“What are you looking at?!” shouted the doctor, irate at his equally-incompetent nurse. The nurse, drenched with incompetence, failed to respond, but remained staring at the robe-less doctor. The doctor’s robe, drenched with blood, shockingly thrown toward the corner of the luminous bathroom, ignition for furious argument between now-porous lovers. The doctor, becoming angrier than a man who is really, really angry, takes an angry step toward the prostrate robe, a looming tingle in his prostrate prostate.

The nurse, now angrier than before, thrusts her non-dominant arm outward in front of the doctor, in a way that it would seem as though she did not want him moving forward any more than he currently was. She looks at the doctor in his real eye, and exhausts her remaining courage, whispering angrily, “I hate you.” The doctor’s anger is matched now by the nurse’s anger, and the extravagant hellstorm affair boils over with rage as both parties shed their repressive skins and let loose.

“You hate me?! I hate you!” screams the doctor. “Not as much as I hate you!” screams the nurse in reply. Both the nurse and doctor are now screaming, out of anger and fear of the other’s anger.

“Oh, you have no god-damn idea how much I hate you!”

“Trust me, I do, Bob! AND I HATE YOU MORE!”

“Oh, we’re going by first names now?! Well, Karen, I hate you so much that I’ve been using your toothbrush on my nails for three weeks!”

The nurse, now drenched with anger, gags on this news: the doctor was known for his low blows, but she wasn’t prepared for something of that lowness on the low scale. Almost missing the fact that Karen was not in fact her name, she overlooked the doctor’s prank to angrily retort, “My name’s not even Karen, you idiot! It’s Hether.”

“I know!” shouted the doctor. “That’s how much I hate you, that I would forget your real name on purpose!”

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT–“

“CUT!CUT!CUT!!” shouts the director, now standing out of his chair in anger. The director stares toward the nurse, with a look in his eye that shows his anger, and also shows his disappointment. “Debbie, get the hell over here,” spouts the director at the nurse, whose now low-hanging head drags across the marble flooring as she begins to walk toward him.

The director, careful with his tonality as to not sound too angry too soon, lectures the nurse: “Listen, Deb. Deb! Will you look at me when I talk– listen, I’m not here to hear myself talk, I know what do right, that’s why I’m where I am and you’re where you are, so will you fucking listen to me when I’m talking?!”

“Hey Andy, will you lay off her?!” injected the doctor to the dispute. “Jesus, man, she makes mistakes, we all do.” The doctor, drenched with valor, at long last defending his onstage and offstage lover. “You can’t just blindly yell at someone when you’re angry,” continued the doctor. “You have to act maturely, and find a way to resolve the situation.”

“You want to deal with her, then fine,” responded the director. “But I won’t any longer. Debra, get your shit, you’re fired.”

“Andy, if you fire Deb, then I go with her!”

Without hesitation, the director emancipated both actor and actress, both doctor and nurse, exclaiming, “Fine.” Tossing his infamous clipboard to his chair, the director storms toward the exit sign, which would then lead him to the exit, of which he would also storm toward.

The nurse, now drenched with shame, looks toward the doctor, now red with adrenaline. “Oh Harold, I’m so sorry!” The doctor, slowly exhaling, emits an infectious grin at the nurse’s face. He gathers his breath, and replies, “For what? If anything, I’m sorry, for not saying something sooner. I love you Debra, and no director named Andy is going to get in the way of that!”

The nurse trots toward the doctor, and interlocks her arms with his arms, with her arms going underneath his and wrapping around his back tightly, and his arms doing the same, but instead going over her arms. “I love you, Harold.” As they stare into each other, Harold says, “Debra, on a side note, I am currently in the process of baking an apple pie, but I am still missing a few ingredients.” The doctor continues, “Most of these missing ingredients I can pick up at the store later today, but, as I am trying to save a little money, I was wondering if you might have 3/4th of a cup of sugar that you could lend me.”

Quite confused, Debra asks, “What are you asking me?”

“Give me some sugar, baby.”

[END SCENE]