Thursday, May 21

The Death of Boundaries

I am sitting in Starbucks. Right this minute. (Iced soy chai, if you must know).

There is a woman sitting about 10 feet from me who has been on the phone for about an hour. It is difficult not to overhear, but I'm doing my best. I've avoided nearly all content.

But one thing is clear.

This is a therapist of some sort. Trust me.

And she is talking to a client about a very personal matter.

In Starbucks.

This is not what cell phones, pink or otherwise, are for.

Poor Patricia.


The Devil's Daughter-In-Law said...

So, are you going to tell us Patricia's problems or what???? I wish I could overhear something like that. I love that kind of stuff. But I am pretty nosy.

Audrey said...

Were you tempted, even a little, to ask her about client confidentiality? To say "I'm so grateful you're not my therapist?" To ask for her name so you could report her to the licensing authorities? Or maybe poor Patricia was the barista...