White Rabbit Syndrome

"I feel that there is a problem here," said Dr. Fraud. The blinds in his office had just been updated by the building manager to be remote controlled, and he pushed the little button on the control to close the blinds. They closed with a very satisfying whizz of noise.
"Aren't you supposed to solve problems, not find them?" said a voice from somewhere in the gloom.
"In order to solve your problems, I have to identify and classify them first," said Dr. Fraud, realising he couldn't see the buttons on the remote any more. He pushed one, hoping that it would open the blinds. They rotated to allow slants of light through the window, making the entire office feel as though it was behind bars on a sunny day. "And I think I may have identified one of your problems."
"I didn't come here to be told I have problems!" The second speaker was a woman dressed in what might have been a marquee. She was sitting on the floor, having broken the legs of the chaise longue when she'd tried sitting on that. Her legs were splayed in front of her like thick puffy rolls of bread dough. "Can you open the blinds please? I don't like the light like this."
"Really? It reminds me of the war," said Dr. Fraud peering at the remote. "Of course, I was on the other side of the bars then.... Where do you usually go to be told you have problems then?"
"I... what?" The woman might have looked shocked, but the fat padding her face made her look permanently cheerful.
"You said that you didn't come here to be told you have problems; where do you usually go?"
"I don't usually go anywhere!"
"Ah, so people come to you to tell you that you have problems?"
"No! No-one tells me I have problems!"
"So all your friends are manipulative liars? Are you happy with that, Alice?"
"Just open the damn blinds already!" Alice looked like she would have jumped up if she were a lighter woman, and Dr. Fraud was relieved that she didn't try. He hadn't yet convinced the building manager that he needed the floors reinforcing. He pushed another button on the blinds and, with a sad, metallic crash, they fell off their rails into heaps on the floor.
"I shall have to bill you for that," said Dr. Fraud immediately. "I think one of your problems, Alice, is that you have White Rabbit Syndrome."
"Is that myxamatosis? I'm pretty certain only rabbits can get that, and you don't look much like a vet to me."
"But how would you know, Alice? You don't even know why you come here, apparently. However, you are wrong again. White Rabbit Syndrome is a morbid fear of being late. You turn up here an hour before your appointed time, you drive my secretary to heroin addiction by constantly asking if you can see me before your appointed time, and you leave half-an-hour before your appointment is over so that if your bus is two minutes late you've compensated and got home before it even has the chance to delay you. Like the famous story, you're forever checking your watch and worrying about being late."
"Speaking of the time, Doctor,...."
Dr. Fraud sighed and pushed another button on the remote. Little motors whirred but nothing else happened.
"Very well," he said. "I shall see you next week at 8am."
"You don't open till nine!"
"And yet somehow I have this feeling that you will be stood outside the door to the building when I arrive at eight," said Dr. Fraud. "Pay my secretary on the way out, and not in cash please. He's started embezzling it to pay for his habit."