The dumb leading the blind.

I try to keep my therapy background nonexistent at work and assorted other situations, for the very reason that often when someone hears that I am/was/will again be a therapist, I get put into one of two very convenient little boxes: the "Pity" box, and the "Oh, well, then you can help me with this then, right?" box.

The latter of these two seems to be the main factor in random people at work coming up to me and blathering on about anything and everything in their personal lives.

I have a co-worker who is a very nice guy, but a real pushover. He is very much a Mama's boy, and I think he seizes any opportunity he can to let out a flood of his thoughts out through his mouth. He easily frustrates, wears his heart on his sleeve, and is basically dead meat if anyone finds out about it. Sometimes, he confides in me about random things in his work life and personal life, and I know that's because he knows I don't talk to anyone else at work about anything other than work, and please see the first paragraph of this entry for further illumination.

In the past couple of days, he's been finding his way to my cubicle to make more small talk than usual. Luckily, he's comfortable enough with me that he can ask me a direct question concerning what's really on his mind well within the two hour window of patience I've set up for him. Mind you, this window is much smaller for people who have known me much longer, but I can't help but think he needs this big window. If I had to classify him under the Sesame Street Standards of Social Characteristics and Interpersonal Relationships (copyrights and trademarks of the Children's Television Workshop may or may not apply here), all I can tell you is that he most resembles Big Bird (yeah, Big Bird with an almost effeminate southern drawl who uses his hands expressively even more than I do). So, it stands to reason that Big Bird means bigger window than normal.

Please disregard seventy-five percent of that last paragraph.

Anyway, Big Bird cuts a swath through the small talk and asks me if I think a twenty-four year old is too young of a woman for him to date (as he is thirty-eight). I tell him that it depends on the twenty-four year old, and it certainly depends on the thirty-eight year old. Hell, I'm not one to cram people in little boxes. Much.

This opens up the floodgates as he then goes on and on about his best friend, who, according to the Bird is "the more attractive of the two of us." This friend is setting him up with this girl, who's a nurse, and has weird "family stuff" like him, and who has the same religious background as him. This is the most excitable I've seen Bird since I started working at the Hovel, and that's counting all the times one could see him from across the office to see him pulling at his hair and motioning to the phone and the computer monitor in an aggressive manner, waving his hands and silently screaming. Obviously, he's really excited about this impending date.

I'm happy for him, because Bird seems to be kind of a loner, and really sheltered, and I think the social interaction will do him good. I tell him that it'll be good for him to get out and about.

He smiles and agrees, and then he says, "So, what do you think I should do?"

"About what?"

"About this date, or whatever."

I look up to see him eagerly awaiting sage words to come out of my mouth. Bird looks totally alive, and totally ready to charge ahead and meet this girl. And he wants my advice on how to go about it.

I am somewhat touched that he would look to me for advice on something so important to him. But for crying out large yellow avian creatures, how the hell am I supposed to help? You're a grown-ass man who has (hopefully) been on at least a handful of dates in your life (particularly since you had that "gorgeous girlfriend" with the two kids, the girl who gave "the best backrubs" who nobody at the office ever met and who mysteriously moved back "up North" to be closer to her family, again, without anyone making a visual confirmation that she ever existed)! You're asking a girl you work with, whose infrequent conversations with you at lunch are usually limited to her listening to you talk about the latest science fiction novel you're reading or reminisce about going to Catholic school, to help you plot out date strategy?

Why not ask that best friend of yours who's hooking you up - after all, he's got to have a better idea about what you can do for your date, since he already knows her, right?

At this point, Bird does bring up the best friend, then talks about how that guy was in the Navy, and is really fit, and meets and dates girls so easily, and is so much better looking...

Oh, hey, insecurities, here you are.

Bird's shoulders dip a little, in rhythm with his confidence, and suddenly, I've got a six-foot-four third-grader before me. I've got the kid who's been picked last yet again for dodgeball, got the least amount of Valentines in the class, and who never had anyone ask him over to play after school, standing in front of me, focusing mightily on digging the toe of his shoe into the industrial-grade carpet. His face tells me that he honestly doesn't know what to do, and he's sure not going to ask for more advice from his buddy, since well, any advice he may give may work for Ex-Navy, but it certainly won't work for someone so imperfect and bad at this as Bird thinks he is.

I give Bird a little smile, and tell him to not bring his book to lunch.

We're going to talk strategy.