I was visiting a friend in a psychiatric hospital one day years ago and I had a heck of time getting out of there when I went to leave as the staff seemed to think they had a bed with my name on it for me. While I was sorting out all this at the admissions desk and struggling to clear the air, a psychiatrist walked up to me and took me aside to discuss a patient he was treating and, apparently, I had been too. He laid out some details about this unfortunate fellow, a person I had never heard of, and I think I might have thrown in a few diagnostic impressions myself until the poor doctor suddenly realized he had mistaken me for some other learned physician and that he was revealing private medical information about a patient of his to a total stranger.
Maybe not surprisingly, I felt better about being mistaken for a psychiatrist than a psychiatric patient and the personnel at the admissions desk, unaware of the particulars of my discussion with the doctor, seemed impressed and were more than glad to see me on my way when my consultation with the medic was over. One of them might have even mumbled a half apology, though I can’t remember for sure.
If you need any help, my door is always open. All this time later, I have honed my psychiatry look and skills and my rates are reasonable. A slice of pepperoni and mushroom will buy you a half hour private session but if you dare to show up with any pineapple on it, you will be locked up in my shed as you will have thereby demonstrated, with that poor decision, a disturbing degree of instability.
©2019 Jim Hagarty