Bartender, Heal Thyself
One of the roles of barman (or barmaid, but my local is rarely staffed by a woman) is to be father confessor, listener and confidente. They are supposed to stand there, head cocked to one side, polishing a glass, occasionally dispensing nuggets of meaty wisdom.
Of course, the glass polishing is unhygienic, but it's a prop.
So how come I'm up to my seventh barman who wants to tell me his worries? I'm father confessor to the barmen. I'm not necessarily objecting, and I'm rather flattered. I do remember being in a similar position in the early nineties, but that was for mates. Not that these people aren't mates. But still. It's an odd reversal.
Psychoanalysts are meant to be in analysis themselves, which is a little bit meta. (As in, how do you deliver cardboard boxes? In a cardboard box. So how...) Do they talk to more experienced shrinks? In which case there's a limit point. On is it a large circle, and would that work?
Somewhere Tom Lehrer comments about the counsellor who made his living giving helpful advice to people who were happier than he was.
Ho hum.
Of course, the glass polishing is unhygienic, but it's a prop.
So how come I'm up to my seventh barman who wants to tell me his worries? I'm father confessor to the barmen. I'm not necessarily objecting, and I'm rather flattered. I do remember being in a similar position in the early nineties, but that was for mates. Not that these people aren't mates. But still. It's an odd reversal.
Psychoanalysts are meant to be in analysis themselves, which is a little bit meta. (As in, how do you deliver cardboard boxes? In a cardboard box. So how...) Do they talk to more experienced shrinks? In which case there's a limit point. On is it a large circle, and would that work?
Somewhere Tom Lehrer comments about the counsellor who made his living giving helpful advice to people who were happier than he was.
Ho hum.