Dr. Blattis glanced up from his papers and gestured for his patient to lie down. On the excessively pink wallpaper hung certificates and other psychological awards that the doctor had achieved. Blattis took careful note of his patient’s physical condition, as he did for every appointment. He wore oily overalls that at one point must have been yellow. Blattis winced at the stains that would mar his couch after this. The man was probably in his forties, although it was hard to tell because of the hard hat that covered his features. The doctor glanced down at the list of questions he had prepared. He crossed out one that read ‘Do you care about the newest fashion trends?’ He already knew the answer. No one wore that.

“Hello Mr. Wallace. How are you today?” Blattis asked. 

“How am I?” Wallace replied mournfully, “You’re a psychologist. If I was doing fine, I wouldn’t be here.” Wallace crashed onto the couch. A brown smudge formed. The Doctor regrouped.

“Tell me, where do you work?” 

“I’m a shop teacher at the middle school.” He moaned, removing his hard hat, revealing a large frown.

“What brought you here today, Wallace?”

“I took a taxi. Why do you ask?” The shop teacher replied. The doctor sighed and jotted ‘not too bright’ on his clipboard. 

“Tell me about your childhood, Wallace. Have you had any injuries, particularly head injuries?”

“Well, when I was eight well I fell down the stairs and, um, well I can’t really remember what happened after that.” Wallace remarked

“I see.” This would not be easy, Dr. Blattis thought. He skipped all of his other introductory questions. “Tell me what is bothering you, Wallace.” 

“I’m a failure!”

“Why is that?”

“Well, I can’t teach shop class. When I tried to do a lesson on sawing, my students said I wasn’t cutting it.” The patient moaned. “When I taught the seventh graders how to use a hammer, it was obvious that I wasn’t making an impression.” He banged his head against the couch as if he were the hammer. “On Tuesday, I showed the class how to hold a nail, they didn’t get the point! I’m a failure!” Wallace sobbed.

“Oh. Well, have you tried coffee?” Blattis asked hopefully.

“No! I’m allergic to caffeine!” 

Blattis glanced down and wrote ‘Staining my poor couch like crazy.’ “Tell me more about it Wallace.” The Doctor said.

“When I taught a lesson on the metric scale, the principal said I didn’t measure up!” He pounded his greasy fists against Blattis’ couch making, ugly abstract art on the side of it. “And when I gave the fundamentals of sandpaper, the looks on my students’ faces made it clear that I hadn’t even scratched the surface. And I screwed up my lesson on fasteners!” 

Blattis sighed. The melancholy mood in his patient hung thick in the air. “Have you considered other jobs?”

“I’ve failed at everything!” came Wallace’s reply “I tried to do trapeze, but I could never get the hang of it! I really messed up at being a child rubix-cube prodigy! I had a chance to be a juggler, but I dropped the ball!” Wallace yelled.

Blattis paused and scribbled on the page ‘my couch will ever look the same.’ 

“What should I do?” moaned Wallace

“Well,” Blattis replied, “You could buy me a new couch.”

The End