumatized by working in customer service, like everybody else. You know- go home and have a drink, feel better in the morning. That's what most people think. The ugly truth is that a small percentage of cases go into non-recovery mode, what you might call 'shock', and...." Sarah brought a finger to her lips. We had reached the Day Room entranceway. Our brisk pace turned into a measured saunter, which Sarah slowed down even further, to a barely percepible walk. 
     "....these are those people" she whispered. Entering, I looked around a cavernous, brightly lit room. There were more patients than I thought.
     Sarah pointed to a person sitting by one of the room's windows, which afforded a view of the facility's peaceful and well-kept grounds. 
    "That's Tom. He couldn't handle people being rude to him all day, so he went somewhere inside. We've tried to reach him in there but 'Tom', wherever he is, refuses to come out. All he wants to do now is look out this window"
     "Deplorable!"

     We moved on. "That lady over there-" Sarah pointed to an archaic-looking woman, sporting a beehive hairdo, who was knitting a ridiculously long scarf. "That's Vera. She used to be a telephone operator. She's been in here the longest"
     "How long?"
     "Twenty seven years"
    "OMG!"
    "That person over there" Sarah pointed to a man slowly swooshing back and forth in a large rocking chair, while tightly holding a stuffed animal that looked like a panda. "That's Fred. He worked in the complaints department at a major retailer. Thought he was tough- he hired on as an ex-Marine- but the whining "drove him nuts" he said, which turned out to be the last words he ever spoke"
     "Lord have mercy!" I was beginning to feel queasy. 
     "Benjamin, over there" Sarah pointed to a man who was watching a game show on the Day Room's TV and laughing at all of the non-funny moments. "He always cracks me up. Customers hounded poor old Ben with unreasonable demands that he couldn't fulfill in a timely enough manner so one day he just snapped. He started laughing at everything until his manager called us and had him hauled away from his counter and brought here"
     "His manager did that? How could he DO that? Isn't there some sort of authorization necessary?"
     "Not really. Businesses have an agreement with us but they keep that fact on the downlow. We're the casualty center that they turn to. We discreetly take their damaged goods while their reputation stays intact. Family and friends are welcome to come visit but after a few initially hopeful visits most of them accede to the fact that institutionalization is necessary. Home care is not really an option, as traumatized people can be very difficult to deal with and need levels of care that most families are unable to provide. I'm not surprised you didn't know about that, it's not exactly common knowledge nor will it ever be but the truth is....."
     "I get it. Nobody wants to take responsibility"
     "Right. Either they won't, or just can't".
     Sarah led me over to a young woman sitting in an overstuffed chair, who didn't pay any attention to us as we came near. This woman was humming softly to herself. "This is Sasha. One of our most heartbreaking cases. She arrived at her job innocent and fresh and the customers brutalized her. People at the place she worked at said that her demeanor changed radically in less than a year's time. She went from delightfully sunny to severely depressed and harbored thoughts of.... ...um- how can I say this in a nice way- 'harming herself'. But that's not where it ends. One day a particularly toxic repeat customer came in in a bad mood and dropped the F bomb on her, repeatedly, to which Sasha physically collapsed, later, while in the breakroom, where she had taken refuge"
     I looked at what appeared to be a broken woman, not yet thirty years of age.
     Sarah continued, passionately now. "My goal is to bring this one back. She's too young! The entirety of her life lies before her!" Then she looked around the Day Room. "These others are past their prime but Sasha isn't and frankly, when I look at Sasha I get pissed. How dare these people! But, I'm pragmatic and a professional. I look at the facts and fact is, businesses will continue to bring these people to us until their culture changes and I'm afraid that's not happening at very many companies right now. So I deal with it"
     A visitor arrived to the Day Room just then, leading a cadre of friendly service dogs. Sasha's face brightened. 
     "Bitsy! Keiko!" she murmured excitedly at the sight of this. She knew some of these dogs, and their handler brought the two she had called out for over to Sasha's side. Sasha immediately brought Bitsy to her lap, while larger Keiko nuzzled at an elbow. It appeared that some healing was being done. 
     "Seen enough?" Sarah asked.
     "MORE than enough" I repled. Let's get out of here"
     "Thanks for visiting" Sarah replied. "Not too many people want to come in here. It's a sad place. Are you going to write about it?"
     "Yes, I will. It won't bring me a lot of joy, but it's something that needs to be done. People have to know."
     "Try and keep it light" Sarah sighed. "Paint us too much in the light of harsh reality and you'll turn people away from what we're trying to accomplish here"
     "I agree. I'll sugarcoat it, but not too much"

     After that I made my way out of the facility, and upon reaching the open air of the parking lot, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Damn that air felt good.