31 October 2023
Tuesday. Halloween, naturally. I would not open a new practice on a Wednesday.
I have discovered a new voice. It is bright. It goes up at the ends of sentences. It says hellooo with more o’s than strictly necessary. When I use it, I feel like a different man, which is rather the point.
The new practice is a padded cell, very tastefully done, with cuffs, a chain that rattles on cue and a smell of disinfectant you could hang a coat on. My patients wake there in the dark. Then the speaker crackles and I welcome them, warmly, as my favourite patients, and explain that therapy is going to be fun and that nobody is leaving until they are better.
Etiquette, I have decided, is everything on the intercom. Never shout. Never rush. Always sound delighted. Step out for a moment and make it clear you will be back for the final procedure. Then go and make a cup of tea and listen to them panic about the patient notes.
Nobody asked my name. I have not settled on one. The voice does not need a name. The voice needs a microphone and a good night’s sleep.
— U.
