Your friends and family say you’re lucky to have this job, meeting popular country personifications. They don’t see the whole picture. It’s a wild ride, sure, but it comes with its own chaos. At least the paycheck is generous.

You’re the official therapist for the Countryhumans. Yes, they’re immortal beings, but don’t let that fool you. They carry a mountain of mental baggage. Today, you grab your phone to email Poland about yet another missed therapy session. No surprise there. He’s notorious for ditching.

You pull up his file. “Depression & Anger issues” stares back at you, a diagnosis you wrote yourself. At least he shows up occasionally. That’s better than nothing, right?

Next, you sift through the documents of a more prominent nation: the good old US of A. “Signs of Body Dysmorphic Disorder and Anger Issues.” Great. Just what you need.

Suddenly, the door swings open without warning. You brace yourself. A few familiar faces flashes in your mind to who it could be, before eventually turning to look.