Scene:
A minimalist therapy office with abstract art on the walls and a single beanbag chair for the patient. Frank Costanza is seated uncomfortably, arms crossed, glaring at the young therapist—a stereotypical woke hipster with a man bun, thick-rimmed glasses, and a cardigan that looks like it costs more than Frank’s first car. A soy latte steams on the desk next to a plaque that reads: “Dr. Skylar Featherstone—Empathy Enthusiast.”
Skylar:
“Good afternoon, Mr. Costanza. Welcome to Anger Alignment Therapy. I’m Dr. Skylar, but you can just call me Sky, okay? Let’s create a safe space to honour your feelings.”
Frank:
(squinting)
“Safe space? I got yelled at by three parking attendants just getting here! You call that safe?”
Skylar:
“I hear your frustration. Parking can be such a patriarchal construct.”
Frank:
(snorting)
“Patriarchal? A meter maid named Cheryl gave me the ticket!”
Skylar:
“Alright, let’s try an exercise. Close your eyes and visualise your anger as… a balloon.”
Frank:
(rolling his eyes)
“A balloon? My anger isn’t a balloon. It’s a freight train, and it’s coming straight for this office!”
Skylar:
“Okay, wow, that’s powerful. Let’s unpack that. What colour is the train?”
Frank:
(leaning forward)
“It’s red, with smoke billowing out, and it’s towing a caboose full of people who’ve crossed me!”
Skylar:
“Mmm, and who’s the conductor of this anger train?”
Frank:
(standing abruptly)
“I AM, THAT’S WHO! Next question!”
Skylar:
(calmly sipping their latte)
“Your energy is valid, but maybe we can soften it by chanting a mantra. Repeat after me: ‘I release what does not serve me.’”
Frank:
(mocking)
“I release what does not serve me… a decent chair in this place!”
Skylar:
“Mr. Costanza, this resistance is part of the process. Let’s try grounding. Can you name five things in the room that you’re grateful for?”
Frank:
(looking around, grumbling)
“Fine. The door—because I can leave. The floor—because it’s keeping me from falling into a basement. The coffee—you’re not drinking it at me. That overpriced sweater—because it reminds me what NOT to buy. And this pen—because I’m about to write a complaint to your boss!”
Skylar:
“Wow, such authentic gratitude. Let’s channel that.”
Frank:
(throwing his hands in the air)
“Channel this! I could be at home yelling at the Yankees game, but noooo, I’m here talking to a kid who probably majored in interpretive dance!”
Skylar:
“Actually, it was mindfulness studies with a focus on decolonising emotions.”
Frank:
(staring, incredulous)
“Decolonising emotions?! What does that even mean? Does my anger have a passport?”
Skylar:
“It means examining how societal structures shape our feelings. Your anger, for instance, could stem from unresolved trauma.”
Frank:
(sputtering)
“My trauma is you charging $200 an hour to tell me to visualise balloons!”
Skylar:
“Let’s redirect. What would 10-year-old Frank say if he saw you right now?”
Frank:
(grinning maniacally)
“He’d say, ‘Good job, Frank! You’re giving this guy the business!’”
Skylar:
“I feel we’re at an impasse. Let’s take a mindful moment. Here’s a lavender-scented stress ball.”
Frank:
(taking the stress ball, then hurling it across the room)
“Here’s a stress ball for YOU! Does that feel aligned?!”
Skylar:
(calmly picking up the stress ball)
“Progress takes time. I’ll see you next week, same time?”
Frank:
(storming out, yelling)
“You can bet your avocado toast on it!”
Postscript:
As Frank leaves, he’s already on the phone with Estelle.
Frank:
“I don’t need therapy! That guy’s the one who needs help! ‘Decolonising emotions’—what’s next, teaching me how to apologise to my blood pressure?!”
