(Dark stage. Sound cue.) SOUND CUE I've found a man who will bring us joy I've found a doctor who will cure the boy (Found a doctor that will cure the boy) SHORT MUSIC BREAK I've found a man to remove his sorrow He lives in this town let's see him tomorrow (Let's see him tomorrow) (Lights up on RICK. Sitting on a couch. If possible, everything else on stage is dark.) RICK Of course it was crowded, it's about a week before Christmas, so the place if going to be crowded. But it doesn't bother me. Normally a room full of people would drive me crazy, but I guess I was in a good mood. Was I? I don't know exactly, but let's say I was in a good mood. I must have been because I don't remember wanting to beat the shit out of anybody and that's usually a good indication of where I am mood-wise. So I'm in a good mood. And I'm in line and it's moving slow. Again, this doesn't bother me. Somehow, the planets have aligned in such a way that this huge line of potentially annoying strangers that's moving at approximately an inch a millennium isn't pushing my buttons. One clerk. Of course. Week before Christmas, why man all of the service windows? Let's not get crazy. Let's not act like hoity-toities and actually place one human being behind each console. What would be the point? Apparently if more than one fucking register is being used at the same time, it will cause a blackout and there will be rioting in the streets and you can't have that a week before Christmas. So, let's be grateful that they spared civilization that fatal blow by only putting one person on duty behind the counter. And this person- she's a piece of work. I'll grant you that. God forbid they put the smart guy behind the counter. He's probably in the back figuring out how to lead the whole organization into the next century. Can't tax his precious brain with selling a few stamps or retrieving a few packages, can we? Again, our best interest is at the forefront of their fevered minds. But none of this is pissing me off. So, we're talking about a moment in time that, by all rights, should have made the papers and the nightly news. I'm being subjected to the most tedious bullshit our defenders and facilitators can devise to break the human spirit and I'm as calm as they come. Not particularly happy. Just calm. Which, in my book, is the same as happy, so this is a red letter day. Somehow, an eon passes and it's my turn. To the counter. "Two money orders, please." Zippity-zip, they're in my hand. The Visa goons will be held at bay for another month. Pick up the clotted blue ballpoint pen chained to the glass-topped table and I'm filling them out. Postal money orders. Full name and address for both parties. So, it takes some time. But am I ticked off? Not at all. I'm wallowing in this perverse pleasure I get out of paying my bills and I'm a little freaked to admit it, but nothing makes me happier than paying a bill. Now, that's weird. But that's a whole other day. So, I'm continuing my communion with the world around me. And I'm licking the last envelope. And I'm suddenly aware of this. . .presence. . .next to me. This. . .guy. . .standing there. A little too close. Black pants. A short sleeved button-up that looks like it came out of my dad's closet. Bushy beard. But it's a young guy. And the beard's not a young guy's beard. Not that it means anything, but maybe I think of it for a split second before I go back to licking the envelope. And then he speaks. Tiny eyes grab mine. Weird smile. Jerks his head over toward the counter. "Bitch like that? You know what I'd do to a bitch like that? Shove a telephone pole up her ass. No lube or nothing. Just ram it right in." Then he kind of gives me this nod. One of those "you know what I'm talking about" nods. And no one notices. This was just for me. His little preciously wrapped gift bag full of squirmy psycho sexual rage. And I looked up. And he was gone. (Lights up on the rest of the stage. A psychiatrist's office. A few pieces of furniture. BENDIX sits in the nicest chair, with a notepad on his lap.) RICK Are you listening? BENDIX Huh? RICK You're not listening. BENDIX I am. I'm concentrating. RICK I think I heard you snore. BENDIX I would never do that. RICK Yeah. BENDIX So. . . RICK Yes? BENDIX How did that make you feel? RICK You always ask that. BENDIX You never answer. RICK It's a stupid question. BENDIX Why do you say it's "stupid"? RICK How do you think it made me feel? BENDIX I couldn't answer that. RICK Sure, you can. I've been coming here. . .a long fucking time and telling you all this crap, so you should have a pretty fair idea of how that made me feel. BENDIX I'm not here to tell you how you feel. RICK Your job is to doze off when I'm relating a traumatic experience. BENDIX You think of that as traumatic? RICK That does it. BENDIX You still have twenty minutes left. RICK You just pissed all over my traumatic experience. BENDIX I asked a question. RICK You implied that my experience wasn't traumatic. BENDIX I didn't mean to. RICK Look. I'm sorry if my story doesn't rise to the level of "Daddy beat me with an extension cord" or "Mommy touched me in the bad place", but that's all I got. You don't like it, just mark my case "incurable" and we can finally call it quits to this futile exercise in extortion. Forgive me if I can't drum up something worthy of a best-selling book. BENDIX I'm sorry you took offense. RICK Do I have to sit there? BENDIX You can lie down, if you like. RICK As if that's going to happen. BENDIX You don't have to lie down. RICK Oh, I'm not going to. BENDIX Just make yourself comfortable. RICK So, I can leave. BENDIX If you must. RICK No. She's waiting for me today. If I come out early it will be the topic of conversation for the next week. BENDIX Your fiance? RICK Yep. BENDIX How is she? RICK Wondering when she's gonna get her cut. BENDIX I'm sorry? RICK She doesn't deserve a percentage for lining up customers for you? BENDIX Just because she suggested that you begin therapy, doesn't mean. . . RICK I wouldn't call it a suggestion. BENDIX What would you call it? RICK What do you call a suggestion that's really more like an iron clad rule that's punishable by eternal torment? BENDIX A demand? RICK That sounds a little fascist. BENDIX A condition. RICK Now, you're talking. BENDIX Just because she may have stated a condition whereby you begin therapy, doesn't mean she receives any financial stake in your healing process. RICK Why spread the wealth anyway, right? BENDIX You're still upset about your bill. RICK No. Not at all. I love spending $150 a week talking to a complete stranger about every ridiculous detail of every ridiculous thing that's ever happened to me in a vain attempt to make me a person who will remember to bring groceries home without having to be asked. BENDIX You feel that your therapy is in vain? RICK Oh, not just mine. Why's it taking so long? BENDIX Everyone heals at a different pace. RICK That's the thing. How do I know when I'm healed? BENDIX I'll know. I'll tell you. RICK But where's the incentive in it for you? If I get all better then you're out a paycheck. Seems to me the upkeep of your SUV depends on me being fucked up for years to come. BENDIX I don't drive an SUV. I'm not worried about a shortage of patients. When you're healed, someone will take your place. RICK I wasn't saying it wasn't a good racket. BENDIX I'd rather not refer to it that way. RICK I'd rather not be referred to as a patient, so we'll just agree to disagree.