- February 21, 2003 - No Shame Iowa City
Performed by Paul Rust and Aprille Clarke.
"Joan and Greg Are in the Hospital"
Written by Paul Rust
LIGHTS UP. On stage right, GREG sits in a chair beside a table. He’s drumming his fingers on his thighs - obviously waiting for someone. A moment passes.
DR. JOAN enters stage left. She is swift, focused, and efficient. She rarely makes eye
contact with Greg — or even looks at him for that matter. She focuses on her clipboard.
Their opening dialogue is delivered quickly
and bouncy-like… like an old-timey screwball comedy.
JOAN: (as she enters) Good evening, Mr. Danielson.
GREG: Hi, Joan.
JOAN: You had another accident tonight.
GREG: Yes.
JOAN: What happened this time?
GREG: Well, you know those Fry Daddies?
JOAN: Fry Daddies?
GREG: It’s cookware. They burn hot grease. And you throw food in. To fry it.
JOAN: Uh-huh.
GREG: It spilled on my face.
JOAN: The hot grease?
GREG: Yeah. The hot grease spilled on my face.
Joan pauses, looks straight into Greg’s face.
JOAN: Why, yes… yes, it did. (resumes looking at her clipboard) How’d that happen?
GREG: Well, I was sitting at home, making my favorite Fry-Daddy treat. I throw pineapples in the hot grease and then when they’re done frying, I dip ‘em in Diet 7-Up. I call it "Pineapple 7-UP Surprise Delicious." Have you ever had it?
JOAN: Mr. Danielson, please focus. How did you spill the hot grease on your face?
GREG: Okay. Right, right. Sorry. Well, I had the Fry-Daddy running on my countertop, right? But then my cat Mr. Tuxedo — I call him that because his fur makes him look like he’s wearing a tuxedo ---
JOAN: I know, Mr. Danielson. You’ve told me before.
GREG: One year, for our Christmas cards, I took a picture of Mr. Tuxedo wearing a top hat.
JOAN: And you scotch-taped a cane to his paw and a monocle to his eye, I know.
GREG: I’ve told you before?
JOAN: You sent me the card.
GREG: Oh. (pause) It was cute, wasn’t it?
JOAN: The hot grease, Mr. Danielson. How did it spill on your face?
Joan pats the table — a sign for Greg to sit
up on it. When he does, Joan begins
looking into his ears, lifting up his eyelids -
you know, doctor stuff.
GREG: (sitting up on the table) Right, right. Well, Mr. Tuxedo jumped up on the countertop, right? And he was getting really close to the Fry-Daddy and I didn’t want him to fall in and hurt himself. That already happened once with my other cat Mr. Brown Tweed Jacket — I call him that because his fur makes him look like he’s wearing a ---
JOAN: (interrupting) a brown tweed jacket, yes. Please, Mr. Danielson.
GREG: Right, right. So I decided to move the Fry-Daddy off the countertop to a place where Mr. Tuxedo couldn’t get hurt.
JOAN: And where was that?
GREG: On top of the refrigerator.
JOAN: Ah-ha.
GREG: Unfortunately, my hands were wet - what with all the pineapple juice and the Diet 7-UP and all that. So, as I lifted the Fry-Daddy up to the fridge, it slipped from my hands and the hot grease ---
JOAN: (finishing his sentence) … spilled on your face.
GREG: Correct-a-mundo.
Joan steps back from her examination and
sits down in the chair.
JOAN: (tactfully) Another accident.
GREG: Yep.
JOAN: Another Friday night.
GREG: Yeah.
JOAN: At exactly 11pm.
GREG: Right.
JOAN: For the past nine weeks.
GREG: Funny thing, isn’t it? But you know what they say about coincidences…
Silence.
JOAN: No, what do they say about coincidences, Mr. Danielson?
GREG: Uh… it’s a small world!
JOAN: Mr. Danielson, we need to have a talk.
GREG: (avoiding her statement) So, Laura, what’s the prognosis on my face?
JOAN: Your face?
GREG: Is it going to be okay? Did the hot grease hurt it?
JOAN: (exhales, finds patience) You’ve suffered 1st degree burns.
GREG: Will I need treatment?
JOAN: Yes.
GREG: Extensive treatment?
JOAN: Yes, extensive treatment.
Greg turns his back - pumping his fist in joy
and mouthing the words "Oh yeah,
sweetness." He re-faces Joan.
JOAN: Did you just pump your fist?
GREG: (laughing nervously) No.
JOAN: And mouth the words "Oh yeah, sweetness?"
GREG: (still laughing nervously) What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Joan.
Pause.
JOAN: I know you’re faking these accidents, Mr. Danielson.
GREG: What?
JOAN: You’ve been faking them all along.
GREG: What? No way. Geeze. Where’d you get your doctor’s degree? The Medical School of… Silliness?
JOAN: This is your ninth consecutive accident in nine weeks, Mr. Danielson. First, you broke your arm.
GREG: I fell off my roof.
JOAN: You cut your thumb open.
GREG: It’s those damn can openers.
JOAN: You got electrocuted.
GREG: Who knew the dangers in precariously setting a plugged-in toaster next to a bathtub? … And poking a stick at it.
JOAN: You got bit by a dog, hit by a car, stabbed in the stomach, got your hand stuck in a mouse trap, fell through a stained-glass window, and a fry-daddy spilled on your face.
GREG: I guess I’ve just got a bad case of the Clumsies!
JOAN: Tell me, Mr. Danielson. When you got stabbed, did they ever catch that Russian you claimed had done it?
GREG: No, they did not. The police said they couldn’t find him. They concluded that he must have found one of those invisibility cloaks or something.
JOAN: That’s peculiar, Mr. Danielson… because I checked it out with the police and they said you never even filed a report with them.
GREG: What? Are you saying I stabbed myself in the stomach?!
A knife drops out of Greg’s pocket and onto
the floor. They both look down at it. Beat. Greg looks up at Joan.
GREG: (poorly covering up) That damn tailor keeps putting knives in my clothes!
JOAN: Greg!
GREG: Okay, okay, okay. I admit it. I faked all those accidents, yes. I cut my own thumb open, I ran into traffic, I poured the Fry Daddy onto my face. (beat) But I didn’t fake the first accident. When I fell off that roof, that was real. The first night you put that cast onto my arm… that was real. Very real. (pause) Do you remember that night? You took off my shirt… poured that plaster, laid down that padding, made my arm better.
JOAN: I remember, Greg.
GREG: It was nice, wasn’t it?
JOAN: … It was nice.
GREG: Gosh, I wanted that night to last forever. I thought I could. I assumed you kept the same working hours, so every Friday night, I found a new way for you to take care of me. And with each passing week, I fell in love with you more and more. You fell in love with me more and more.
JOAN: Don’t confuse pity with love, Greg.
GREG: (weakly declarative) You love me.
JOAN: … No, I don’t.
GREG: But you’ve seen the real me. My weaknesses. My vulnerability. My sensitivity.
JOAN: That doesn’t mean much, Greg.
GREG: But isn’t that what women want? They want to see a man who is vulnerable, sensitive.
JOAN: Trust me, Greg. Women don’t want that. (beat) Why would weakness be attractive? Who could love a man… who isn’t a man?
GREG: But every Friday, I came in and you cared for me then. Why don’t you like me now?
JOAN: The first night you came in… yes, you had a chance. You were sweet and charming and cute. I liked you. But after all this… look at you. Your body’s covered in cuts and bruises and stab wounds and dog bites. Your face has 1st degree burns. (pause) You’re grotesque.
Greg stares blankly, then nods, stands up, and walks stage left. He almost exits, but pauses.
GREG: You’re not so great yourself, you know.
JOAN: What?
GREG: You’re not that pretty.
JOAN: Okay, Greg ---
GREG: Your face is chubby and you could lose a few pounds.
JOAN: You can go now ---
GREG: (storming up to her) You’re fat. And your eyes are too far apart. And your skin is too dry. And your mouth is too small. You disgust me. You disgust me. (picks up the knife, "cuts Joan’s face," pause) Now who’s grotesque?
Greg begins to walk away, Joan cradles her
face in her hands. Right before he exits…
JOAN: Greg?
GREG: What?
JOAN: Would you like to have dinner tonight?
GREG: I’ll pick you up at 8.
Greg exits. Joan resumes cradling her face. BLACKOUT.
Performed by Paul Rust and Aprille Clarke.
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