"Mildly Therapeutic, parts 1-3"
"Part 1 - Coffee"
A coffee pot on a pedestal. A man stands in front. He talks directly to the pot.
HE.
The year is 2008, I turn 28 this year. I have had other coffee pots before you. You're not even mine. You're my roommate's and he is away on business. You're nicer than my last one. That was also my roommates. You're nicer than the one I had years ago that I didn't use. When I was in college. You keep the heat better, I imagine. You look less messy, but you're more complicated, however that works.
He holds a cup.
HE.
My coffee drinking started after college. Maybe that's party of my own naivety. I have learned, since you arrived, that I like my coffee dark, strong and with a small amount of cream. And sometimes a little sweetness. These are not things I would have ever known before. When I was in the 7th grade, maybe 6th, and Danielle Bogull wanted to date Alan Roman, I think it was the first time I remember tasting it. Coffee's absence from my life until after college should clearly indicate my reaction. It was high school football game coffee, after all. Alan did not date Danielle, but later, Danielle became home to the most joyful set of breasts in my high school. Then she got trashy, and it became evident that she wasn't nearly as blessed as I have been. Or I assume that much. I saw a picture of her recently and she looked not trashy.. and Alan turned into a pothead. The likelihood that either of them would have a coffee pot quite like you is low. I bet, for one reason in their past, or another, they drink instant.
He presses a button, nothing happens.
HE.
I'd like to not have to use instant. Please understand that while I have learned a great deal from you, I just don't know quite yet how to get you to make my coffee. I have inserted the beans, put water where it belongs, emptied the grounds from when my roommate last made coffee and everything seems in place. But you won't let me make coffee. I can't find the instructions. You're plugged in. I'm already late for work. Every button I press is met with silence and the time, steadfast in your sixty seconds for every minute. I can usually figure out other coffee pots. Usually, they're simpler.
He takes out a phone. He calls someone.
HE.
Hey - it's me, again. I still can't get the coffee pot to work. Could you give me a call? I'm going to be late for work.
He hangs up.
HE.
Previous coffee pots would bend to my every whim and if they could speak might even express admiration for the aptitude for both my ability to make coffee and drink it. But not you. Not you.
He presses a button. Again, nothing happens.
HE.
Am I pressing you too hard? Does that dot by your clock denote some kind of thought process? Are you more sophisticated than I've known all along? Knowing exactly when the coffee should be made - for the best possible consumption? Or is it when you're ready to make it - when you feel it's the best time for you. I'll wait for you. I'll stand to the side and wait.
He stands to the side and waits for about ten seconds. Then his phone rings.
HE.
Hello? Hi sweetheart. How's work? Uh huh. Sure. Yeah - I'll pick up the flowers on my lunch break, and drop them off at the hall. No, no - the tuxes won't be ready until tomorrow. I'm sure it'll fit your dad fine. OK - talk to you soon. Love you.
He hangs up. He stares at the coffee pot.
HE.
I just want you to make me some coffee! That's all! It's simple! Just make it and we can both move on! I'm late for work because of you! Grind the beans, heat the water, run it through the filter and keep it warm!
Pause.
HE.
Nothing has had as much an affect on my life as you.
He presses a button. Nothing happens.
HE.
Refusal? Is that what this is? Refusal? Am I not good enough? Are my coffee tastes not refined enough for you to directly make me coffee? Well , I'm learning, alright? Aren't you? Aren't we always learning and getting better and figuring out who we are and what we like all the time? We're chiseling out childhood acceptance down to a fine point that says, this is what I am - this is what I like? Dark, strong and a little bit of cream. Unless you think you're a finished product already? You're not. You're not. We work together. I supply the beans and water - you supply the rest. We make it as a team. Please - work with me. Please.
He presses a button. Nothing happens.
HE.
You know, I always thought it odd when I was younger and my friends would order coffee. One friend in particular. When she would order coffee and I would order hot chocolate, I would think - god, are we old enough to drink that stuff? Am I just a slow developer because I don't want to drink it? I thought she was great. All the things I valued at the time. I had a thing for her too. I don't know if it was reciprocated. It may have been, but after so long of testing the waters and never jumping in - well there comes a time when you throw in the towel, so to speak. This may be that time. Maybe I just really liked hot chocolate with whipped cream.
He puts the mug down and leaves. As the lights fade the coffee grinds. The lights brighten up with this added development. The man does not return and the lights fade to black.
"Part 2 - Toothbrush"
A woman stands by a bathroom sink with a toothbrush holder on it. She holds an old toothbrush and places it in the holder, so the bristles face her. She does it gently.
SHE.
I just got back from the dentist. He says you have to be replaced. I'm sorry.
Pause.
SHE.
His assistant told me that the dentists said I brush too hard. Your bristles are too stiff for my teeth. It's brushing away the enamel and getting too close to the roots, or, whatever they're called. I'm sorry.
Pause.
SHE.
I might have a cavity, too. Which isn't necessarily because of you, but because of my mouth's genetic make up. Some people's mouths are acidic, some are basic. Mine changed over the years. He gave me a new brush that should help with that. It isn't that you didn't protect my teeth. This is just something I didn't know I needed. I guess had I known, I wouldn't have bought you in the first place. I'm -
Pause.
SHE.
Mouthwash is important, I'm told. A my teeth get older and wear down, mouthwash will help protect me at night. Gone are the days when everything was fine with just the two of us a little colgate. Sorry.
Pause.
SHE.
If you could change for me to better suit my needs, I'd want you to stay. I wouldn't replace you, like I'm now now, like it or not. I'm replacing you. I'm told keeping you would only do more harm than good. I've never had a cavity until now. The dentist found it and poked inside it. God, did it hurt. In my eyes and toes and fingertips. I need you to go. You're just no good for me anymore. My chemical makeup just isn't elastic like it once was. And you won't change.
Pause.
SHE.
You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You do not love me. You don't love me. You do not love me.
Pause.
SHE.
You're a toothbrush.
She reaches out and grabs the old toothbrush. She lays it on the sink. She pulls out a new toothbrush, still in it's packaging. She struggles to open it, a little, and puts it in the stand.
"Part 3 - Keys"
A man enters the stage. The sound of jingling keys is played through the sound system. He pulls out his pockets to show they are empty. He walks directly to the front row.
HE.
Have you found my keys? I believe I lost them here yesterday. My roommate let me in the apartment. We went out. Have you seen them? What about you? Have you seen my keyts? There's a little red monopoly house attached to them, in case you're looking at them somewhere on the floor and weren't sure they're mine. They are. Please pick them up and give them back to me.
He pulls out a Polaroid picture of them.
HE.
This is what they look like. Please - pass this around and take a look. Would the last person who gets to see the picture please return it to me immediately. I only have one picture and I have to use it for the next showing of this piece.
He returns to the stage.
HE.
Every time I come here, I take the keys out of my pocket and toss them in my "area" backstage. Here is a picture of that area. If the last person who sees this could return it to me, that would be great - but not completely necessary - I haven't lost the space and can take another picture of it.
I usually bounce them off the wall and go do a vocal warm up. Please, if you could, look quickly, this play is nearly over.
So - I toss them and bounce them off the wall, go warm up and then rehearse or perform. On nights like tonight, I perform. That is what I'm doing now. Today I didn't have my keys and since they are gone I didn't bounce anything off the wall. I didn't properly warm up and now, I don't feel that I'm performing as well as I can. And I'm sorry. I can be really fucking good. Amazing, even.
He goes to an audience member.
You! You look like you had something to say? Have you found them? Are you not sure? Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?
He waits for an answer.
HE.
Oh.. well I hope it clears up for you. Maybe you should tell your most recent sex partner.
Pause.
HE.
I'm very frustrated. I had them and they were good, but I was careless and lost them. I need keys. If I can't get them back I'll have to get a new one. Set.
Everyone. Please close your eyes. I would like you to do a focusing exercise with me. Close them Close them. Now. Close them. Now, imagine the sound of keys all around. People walking by you. Keep them closed. Do you hear the sounds & feel the people near you? I bet you can, you're really good at this. Ok, now take a deep breath in and slowly release it. Open them. Do you feel better? I do - but now I don't. Here is a picture of my current girlfriend and another of my ex girlfriend.
He passes them out.
HE.
Ok. This is the end of the play. I'm going to stand by an exit to give you a hug if you want one on your way out. Please - do me a favor and check around your seats to see if you can find my keys.
Throughout the concentration exercise, the crew and the man take a set of keys for each seat in the audience and put them by each seat. They are careful not to touch anyone. Once he walks to the exit, hopefully the audience will try to give back the keys to the Man. When they do, he will inspect them, deny that they are his, but promise to keep them in case someone else lost their keys. He will put them in a large pile of other keys returned. And he gives a hug to everyone who wants one.
"Part 1 - Coffee"
A coffee pot on a pedestal. A man stands in front. He talks directly to the pot.
HE.
The year is 2008, I turn 28 this year. I have had other coffee pots before you. You're not even mine. You're my roommate's and he is away on business. You're nicer than my last one. That was also my roommates. You're nicer than the one I had years ago that I didn't use. When I was in college. You keep the heat better, I imagine. You look less messy, but you're more complicated, however that works.
He holds a cup.
HE.
My coffee drinking started after college. Maybe that's party of my own naivety. I have learned, since you arrived, that I like my coffee dark, strong and with a small amount of cream. And sometimes a little sweetness. These are not things I would have ever known before. When I was in the 7th grade, maybe 6th, and Danielle Bogull wanted to date Alan Roman, I think it was the first time I remember tasting it. Coffee's absence from my life until after college should clearly indicate my reaction. It was high school football game coffee, after all. Alan did not date Danielle, but later, Danielle became home to the most joyful set of breasts in my high school. Then she got trashy, and it became evident that she wasn't nearly as blessed as I have been. Or I assume that much. I saw a picture of her recently and she looked not trashy.. and Alan turned into a pothead. The likelihood that either of them would have a coffee pot quite like you is low. I bet, for one reason in their past, or another, they drink instant.
He presses a button, nothing happens.
HE.
I'd like to not have to use instant. Please understand that while I have learned a great deal from you, I just don't know quite yet how to get you to make my coffee. I have inserted the beans, put water where it belongs, emptied the grounds from when my roommate last made coffee and everything seems in place. But you won't let me make coffee. I can't find the instructions. You're plugged in. I'm already late for work. Every button I press is met with silence and the time, steadfast in your sixty seconds for every minute. I can usually figure out other coffee pots. Usually, they're simpler.
He takes out a phone. He calls someone.
HE.
Hey - it's me, again. I still can't get the coffee pot to work. Could you give me a call? I'm going to be late for work.
He hangs up.
HE.
Previous coffee pots would bend to my every whim and if they could speak might even express admiration for the aptitude for both my ability to make coffee and drink it. But not you. Not you.
He presses a button. Again, nothing happens.
HE.
Am I pressing you too hard? Does that dot by your clock denote some kind of thought process? Are you more sophisticated than I've known all along? Knowing exactly when the coffee should be made - for the best possible consumption? Or is it when you're ready to make it - when you feel it's the best time for you. I'll wait for you. I'll stand to the side and wait.
He stands to the side and waits for about ten seconds. Then his phone rings.
HE.
Hello? Hi sweetheart. How's work? Uh huh. Sure. Yeah - I'll pick up the flowers on my lunch break, and drop them off at the hall. No, no - the tuxes won't be ready until tomorrow. I'm sure it'll fit your dad fine. OK - talk to you soon. Love you.
He hangs up. He stares at the coffee pot.
HE.
I just want you to make me some coffee! That's all! It's simple! Just make it and we can both move on! I'm late for work because of you! Grind the beans, heat the water, run it through the filter and keep it warm!
Pause.
HE.
Nothing has had as much an affect on my life as you.
He presses a button. Nothing happens.
HE.
Refusal? Is that what this is? Refusal? Am I not good enough? Are my coffee tastes not refined enough for you to directly make me coffee? Well , I'm learning, alright? Aren't you? Aren't we always learning and getting better and figuring out who we are and what we like all the time? We're chiseling out childhood acceptance down to a fine point that says, this is what I am - this is what I like? Dark, strong and a little bit of cream. Unless you think you're a finished product already? You're not. You're not. We work together. I supply the beans and water - you supply the rest. We make it as a team. Please - work with me. Please.
He presses a button. Nothing happens.
HE.
You know, I always thought it odd when I was younger and my friends would order coffee. One friend in particular. When she would order coffee and I would order hot chocolate, I would think - god, are we old enough to drink that stuff? Am I just a slow developer because I don't want to drink it? I thought she was great. All the things I valued at the time. I had a thing for her too. I don't know if it was reciprocated. It may have been, but after so long of testing the waters and never jumping in - well there comes a time when you throw in the towel, so to speak. This may be that time. Maybe I just really liked hot chocolate with whipped cream.
He puts the mug down and leaves. As the lights fade the coffee grinds. The lights brighten up with this added development. The man does not return and the lights fade to black.
"Part 2 - Toothbrush"
A woman stands by a bathroom sink with a toothbrush holder on it. She holds an old toothbrush and places it in the holder, so the bristles face her. She does it gently.
SHE.
I just got back from the dentist. He says you have to be replaced. I'm sorry.
Pause.
SHE.
His assistant told me that the dentists said I brush too hard. Your bristles are too stiff for my teeth. It's brushing away the enamel and getting too close to the roots, or, whatever they're called. I'm sorry.
Pause.
SHE.
I might have a cavity, too. Which isn't necessarily because of you, but because of my mouth's genetic make up. Some people's mouths are acidic, some are basic. Mine changed over the years. He gave me a new brush that should help with that. It isn't that you didn't protect my teeth. This is just something I didn't know I needed. I guess had I known, I wouldn't have bought you in the first place. I'm -
Pause.
SHE.
Mouthwash is important, I'm told. A my teeth get older and wear down, mouthwash will help protect me at night. Gone are the days when everything was fine with just the two of us a little colgate. Sorry.
Pause.
SHE.
If you could change for me to better suit my needs, I'd want you to stay. I wouldn't replace you, like I'm now now, like it or not. I'm replacing you. I'm told keeping you would only do more harm than good. I've never had a cavity until now. The dentist found it and poked inside it. God, did it hurt. In my eyes and toes and fingertips. I need you to go. You're just no good for me anymore. My chemical makeup just isn't elastic like it once was. And you won't change.
Pause.
SHE.
You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You don't love me. You do not love me. You don't love me. You do not love me.
Pause.
SHE.
You're a toothbrush.
She reaches out and grabs the old toothbrush. She lays it on the sink. She pulls out a new toothbrush, still in it's packaging. She struggles to open it, a little, and puts it in the stand.
"Part 3 - Keys"
A man enters the stage. The sound of jingling keys is played through the sound system. He pulls out his pockets to show they are empty. He walks directly to the front row.
HE.
Have you found my keys? I believe I lost them here yesterday. My roommate let me in the apartment. We went out. Have you seen them? What about you? Have you seen my keyts? There's a little red monopoly house attached to them, in case you're looking at them somewhere on the floor and weren't sure they're mine. They are. Please pick them up and give them back to me.
He pulls out a Polaroid picture of them.
HE.
This is what they look like. Please - pass this around and take a look. Would the last person who gets to see the picture please return it to me immediately. I only have one picture and I have to use it for the next showing of this piece.
He returns to the stage.
HE.
Every time I come here, I take the keys out of my pocket and toss them in my "area" backstage. Here is a picture of that area. If the last person who sees this could return it to me, that would be great - but not completely necessary - I haven't lost the space and can take another picture of it.
I usually bounce them off the wall and go do a vocal warm up. Please, if you could, look quickly, this play is nearly over.
So - I toss them and bounce them off the wall, go warm up and then rehearse or perform. On nights like tonight, I perform. That is what I'm doing now. Today I didn't have my keys and since they are gone I didn't bounce anything off the wall. I didn't properly warm up and now, I don't feel that I'm performing as well as I can. And I'm sorry. I can be really fucking good. Amazing, even.
He goes to an audience member.
You! You look like you had something to say? Have you found them? Are you not sure? Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?
He waits for an answer.
HE.
Oh.. well I hope it clears up for you. Maybe you should tell your most recent sex partner.
Pause.
HE.
I'm very frustrated. I had them and they were good, but I was careless and lost them. I need keys. If I can't get them back I'll have to get a new one. Set.
Everyone. Please close your eyes. I would like you to do a focusing exercise with me. Close them Close them. Now. Close them. Now, imagine the sound of keys all around. People walking by you. Keep them closed. Do you hear the sounds & feel the people near you? I bet you can, you're really good at this. Ok, now take a deep breath in and slowly release it. Open them. Do you feel better? I do - but now I don't. Here is a picture of my current girlfriend and another of my ex girlfriend.
He passes them out.
HE.
Ok. This is the end of the play. I'm going to stand by an exit to give you a hug if you want one on your way out. Please - do me a favor and check around your seats to see if you can find my keys.
Throughout the concentration exercise, the crew and the man take a set of keys for each seat in the audience and put them by each seat. They are careful not to touch anyone. Once he walks to the exit, hopefully the audience will try to give back the keys to the Man. When they do, he will inspect them, deny that they are his, but promise to keep them in case someone else lost their keys. He will put them in a large pile of other keys returned. And he gives a hug to everyone who wants one.
Labels: change, loss, man versus machine, play about a toothbrush, play about coffee, play about keys, play about refusal
posted by adam at 11:00 PM
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