Dexter walked into a bar and ordered a glass of white wine.
He took a sip of the wine, then tossed the remainder in the bartender’s face.
Before the bartender could recover from the surprise, the Dexter began weeping. “I’m really sorry. I keep doing that to bartenders. I can’t tell you how embarrassing it is to have a compulsion like this.”
Far from being angry, the bartender was sympathetic. Before long, he was suggesting that Dexter see a psychoanalyst about his problem.
“I happen to have the name of a psychoanalyst,” the bartender said. “My brother and my wife have both been treated by him, and they say he’s as good as they come.”
Dexter wrote down the name of the doctor, thanked the bartender, and left. The bartender smiled, knowing he’d done a good deed for a fellow human being.
Six months later, Dexter returned to the bar. The bartender remembered him and asked, “Did you do what I suggested?” – and served him a glass of white wine.
“I certainly did,” said Dexter. “I’ve been seeing the psychoanalyst twice a week.”
He took a sip of the wine and then he threw the remainder into the bartender’s face.
The flustered bartender wiped his face with a towel. “The doctor doesn’t seem to be doing you any good,” he spluttered.
“On the contrary,” Dexter said,” he’s done me a world of good.”
“But you just threw the wine in my face again!” the bartender exclaimed.
“Yes,” aswered Dexter. “But it doesn’t embarrass me any more!”