Monday, August 8, 2011
I was just coming over the bridge, traffic was heavy and I just started started to cry my eyes out. So I called breakdown recovery.
45 minutes later I was standing there at the road side explaining what happened.
My emergency therapist looked quizzically at me.
There was a long awkward silence "Aw crap!" I thought "More of that listening therapy bullshit. How hard is it to find a therapist with the balls to tell you why you're fucked up and how to sort that shit out!?!"
Then he spoke. "I, er, I fix cars mate. Not, er,.." He then pointed at my forehead and made little circles.
Suddenly everything became clear. I'd made up the emergency therapist service. The reason for the big hook on the back of the therapist's van was now obvious.
But the concept was now out there. The mechanic told his therapist and the need for such a service was apparent...
It was a year later when I was coming over the bridge in my piece of crap Clio and the thing just cut out on me. It wouldn't turn over or anything. It must have been an electrical problem.
I called breakdown recovery and 45 minutes later I was at the road side explaining what had happened.
"...It must be some sort of electrical problem." I finished.
The mechanic rubbed his beard, looked at the car then back at me and said "And how does that make you feel?"
"Well pretty pissed o..." It dawned on me half way though the word "off"
The mechanic had turned up in a Lexus, and was wearing a light grey suit.
The most successful player in this new landscape was Geoff, the guy I'd made the original mistake with. He knew nothing about therapy but he was fat and knew how to hug it out.
He ditched the overalls in favour of pink fluffy pyjamas with little rainbows on.
He'd turn up, fix your car, then ask if you were alright.
He'd then ask you if you needed a hug.
You'd say no. but then he'd put his arms out and say "Come on." and smile.
After a while you'd find yourself swinging by the depot on the way home for a quick emotional tune up.