Point Of View by Derek McCarson

Alright, let's get this over with. My name is Derek McCarson, and I used to be a licensed clinical psychologist, until those quacks at the Institute took my... well, that's not important. What is important is this new job I have as an advice columnist for this illustrious website. They told me to say that.

Anyway, I'm here to answer your letters of concern, emotional and ethical questions, psychological inquiries, and some other stuff I really can't remember. So, send in your letters. Alright, let's get on with it.

My first letter comes from somebody in Richard's Valley, Virginia, which I have never heard of and never plan to visit. I'm sure I'll be better off without that experience. The person's name is, um... oh, here it is: Betty Walters. Okay. Betty writes:

Dear Dr. McCarson,

My ten-year-old son plays left field for his local Little League team, and he's been worried lately about not being as big or skilled at baseball as the other boys he plays with. He tries his hardest, but he just can't seem to play on their level. How do I reassure him without making him feel inferior?

-Betty Walters

Well, Betty, first of all, due to a technicality, you can't really call me "Dr."... also, to tell you the truth, I really couldn't care less about your little kid - I've got problems of my own, you know. But for the sake of reputation, I'll tell you: the little brat needs to get in touch with reality. If he stinks at baseball, tell him. He needs to know where he stands, so he isn't plagued later on with delusions of grandeur. After all, what the hell hope does a pathetic 10-year-old baseball player have if a licensed clinical psychologist can end up ruined and penniless, scrambling to find work wherever he can get it? It's not worth the effort to fool the little loser. Let him know how horrendous he is, then pull him out of the baseball team and get him into something worthwhile, like acting classes. Now those people pull some serious salary.

Alright, on to the next letter... Jack Ripper of Argyle, Wisconsin writes:

Dear Derek,

I have been working at a big corporation as a data entry clerk for the past three years - after all that time, my dream has finally come true, and I'm up for promotion! But I've been feeling nervous lately: I don't know if I have what it takes to be Senior Data Entry Manager... how do I know what the right move for me is?

-Jack Ripper

I'll tell you what, Jack - your first move should be to change your name, because that's just plain frightening... not to mention pitiable, considering you've spent your whole life equated with an infamous serial killer and still done nothing about it. Obvious character flaws aside, my advice to you is this: take the promotion or don't, but either way, be glad you have a freakin' job, and stop whining so much - trust me, it's not fun being thrown out on the street by the people you worked for and trusted for over a decade. Look at me, for God's sake - I'm working for an Internet E-zine comedy website, dispensing advice to people I neither know nor particularly like. Talk about bottom of the barrel. You've got it great, buddy - stop complaining. Next letter.

This little gem is from Bob Jenkins from Drybrook, California:

Dear Derek,

I have a recurring dream in which I am the owner of a tiny convenience store, satisfied in what I do, until I come to work one day and find my store burning to the ground! After the smoke clears, I am left without any money or work, and people ignore me as I wander the streets for a while, until I wake up. What does this dream mean?

Bob Jenkins

Hey, this one's easy, Bob - your dream is symbolic of my life. Yep, that's right. I had it all, my own little "convenience store", until an evil, beaurocratic fire torched it right in front of me, and I was left with absolutely nothing except a bitter taste in my mouth. And do you know who's helped me out? Nobody! At all! Well, the owners of this website were pretty good, I suppose, but they only hired me after I told them I was a doctor... before. And come on, is this the best I can do? It's sad, really - look what I've been reduced to. At least you can sleep at night. I'd kill for a dream of any kind.

Okay, that's enough for now - I'm tired, and I don't want to hear you people complaining anymore. It tires out the ears, you know. Until next time, just send your letters in to this e-mail address, and I'll try my best to answer them, although I can't make any promises, because some days I just don't do anything. Speaking of which, time to stare at the wall for a while. Have a bleak day.

-Derek McCarson, formerly licensed clinical psychologist