"Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!" - unam.

"No. Do you?"
"Well, I'm keeping an open mind."
"What? You, a psychiatrist, keeping an open mind? Ha!" It went on like this for
quite a while.
Then at some point near the end he says, "How much do you value life?"
"Sixty­four."
"Why did you say 'sixty­four'?"
"How are you supposed to measure the value of life?"
"No! I mean, why did you say 'sixty­four,' and not 'seventy­three,' for instance?"
"If I had said 'seventy­three,' you would have asked me the same question!"
The psychiatrist finished with three friendly questions, just as the other
psychiatrist had done, handed me my papers, and I went off to the next booth.
While I'm waiting in the line, I look at the paper which has the summary of all the
tests I've taken so far. And just for the hell of it I show my paper to the guy next to me,
and I ask him in a rather stupid­sounding voice, "Hey! What did you get in 'Psychiatric'?
Oh! You got an 'N.' I got an 'N' in everything else, but I got a 'D' in 'Psychiatric.' What
does that mean?" I knew what it meant: "N" is normal, "D" is deficient.
The guy pats me on the shoulder and says, "Buddy, it's perfectly all right. It
doesn't mean anything. Don't worry about it!" Then he walks way over to the other corner
of the room, frightened: It's a lunatic!
I started looking at the papers the psychiatrists had written, and it looked pretty
serious! The first guy wrote: Thinks people talk about him.
Thinks people stare at him.
Auditory hypnogogic hallucinations.
Talks to self.
Talks to deceased wife.
Maternal aunt in mental institution.
Very peculiar stare. (I knew what that was ­­ that was when I said, "And this is
medicine?")
The second psychiatrist was obviously more important, because his scribble was
harder to read. His notes said things like "auditory hypnogogic hallucinations confirmed."
("Hypnogogic" means you get them while you're falling asleep.)
He wrote a lot of other technical­sounding notes, and I looked them over, and they
looked pretty bad. I figured I'd have to get all of this straightened out with the army
somehow.
At the end of the whole physical examination there's an army officer who decides
whether you're in or you're out. For instance, if there's something the matter with your
hearing, he has to decide if it's serious enough to keep you out of the army. And because
the army was scraping the bottom of the barrel for new recruits, this officer wasn't going
to take anything from anybody. He was tough as nails. For instance, the fellow ahead of
me had two bones sticking out from the back of his neck ­­ some kind of displaced
vertebra, or something ­­ and this army officer had to get up from his desk and feel them ­
­ he had to make sure they were real!
I figure this is the place I'll get this whole misunderstanding straightened out.
When it's my turn, I hand my papers to the officer, and I'm ready to explain everything,
but the officer doesn't look up. He sees the "D" next to "Psychiatric," immediately