|Humor Script posted September 9, 2013|
A challenging patient
Dr. Robert Evans: Forty plus. Handsome. Egotistical. Armani type.
Ms Janine Forte: Late twenties. French accent. Neurotic. WalMart chic.
DR. EVANS: Good morning, young lady.
JANINE: Dr. Evans. (offers to shake hands)
EVANS: Sorry, I don’t shake hands with female patients. It makes them become too attached.
JANINE: Don’t flatter yourself! (picks up a fine sculpture on his desk) Look at this. Business must be good, heh?
EVANS: (tactfully taking it away) I bless parents every day for creating messed-up minds.
JANINE: You might add neighbors, the government, husbands--
EVANS: And paranoid wives. (turns three framed pictures on his desk upside down.) Now, please sit down on the sofa or chair, Janine—
JANINE: (icy) Don’t call me by my first name. You might become too attached. (sits on the chair)
EVANS: Score one for you, Ms. Forte. Well, let’s not beat around the bush.
JANINE: Oh, you’re going to talk dirty.
EVANS: (relaxing on the sofa) Just a figure of speech. Don’t take everything literally.
JANINE: You mean, symbolically.
EVANS: Yes, of course. Whatever. Dr. Willis recommended you talk to me. I can see why.
JANINE: Really? I don’t understand. I’m high-strung, but isn’t everyone?
EVAN: The truth is, you’re a junkie.
JANINE (jumps up) How dare you! I’m not a junkie! (rolls up sweater sleeves and bares her forearms) Do you see any needle mark here? Do you see any needle marks there? I don’t think so. Don’t tell me I’m a junkie.
EVANS: How many pills do you take a day?
JANINE: Four Valium, two Oxycodone, a little Ambien here, a little Prozac there –whatever works to keep me relaxed.
EVANS: I repeat. You’re a junkie.
JANINE: Without pills I’d be suicidal.
EVANS: Have you ever tried to kill yourself?
JANINE: That’s classified information.
EVANS: You’re being difficult.
JANINE: You don’t like me, do you?
EVANS: Does it matter?
JEANINE: No one likes me.
EVANS: Is that why you take pills?
JANINE: The pills are my friends. The pink ones say hello every morning. The beige ones tell me to get moving. The yellows keep me happy and the blues give me sexy dreams.
EVANS: Ah. Let’s talk about the dreams.
JANINE: You won’t be in them, if that’s what you’re thinking. Stop staring at my boobs.
EVANS: I’m sorry. When you get excited, they quiver, so I know they’re not implants.
JANINE: That’s not a professional observation, Dr. Evans.
EVANS: Ah, but it may lead to the discovery of your id.
JANINE: I’m going to report you to the –the – whatever organization –
EVANS: Interesting choice of words.
JANINE: (frantic) What did I say?
EVANS: You talked about my organ.
JANINE: I did not!
EVANS: It’s big, you know
JANINE: You’ve seen one. You’ve seen them all.
EVANS: Ah, I get it. You take pills because sex bores you.
JANINE: You have the IQ of a doorknob.
EVANS: You have a habit of insulting people.
JANINE: No, it’s the other way around.
EVANS: Please, I go out of my way to flatter my patients.
JANINE: Don't do that. They’d become too attached.
EVANS: Ah ha, you’re angry that I wouldn’t shake hands.
JANINE: Your ego is bigger than your organ. Which I don’t wish to handle, by the way.
EVANS: (sighs) I know. You haven’t changed, Janine. I do wish Dr. Willis would stop sending my ex-wives for treatment.
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