Scene: Woke Hipster Meets Frank Costanza, Psychotherapist
The therapy office is barely furnished—a folding card table, two mismatched chairs, and a motivational poster on the wall that reads: “SERENITY NOW!” Frank sits behind the table, wearing reading glasses and holding a clipboard he doesn’t know how to use. The Woke Hipster enters, looking apprehensive but hopeful.
Frank: (gesturing to the chair) "Sit down, sit down. I don’t got all day! You’re here to get your head straight, right? Let’s make it snappy."
Woke Hipster: (hesitantly sitting down) "Uh, yeah. I’ve been feeling a lot of pressure lately. It’s like, society keeps expecting me to conform, but I—"
Frank: (interrupting) "Conform?! What’re you, a robot? You look like you escaped from a sock puppet convention!"
Woke Hipster: "I’m expressing myself. It’s called individuality!"
Frank: "Individuality? Lemme tell you something about individuality. Back in my day, individuality meant doing something! Starting a business, inventing something, shouting down a car horn when it honked at you! Not… wearing a beanie indoors and drinking overpriced oat water!"
Woke Hipster: (offended) "It’s not oat water; it’s oat milk! It’s sustainable, ethical, and—"
Frank: (leaning forward, eyebrows raised) "Ethical?! You think cows are losing sleep over you drinking their milk? What’s next, you’re gonna write a poem for a coconut because it ‘consented’ to being cracked open?"
Woke Hipster: (defensive) "I’m trying to make the world a better place!"
Frank: "You wanna make the world better? Start by taking a pair of scissors to those ripped jeans! You think anyone respects a guy walking around looking like a runaway scarecrow?"
Woke Hipster: (standing up, flustered) "This isn’t therapy! You’re just bullying me!"
Frank: (jumping up as well) "Bullying? BULLYING?! Listen here, beanie boy, I survived George’s teenage years! You think your quinoa feelings can scare me? Sit down, or I’ll charge you extra for wasting my time!"
Woke Hipster: (sits back down, reluctantly) "Fine. I’ll stay. But can you at least let me talk without attacking me?"
Frank: (sitting down and pretending to write notes) "Sure, sure. Go ahead, express yourself."
Woke Hipster: (taking a deep breath) "Okay. So, I feel like my generation is burdened with fixing all the problems the older generations caused. Like climate change, inequality—"
Frank: (slamming his hands on the table) "Inequality?! You think you got it bad? When I was your age, I had to split a sandwich with a dog because that’s all we could afford! And the dog got the better half! Climate change? Lemme tell you about my climate—it was called winter! We didn’t have heated seats and Patagonia jackets; we had snow up to our knees and a fire that burned out by bedtime!"
Woke Hipster: (genuinely frustrated) "You’re impossible! Do you even have a therapist licence?"
Frank: (leaning back smugly) "Licence? I don’t need a licence! I’ve got life experience! You think Freud had a licence? No! He had a couch and chutzpah! And I’ve got chutzpah coming outta my ears!"
Woke Hipster: (standing again, grabbing his tote bag) "I’m done! This was a huge mistake. Therapy is supposed to help, not make me feel worse!"
Frank: (yelling after him as he leaves) "You wanna feel better? Stop whining and get a job that doesn’t involve hashtagging! And buy some pants that don’t look like they lost a fight with a paper shredder!"
(The door slams shut. Frank sits back, muttering to himself.)
Frank: "Kids today. They want a gold star just for breathing. George! Bring me a sandwich! Therapy makes me hungry!"
