As far back as I can remember, bedtime was always a little nerve-wracking. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was hiding under my bed, just waiting for the lights to go out. The fear clung to me well into adulthood, until one day I decided I’d had enough and made an appointment with a psychiatrist.

Sitting in his office, I let it all out.
“There’s something wrong with me,” I said. “Every night I’m convinced there’s a creature or person hiding under my bed. I can’t sleep. It’s driving me nuts.”

The psychiatrist nodded sympathetically and replied, “It’s a common fear. But with regular sessions, we can work through it. If you come in three times a week for a year, I believe we’ll make real progress.”

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I was hopeful—until I asked about the cost.
“Eighty dollars a session,” he said.

I winced. “Let me think about it,” I said, and left his office.

Fast forward six months. I ran into the same psychiatrist while walking downtown.

He greeted me and asked, “Hey, whatever happened with those nighttime fears of yours? You never came back.”

“Oh,” I replied with a smile, “I found a much cheaper solution.”

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He raised an eyebrow. “Really? What did you do?”

“Well,” I said proudly, “I went to a local bar and told the bartender about my problem. He charged me ten bucks for some advice that completely fixed it.”

Now the psychiatrist looked intrigued, maybe even a little insulted. “Ten dollars? And what miraculous therapy did this bartender offer?”

“He told me to grab a saw and chop the legs off my bed. Now there’s nothing underneath it—and I sleep like a baby!”