"You know, son, you have a bright future in science ahead of you," Oh yeah, he knew, but was it worth his sanity? Cave Johnson had said this to him once when they happened to cross paths in the men's room. Doug never was entirely certain whether his boss knew his name or not. He did have so many employees; it must be hard to keep them all straight. "You just need to learn not to listen to that little voice in your head that says you can't."
He'd almost laughed. Which little voice in his head? Of course, Johnson was referring to his conscience. Well, he had to give the other man credit for at least remembering who he was. Doug didn't consider himself Aperture's conscience, because if so he certainly didn't do a very good job of it. But if that's what it took to be a great scientist, then he had no interest in being one.
And it struck him as an oddly personal topic to discuss during casual urinal conversation. Then again, this was Cave Johnson they were talking about here.
Doug recalled the incident to his therapist that afternoon, who in turn told him for the billionth time to quit his job. It was good advice that he continued to pay for, but he just couldn't do that, even if that made him a hypocrite. Which it almost certainly did. He needed this job; he needed his meds.
Still, he called in sick the next day, unable to face the prospect of giving even one more second of his time to Aperture and Cave Johnson for fear it might send him over the edge.
The very last thing he needed, in addition to the moral crisis already developing in his conscience, was a psychotic break.