Couchless Psycho

 

It said on the door "M T HEAD - Psychiatrist."

He was the company psychiatrist. He was employed to assess new employees, existing ones, and the Board of Directors when they made stupid decisions that sent the comp[any into near-liquidation. Which is often. 

I remember visiting him one day. He called for me to discuss a delicate matter. He told me that when he works late and the lights are on, several moths enter his office through the open window. I suggested that they are attracted to the lights, and perhaps he should shut the window. He said he was concerned in case they had a problem on their mind he could help with.

One day he burst into my office and shouted, "WHY HAVE YOU NOT GOT A COUCH HERE?"

I explained that I don't need one as I can sleep quite comfortably in my chair. 

He sat down and with a sigh to end all sighs he said he'd had enough. For years he had been there day in day out listening to an ever ending hoard of people coming in his practice and telling him their problems wide and varied. He'd decided to resign.

"Why do I have to sit there and listen to all their troubles?" he asked.

"Because that's how you make your living," I said, "that's why the Company employs you!"

"Hmmm ... I never thought of that!" he reflected pensively.

Although I was busy, I tried to be patient with him. After all, he was a psychiatrist in need of a psychiatrist. I wasn't one, but could do a good impression of one.

"What exactly is the problem?" I asked chewing on a KFC chicken leg I had found in my desk drawer.

"Well ... I'm fed up with the lot of them," he answered, "like Broomstick Ben, our janitor. He has a Walter Mitty Complex. He works as an elephant attendant at the local zoo at weekends yet he believes he is a world famous eminent psychiatrist and wishes to replace me. 

"He comes to my office quoting Freud, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar,' Jung, 'Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you,' and Nietzsche, 'That which does not kill us makes us stronger.' What nonsense ... try a bout of diarrhoea ... see if that makes you stronger."

I suppressed a smile licking my fingers of a remaining few chicken crumbs.

"Then there's Limp Pete," he continued, "you know ... he works in Finance. He's so shy and has an Inferiority Complex. I told him there's nothing to worry about since he is inferior to everyone else anyway."

I was about to offer him a chicken wing which I usually have in my desk when entertaining clients, when he continued without stopping for breath. 

"Then there's Vatican Vince, you know him? He has a round shaped bald head like the dome at Saint Peter's Basilica. He has a morbid fear of the underside of tables. He fears under the table in case there's a tarantula down there ready to pounce on his lap and bite his private bits!"

I recoiled slightly on my wheeled chair wondering what ... or who ... might be under my desk. 

As I did so, looking down, I knocked my head against the desk and cut myself on the forehead and it was bleeding quite a bit. 

He asked me if I had any Elastoplast plasters or First Aid kit. I said, "Why? Have you injured yourself too?"

Moments later my secretary came in having heard the noise. I was taken to hospital being tested for this and that and exposing my backside to various nurses with needles to vaccinate me against salmonella, tetanus, bird flu, wood lice and many other dire illnesses I cannot imagine.

Just goes to show that in life you never know when you'll show your bottom to complete strangers.

SUBLIMINAL MESSAGE - 

 

NOT VISIBLE TO THE NAKED NOSE

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