When Joe’s wife ran away with his car, his money, and his best friend, he became so depressed that his doctor finally sent him to see a psychiatrist. Joe walked into the psychiatrist’s office looking exhausted, defeated, and completely convinced that his life had come to an end. He told the psychiatrist everything that had happened and finally sighed, “Life isn’t worth living. I think I’m gonna top myself.”
“Don’t be stupid, Joe,” said the psychiatrist. “My wife ran off and left me too, yet I’m perfectly happy.”
Joe stared at him in disbelief. “How?” he asked.
“Easy,” replied the psychiatrist. “I threw myself into my work. I totally submerged myself in my job and soon forgot about her. I kept myself so busy that I barely had time to think about anything else.”
Joe nodded slowly, as if the psychiatrist had finally given him a reason to keep going. “Maybe I should try that,” he said. “By the way, what kind of work do you do?”
The psychiatrist smiled proudly. “I’m a psychiatrist, Joe. Helping troubled people is what keeps me going. It gives me purpose.”
Joe looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, “And what exactly did you mean when you said you totally submerged yourself in your work?”
The psychiatrist shrugged. “Figuratively, of course.”
“Oh,” Joe replied.
There was an awkward silence.
Then the psychiatrist asked, “So, Joe, what work do you do?”
Joe sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“I clean out septic tanks.”
The psychiatrist stared at him.
Joe stared back.
For the first time that afternoon, the psychiatrist suddenly understood that perhaps he had chosen the wrong example.
=============================================
The Butcher They Sent to the Operating Room
In order to pay his medical school tuition, Thomas Merrick was working two jobs over the summer.
By day, he worked at LeClaire’s Market—a butcher shop. He wore a stiff white coat splattered with crimson and trimmed with fat, spending long hours cutting meat, sharpening knives, hauling boxes, and serving customers who rarely gave a second thought to what happened behind the counter. It wasn’t glamorous work, but the pay was decent, and Thomas was determined to save every dollar he could.
By night, he transformed.
Down at St. Ambrose Hospital, he traded cleavers for stretchers. As an orderly on the graveyard shift, his white coat was now clean and crisp, worn over hospital scrubs. There, instead of preparing cuts of meat, he moved patients through quiet corridors, helped nurses, transported equipment, and did whatever was needed to keep the night shift running smoothly.
One night, long past midnight, Thomas was called to prepare a patient for surgery. Room 216. Elderly woman.
Appendectomy.
He arrived with his usual calm demeanor, smiled softly, gently eased the gurney beside her bed, and began helping the nurses ready her for the trip down to the operating room. The woman was pale and frail, almost disappearing beneath the hospital blankets.
Her eyes fluttered open, cloudy but alert.
Thomas spoke gently. “Good evening, ma’am. We’re going to take you downstairs now.”
She stared at him without responding.
Thomas leaned in to adjust the straps on the gurney.
Then the room froze.
The woman’s eyes locked onto his face.
Her expression changed instantly.
First confusion.
Then recognition.
Then absolute horror.
Her lips began to tremble. She gripped the blanket with both hands, her breathing suddenly quickening. Thomas stopped and looked around, wondering whether she was in pain.
“Ma’am?” he said. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she suddenly bolted upright with surprising strength.
The nurses stepped back.
Thomas reached out to steady her.
That was when she screamed with the terror of a woman who believed her last hour had come.
“God save me!”
Thomas froze.
The nurse beside him froze.
The woman pointed directly at him, her eyes enormous with fear.
“It’s the butcher!”
For several seconds, nobody said a word.
Then one of the nurses slowly looked at Thomas.
Thomas looked down at his spotless hospital coat.
He suddenly remembered that the previous evening he’d forgotten to change his name tag from his job at LeClaire’s Market.
It read:
**THOMAS MERRICK — BUTCHER.**
The patient apparently hadn’t noticed the part about the hospital.
She had only recognized the man who spent his days wielding knives.
And suddenly, Thomas realized that explaining the difference between an appendectomy and a steak was probably going to be much harder than passing his next medical exam.
=============================================
The Nails That Were “Defective”
Lisa and Judy were doing some carpenter work on a Habitat for Humanity house. Lisa was nailing down house siding, working quickly as she reached into her nail pouch, pulled out a nail, and either drove it into the wood or tossed it over her shoulder.
Judy watched her for several minutes.
At first, she assumed Lisa was simply working quickly and didn’t think much of it.
But then she noticed something strange.
Every few nails, Lisa would pull one from the pouch, inspect it briefly, and casually throw it over her shoulder.
After watching another perfectly good-looking nail sail through the air, Judy finally couldn’t stand it anymore.
She stopped working and asked, “Why are you throwing those nails away?”
Lisa didn’t even look up.
“When I pull a nail out of my pouch, about half of them have the head on the wrong end,” she explained. “So I throw those away.”
Judy stared at her.
She looked at the nails scattered on the ground.
Then she looked at the house.
Then back at Lisa.
Finally, she exploded.
“You moron!”
Lisa stopped hammering and turned around.
Judy pointed furiously at the discarded nails.
“Those nails aren’t defective!”
Lisa blinked.
Judy shook her head in disbelief.
“They’re for the other side of the house!”
Lisa slowly looked at the pile of nails behind her.
Then she looked at the wall.
Then she looked at Judy.
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
Finally, Lisa shrugged.
“Well… that explains why there were so many of them.”
Judy closed her eyes.
At that point, she decided that perhaps the safest thing to do was let Lisa handle the hammer—and keep her away from the blueprints.
=============================================
## The Safest Job in Chicago
A man was telling his co-worker one day that the company was transferring him to Chicago. He explained that he was seriously considering quitting before he ever had to move there.
When his co-worker asked why, he replied that he was simply too afraid of all the crime. He had heard countless stories about robberies, carjackings, shootings, and people getting mugged in broad daylight. Even though the transfer came with a huge salary increase and much better benefits, he said no amount of money was worth putting himself in danger.
His co-worker told him he should reconsider.
“Chicago is a magnificent city,” he said. “World-class museums, incredible history, beautiful sights, great restaurants, and excellent public transportation. You might actually love it.”
The first man still looked unconvinced.
His co-worker continued, “Why, I myself worked in Chicago for almost ten years, and in all that time I never, ever had a problem with crime while I was working there.”
The first man raised an eyebrow.
“Really? Not once?”
“Not once,” the other replied confidently.
The first man thought about it for a moment.
Then he asked, “What did you do there?”
The co-worker smiled.
“I was tail-gunner on a bread truck.”
The first man stared at him.
The co-worker stared back.
After a moment, the man slowly picked up his transfer papers.
“On second thought,” he said, “maybe I’ll take the job.”
He paused.
“Does the company have any openings for tail-gunners?”
The co-worker’s smile disappeared.
“Not anymore.”
And suddenly, that enormous salary increase didn’t seem nearly large enough.
