The two consultant psychologists stood looking into the waiting room through a one-way mirror. The man they were looking at was in his mid-twenties. He was sitting nervously. His whole body twitched from time to time.
“You’d like me to see him?” asked the first specialist.
“Yes. I’d appreciate that, if you wouldn’t mind,” said the other.
“Certainly. You’ve seen him, how often?”
“Just the once, but like I said, he presents with some strange notion that he’s some sort of hand-me-down. He says that he’s tired of being second-hand.”
“Hand-me-down?”
“Yes. I think he feels that he’s not new, not original in some way.”
“Ah! Was he adopted?”
“No.”
“A case of rivalry with brothers or sisters, maybe?”
“No. He’s an only child.”
“Nothing significant about his parents, I suppose?
“Not that I can make out. His father owns a shop in town, selling clocks mainly, and he does repairs. She’s a housewife. Everything normal there, I’d say.”
“OK. I’ll see him,” he said and went to his room, where he had the receptionist send the patient through. They sat together for some time, the psychologist asking questions and the man giving perfectly logical answers.
Finally, the man slumped in his chair. “I just don’t want to be a second hand,” he mumbled. “Life just moves much too fast and it never stops!”
The psychologist wasn’t quite sure what he’d heard. “Let me get this clear. Did you say you don’t want to be… a second hand?”
“No. I certainly don’t. Second hands just keep moving… all the time! At least a minute hand only has to move once a minute.” He thought for a moment. Then, as though the idea had only just occurred to him for the first time, he said, “What I’d really like to be is an hour hand. That only moves round a few times a day. Do you see?”
“I do. So, you find that all of life has become intolerably busy for you. Is that it?”
The man smiled and giving out a long sigh, he said, “Yes.”
“I think we can help you,” said the psychologist.