Your boss automatically assumes you're a more permanent fixture than the fire extinguisher and will only be leaving feet first. You'll know what ointment to put on what bits, to check occasionally that there are no bandages left over from the Seventies and to explain for the five-thousandth time that you don't do hangover cures. But at least people want to talk to you, even if it is just about their fungal problem. No one knows how many insides of toilet cubicles you've seen, as you instruct a colleague to visualise a sun-oil franchise on Marbella beach with Taki getting serious sunstroke.
Clever counsellors can try to give themselves a boost by claiming to be facilitators.
This basically gives them the right to spread whatever malicious gossip you like in the office kitchen. If you've got a dream catcher above your desk and wear a crystal in a leather pouch around your neck, then you only have yourself to blame. Wise woman is always there to remind us that life is too short to scream at a photocopier or to conjure up a parable brought on by the nearest available seagull. On the other hand, if she knows where the Christmas decorations are kept, this can be equally impressive. It might sound worse than Enya's Greatest Hits, but given the paltry amount of wisdom to be found in most offices, you could soon be seen as the veritable love child of Wittgenstein and Gypsy Rose Lee.