The Conglomerate
Chapter 1
The thing is, we are all basically functional adults here -well, for the most part. This is what I have gradually learned constitutes the truth since joining this large practice of psychologists a few years back. Some of my fellow colleagues would be quick to quip that it’s too large for its own good and that of Detroit as well but I happen to disagree. The people of this vast, dark and multi-layered metropolis need us and we’re more than glad to assist with our unique blend of empathy, insight and tough love. Of course, I wish things could always be simple, just black or white without any shades of nuance yet, quite often, this simply isn’t the case. Acknowledging the truth as it starkly exists marks the best way of dealing with any situation, in my humble opinion, as a professional psychologist. The story of this dynamic, progressive firm has now become my own story and I’m going to tell it in the manner I see fit.
I was always known as being a bit naïve growing up but nowadays nobody would ever ascribe this trait to me, especially my patients. I suppose my lack of insight into the nature of people early on in life led me to become interested in Psychology. Also, if I’m honest with myself, I wanted to gain every advantage I could over the minds of the opposite sex who are known for their natural proficiency in all things psychological. And all this, combined with the fact that I could make an honest, respectable living helping people (along with a few other factors), led me to the study of Psychology in college and in graduate school. Indeed, most of my classes had a majority of women in them and this fact helped me master an understanding of their needs and wants, which, in turn, created a reputation for myself of being a seducer of sorts. On dates, especially the first ones, I learned the art of quickly profiling people, learning their weaknesses and strengths and how I might assist them, if they ever asked for advice. I also became quite the conversationalist and learned so many interesting things. As I progressed through higher education, I found myself increasingly being subject to people walking up to me out of nowhere and having them confess the story of their lives to me. I guess they sensed I was someone they could truly trust. They saw the budding psychologist in me, even when at times I doubted the career choice I had embarked upon.
Looking back at the history of my haphazard life full of synchronicities, moments of good luck and caprices, it was during my two-year stint as a postdoc at a certain Ivy League university that I truly became a psychologist. I still remember this time in my life like it was nearly yesterday. That summer I had barely managed to complete my doctoral dissertation on time. Yet somehow (owing probably to the fact that a rather quiet Starbucks happened to be located just around the corner from where I was living where I could get a lot of writing done) I managed to pen a manuscript spanning more than three hundred pages on the sex-obsessed lackey of Freud, Sándor Ferenczi. Specifically speaking, I further developed some of his therapeutic theories that later influenced Carl Rogers and related all of this to some strategies I had thought up about how playing video games such as Fortnite could be used to pacify unruly male adolescents who were frustrated that they couldn’t get laid. This scholarly work caused a lot of jealousy, uproar and displeasure at the state school where I was studying, even involving professors and grad students from other departments. All this surprised me in a way but, then again, I had read about this happening to other people too who had outshone their mentors and colleagues in academia. So, looking back, it now doesn’t surprise one whit me that no one on my dissertation committee, who I thought were my friends or something similar to that, was willing to give any advice as to what the next step for me was. I wanted to be a professor. They all knew that. But beyond trite pieces of advice such as “Searching for a job, especially in academia nowadays, is a full-time job” I really didn’t have any actionable information. It was too late to apply for post-docs for the upcoming academic year and, if I’m totally honest with myself, I didn’t want to enter the real world yet by getting a “real job.”
It was mid-summer and I found myself directionless in life and also quite exhausted. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I was in Purgatory if such a place even exists. From time to time, I would see some of my former colleagues and professors on campus. Sometimes they would wave or acknowledge my existence with a smile. My main takeaway was that I no longer belonged there nor was I really desired to be there. There was a small population of undergrads, mostly girls studying modern languages at the university’s summer language program. There were a few hotties among them. I thought about going online and joining Tinder and OkCupid so I would have a socially acceptable way of flirting with them and other females their age but even this idea lost its savor rather quickly. I began spending more time in my apartment watching YouTube videos and Netflix series and several times a week I would hang out at that Starbucks, chatting a bit with the baristas, trying to psychoanalyze them in my mind. One day, a mysterious middle-aged blonde lady with short, stylish hair clad in white approached me. She aggressively yet graciously introduced herself. She was by all accounts quite familiar with my doctoral dissertation.
Mystery woman (smiling): So you’re the one who wrote that groundbreaking work about the therapeutic value of video games linking that with the origins of psychoanalysis? It’s so stimulating and novel. I read it all in an afternoon. Can I call you Dr. Moriarty now? (laughing)
Me: How do you know about it? No, not yet. Dr. Moriarty is still some abstract persona. Just call me Eddie.
Mystery woman: Everyone in the know knows about your work, even at the Pentagon of all places. I’m Mary by the way. My undergrads refer to me, though, as “Dr. Candy”.
Me: Nomen est omen. (with flirtatious body language)
Mystery woman: I just knew you were going to say something lovely and pedantic like that. It’s like I can read your mind already, Eddie! Now, how about we go somewhere more quiet and more intimate? Somewhere more civilized? I know of a new Italian restaurant that just opened up. It’s just ten minutes away. You can come and ride with me in my BMW. I’d love to get to know you and pick your mind.
Me: Sounds great to me!
Stay tuned for Chapter 2. It will appear in the next issue.
Image: Unsplash: Doug Zuba, 2024
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