THE GAMBLER DIALOGS: A PLAY IN MULTIPLE ACTS
ACT ONE
Off to a Bad Start
(The play takes place in the therapist’s office. The entrance
door is to the left. There is a desk with an office chair and a side
chair. The desk is positioned with its end toward the audience so that
both actors sit without their backs to the audience. A Victorian
fainting couch is to the right in which the client generally sits with
feet up and body semi-reclined, not flat. There is an easy chair for
the therapist near the couch positioned where the client on the couch
cannot see the therapist. On the wall are pictures of Sigmund Freud and
Ivan Pavlov. The office is complete with potted ferns, filing cabinet,
table with coffee service, shelves of books and windows.)
(There is a knock at the door and the psychologist rises from his desk,
opens the door and admits a male client. They shake hands and the
psychologist guides the client to the chair by the desk. The
psychologist returns to his seat across the desk.)
PSYCHOLOGIST: Just have a seat for now, my friend. It’s John
Forbish, right? I’m happy to meet you and I hope we can work
comfortably together. I’ve been reading the information your
physician sent over. Let’s just chat a bit. Why don’t you
tell me what’s bothering you?
FORBISH: What kind of stupid game do you therapists play, anyway?
PSYCHOLOGIST: John, you sound a little confused, perhaps angry. We just
try to help people learn to become normal. What part of normal
don’t you understand?
FORBISH: I need help here, man. I don’t need to go to school or hang around with some burned out psycho-bum.
PSYCHOLOGIST: You say you want help but you don’t need to learn
anything. So, your life right now is really pretty good, then?
FORBISH: My life sucks. Everybody wants money from me, my family hates
me, I just got fired from my job and I never get time for fun anymore.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Hmmm, well then. Perhaps you should be interested in
learning how to manage things better. I just happen to know a few
things that you could . . .
FORBISH: You say you’re a psychologist. Psychologists are
supposed to be nice to people, considerate and understanding and all
that. You don’t show me much so far.
PSYCHOLOGIST: What makes you think I want to understand you?
FORBISH: Forget it, freak. You could never understand a gambler. You
have no idea what we go through, how we struggle and suffer to keep our
heads above water, to keep everybody happy and still try to win a few
bucks.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Right. Well, maybe you should try to understand me, then.
FORBISH: Who would want to understand you? You sit in an office all day
and listen to people whine about their problems. What kind of life is
that?
PSYCHOLOGIST: I often wonder about that, too. But perhaps if you
understood me, if you understood my life as a normal person, you would
understand how I get the mortgage and car payments made on time every
month. You might understand how normal people keep a marriage going in
good times and bad. You might understand the importance of money and
truth and responsibility and humility and work and . . .
FORBISH: What the fuck are you, some kind of priest?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Well, really, I’m just an emotional garbage man. I
collect all kinds of human mental junk and haul it away to the
psycho-dump where it gets buried or burned. The problem is, unless you
change, you will go on living in emotional squalor and making new
mental garbage faster than I can haul it away for you.
FORBISH: Are you threatening me?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Yes.
FORBISH: I come in here looking for someone to understand me, and now
you want me to understand you. You’re supposed to fix me, treat
me, and give me some kind of psychotherapy to make me happy.
PSYCHOLOGIST: What kind of therapy would you like, then?
FORBISH: What do you have?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Hypnotherapy, age regression, group therapy, psychodrama,
programmed learning, implosive and shock treatments, hydro-massage, art
or music therapy, alpha enhancement, vascular biofeedback,
psychoanalysis, trans-sexual education, assertiveness training, yoga,
transcendental meditation, potty training, play therapy, existential .
. .
FORBISH: How much does any of that cost?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Sorry. You’re broke, unemployed and you have no health insurance. You can’t afford any of it,
FORBISH: I could borrow from my grandmother; she has bucks.
PSYCHOLOGIST: You’d only gamble it away and, besides, none of
that stuff will cure, fix, or change a gambling problem. In forty-five
years as a psychologist I’ve tried all of it and a whole bunch
more. None of it works for addictions. Why don’t you just forget
all the psychobabble for now? Later, after you’ve stopped
gambling, then perhaps some psychotherapy might help you along.
FORBISH: Psychobabble? It doesn’t sound like you really care about gamblers. I need to find someone who really cares.
PSYCHOLOGIST: You mean someone who can empathize and sympathize,
someone who can feel your pain? I know how you feel. It sure makes me
feel good, too, when people understand me and sympathize, but when
that’s all over I still have the real work to do. If you wanted
to learn algebra or knitting, your teacher would empathize with your
ignorance, but if the teacher is any good, she’ll give homework,
do lectures, show you how to do stuff . . .
FORBISH: Caring! Caring! Don’t you understand caring?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Caring is a verb, an action. It’s not a feeling or
an emotion. Of course, I feel for you, or for any damn fool I work with
who’s in emotional pain. But we know many ways to live a happy,
productive life, and we can teach you those things. They’re not
difficult, just uncomfortable at first. And I’m not here to take
care of you and treat you like a child.
FORBISH: You’re so callous. I feel so insulted.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Tell you what. We can start each session with five
minutes of sympathy, with tender feelings and handholding. We can
repeat together that life is awful, nobody understands you, and
you’ve been victimized by circumstance—whatever makes you
feel good. We can cry and whine and complain for the first five
minutes, and then you can get down to learning what you need to know to
make your life better. O.K.?
FORBISH: How about some pills? I know lots of people who take pills. Some of my best friends take pills.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Try down the hall, two doors on your left, Dr.
Fribble’s office. Take money. Be prepared for a big pharmacy
bill. Besides, even if he gives you pills, you’ll still have
pretty much the personality you walked in here with. Anyway, no one
will know what pills you really need, or if you need any at all, until
you stop gambling for a while. Pills can make it easier for some people
to learn new things, but we don’t know that yet in your case.
FORBISH: If I stop gambling, I’ll go crazy
PSYCHOLOGIST: Look what gambling’s done to you. You are crazy. No charge for that diagnosis.
FORBISH: I read someplace that addictions are genetic. If my gambling
problem is genetic, there’s no hope anyway. I just might as well
gamble and enjoy it if it’s genetic.
PSYCHOLOGIST: I forgot to mention gene therapy. It’s still very
experimental and many of our guinea pigs—I mean
patients—have been lost in our experiments. If you think
it’s genetic, maybe we could arrange with our assistant Tony to
eliminate—I mean, take care of— your Dad or Mom.
FORBISH: Now you want to kill my parents!
PSYCHOLOGIST: No, not really. That would be messy and ineffective.
You’re already born. I’m suggesting that many people,
people all over the world with family histories of addiction,
don’t develop gambling or addiction problems. So, these are a few
more people you need to try to understand: people with genes like yours
who manage to avoid the trap of gambling. Genetics certainly influences
what we become, but it doesn’t doom you to be a gambler.
FORBISH: I’ve heard gambling could be caused by bad brain chemistry. Maybe I have a brain disease.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Right. If you don’t have a problem with your brain
chemistry when you start gambling, you probably will after you’ve
done it for years. Some people have a natural depression of mood, or a
short attention span, or even hyperactive or manic tendencies. The
problem is to explain why so many people with these same problems
don’t get addicted to gambling or anything else. We haven’t
perfected our brain transplant techniques yet, but if you’d like
to volunteer . . .
FORBISH: O.K. You’re so smart, what will work for a compulsive gambler?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Truth.
FORBISH: Truth?
PSYCHOLOGIST: Yes, truth. No tricks, no gimmicks, no quick fixes: just
the truth. If you hang around with me for long you’ll hear the
truth about gamblers, about gambling and about the way the world works
for grown-ups.
FORBISH: You could at least put a little sugar coating on all this truth. That might make it a little easier to swallow.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Well, I’ve tried that, too, over the years. What
happens is that people learn to lick off the icing and leave the bread
on the plate. They just keep coming back for more sugar, and I could
make a good living selling feel good therapy. But, it’s empty
calories and nothing changes. Truth is the only real therapy, and ideas
don’t necessarily kill people. Even being uncomfortable gets
easier as the truth kicks in.
FORBISH: Tell you what, Doc. I’ll think about what you said and get back to you.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Right, in about thirty years you’ll get back to me.
After you get out of prison, after you’ve had a heart attack or
stroke from the stress, after your spouse is gone and after your
children have learned to hate you, after your third bankruptcy, after
you’ve lived in a dumpster and eaten garbage for a few weeks,
after you get to drinking because losing gets you so depressed.
You’ll get back to me if you can bum the bus fare from some
stranger on the street.
FORBISH: Golly, Doc. You sure sound bitter and depressed. Maybe you should get some help yourself.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Being a garbage man isn’t easy, you know. When you
get paid to work with self-destructive people it gets to you after a
while. You fall into the horrible habit of telling the truth to people,
and they hate you for it. Nobody likes me. What a failure I’ve
become! Maybe you could actually help me out somehow.
FORBISH: Tell you what I’m going to do, Doc. I’ll come see
you every week if it makes you feel better. Hey, I’m really a
nice person. I’m no fool either, but I have my doubts about you.
I feel sorry for you. What the heck.
PSYCHOLOGIST: Oh, thank you, thank you. You’re so good to me. I feel a good cry coming on.
FORBISH: Hey, what are friends for, anyway? You can tell me all your
troubles and I’ll listen. Maybe we could both learn something.
I’ll be back, you can bet on it.
PSYCHOLOGIST: (Tearfully) Yes! Yes! Everything I know I learned from gamblers, anyway.
(The curtain closes. Spotlight center stage. An attendant brings out a
folding chair and a sign that says, “Cough now.” A lady in
formal gown with a cello enters and plays somber music for several
minutes. She leaves, the chair is removed, and Act Two begins.)
(Note: transitions between Acts allow ideas to consolidate and serve as
buffers between acts. Between the acts entertainment should last only
two or three minutes. Producers are free, of course, to devise
their own between the acts buffers.)