—Name?
—Dear Friend.
—Occupation?
—Emotional dumpster.
—What’s that?
—You know, someone people call when they need to unburden their soul.
—Like a confession?
—Yes and no.
—I don’t understand.
—I take in any kind of venting. Confessions about cheating or even just thoughts of it, sadness over financial struggles, anger toward a husband, frustration over unexplained weight gain. But bragging is also welcome. I’m open to that too.
—People dump that into an emotional dumpster as well?
—Oh, absolutely! Sometimes, it’s more about desires or little white lies, but they feel good for the person telling them.
—What kind of desires?
—For example, the possibility of a board position that can later be quietly swept under the rug. A luxurious financial situation that doesn’t actually exist—but the other person will never know. Or a passionate, mutual love that only exists in someone’s head, and therefore, can never really be questioned.
—And what’s the point of the lying?
—It’s one of my clients’ greatest pleasures.
—Really? I can’t wrap my head around that.
—It’s simple: for those one or two hours, the storyteller is in a fantasy world. They imagine the things they long for most, then tell them to me as if they were true. While they’re telling their story—or maybe even bragging in a boastful way—they feel a rush, a pleasant tingling sensation through their body.
—And do they know that you see through them?
—That’s the best part of it all; they don’t care.
—How is that possible?
—Very easily. The emotional dumpster works just like a real trash can. The storyteller is only aware of its presence while they press down on the imaginary pedal. Only at that moment do we “interact.” The client throws in their trash and walks away. After that, they never think about the bin again.
—Unbelievable…
—Why? Do you ever think about your kitchen trash can when you’re not “together”?
—Well, no, but…
—See? It’s that simple. No one cares about what’s inside the dumpster. We don’t look at it, we don’t smell it.
The interviewer’s eyes light up.
—Wait a minute! What happens when the trash can needs to be emptied?
—That never happens.
—Of course, it does. Every trash can fills up eventually.
—That’s true. But when mine does, my clients simply find another bin.
—And what happens to you then?
—Nothing. The trash slowly drains out of me over time.
—Tell me, why do you do it?
—I hear interesting stories, and I get to help in two ways.
—Two ways?
—Yes. Once for the client, and once for another dumpster. If the latter ever complains about being full of trash, I encourage them by showing them what’s inside me. They instantly feel stronger.