I Know Why The Caged Man Snores
Interior of Café Nervosa. Frasier is seated at a small table having coffee before his shift starts. Roz comes over with a cup of coffee.
ROZ: Hey, Frasier.
FRASIER: (listlessly) Hi, Roz.
ROZ: (sitting across the table) You okay, Frasier? I sound kinda down this morning.
FRASIER: (sighing) Oh, I'm fine. It's just that lately we don't receive as many calls as we used to, and the calls we get are usually too mundane and not very challenging.
ROZ: Is that all?
FRASIER: What do you mean, 'Is that all'? Our livelihood depends on the quality of the calls, not to mention my sound and witty advice. Our program is a call-in show in case you've forgotten.
ROZ: (rolling her eyes) Frasier, look outside.
Puzzled, Frasier looks out the window.
ROZ: Is it raining?
FRASIER: Of course not. It hasn't rained for weeks. So what?
ROZ: Hello? It's summer. People are outside enjoying the sun 'cause it's just about the only time of the year we get decent weather around here.
FRASIER: Are you saying that our call-in slump is weather-related?
ROZ: Well, duh! This is the Pacific Northwest—the rains will be back in no time, people will get depressed and start making calls all over again. You got nothing to worry about, Frasier. You can trust me on this one.
Camera cuts to Frasier's booth at the KACL studio. Frasier is sitting in front of the microphone, slouched with his chin resting on his palm as a caller's voice drones on in excruciating monotony.
CALLER: …so, I told Molly, "Don't eat that," but she did anyway. I've tried being firm, gentle, aloof with her, but she never listens…
FRASIER: (cutting in) Dennis, I am a psychiatrist, but I treat only human patients; I don't treat felines, or any other pets for that matter.
Roz taps on the glass that divides her and Frasier's booths and points her wristwatch to signal him to wrap up.
FRASIER: Excuse me, Dennis, but my producer just told me we're running out of time. However, I'd like to give you a piece of advice before we sign off if I may.
CALLER/DENNIS: Oh? What's that?
FRASIER: You should get out more. Talk to strangers, and I mean bipeds, not the four-legged kind. Unlike your pet, they can talk back and carry conversations. Who knows, you might like it.
DENNIS: I don't know… I'm not that good at making small talks and being sociable in general.
FRASIER: (with feigned surprise) You don't say! But will you promise me you'll give it a try?
DENNIS: Um… All right. Thanks, Dr. Crane. Good-bye.
FRASIER: Thank you for calling. (a beat) Well, that's the end of our show today. Until next time, I wish all of you good mental health.
As soon as the 'On Air' sign turns off, Frasier yanks off his headset angrily. When he is about to leave his chair, the door of his booth bursts open, and in walks Bulldog pushing a cart with all the gadgets he uses for his show, including a small gong.
BULLDOG: Wow, Doc! That was amazing!
FRASIER: (puzzled) What's so amazing?
BULLDOG: A show like the one you just had, and not just today but five days in a row! There's a rumor that the station's nominated your show for an award.
FRASIER: (skeptically) Really?
Roz walks into Frasier's booth.
ROZ: Stop being so gullible, Frasier. He's pulling your leg. (to Bulldog) The station's not giving out any awards.
BULLDOG: (smirking) Yeah? They ought to. The Hoover Award for a show that sucks big time!
Bulldog laughs at his own joke and blows a noisemaker in Frasier's face.
ROZ: You're such a jerk, Bulldog!
BULLDOG: (unfazed) I may be, but my show has a higher rating and a lot more loyal followers than yours. What do you say to that, huh? (to Frasier) Do you know why I use the stuff like this (indicating the noisemaker) to make loud noises during my show?
FRASIER: No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me.
BULLDOG: Damn right! It's to wake up my fans that tuned in for my show early, caught the end of your show and fell asleep!
This time, Bulldog honks a horn in Frasier face. As he laughs merrily, his producer in the adjacent booth bangs the glass divider to signal him to get ready for his show.
BULLDOG: (glancing at the clock on the wall) Okay, you two. Out, out, out!
Bulldog pushes Frasier and Roz out of the booth and slams the door shut. A moment later, the door opens again, and Frasier's briefcase and jacket are thrown out of the room. Bulldog (only his arm is visible) closes the door with a big slam. Seconds later, the producer (only his arm is visible) opens the door of his booth and throws Roz's purse out. He also closes the door with a slam.
ROZ: (picking up her purse on the floor) God! They're both such creeps they deserve each other. (to Frasier) Don't let him bully you like this, or Bulldog will keep picking on you till you set your foot down.
Frasier stands silently not bothering to pick up his personal effects.
ROZ: Frasier, anything wrong?
FRASIER: What if Bulldog's right…
ROZ: WHAT? What the hell are you talking about? Are you out of your mind, or high on something, or both?
FRASIER: As much as I hate to admit, his show is more popular than ours. And quite frankly, if our dry spell continues, I don't know which will come first—a pink slip or my insanity.
ROZ: You can't be serious! Our show's been on the air only for several months, but Bulldog's has been around for years and has a wider fan base. And any beer-guzzling idiot can rave or gripe about some athlete, but not everyone can replace you. You said so many times that our show is not about giving psychiatric help but removing the stigma of mental illness and creating a forum for open discussions on mental health.
FRASIER: It sounded convincing on the proposal, didn't it?
ROZ: What's the matter with you, Frasier? This isn't like you. (a beat) Hey, wait a minute. When's the last time you went out with a woman? I mean, when's the last time you were WITH a woman? I mean…
FRASIER: Stop! I KNOW what you mean, Roz. You don't have to draw a graphic picture, thank you! So I'm having a dry spell in that department as well, but it has no bearing on the state of my mind, I can assure you.
ROZ: Don't be so sure. After all, you're the one who always talks about Freud and his theory that sexual desires dictate our lives.
FRASIER: Freud's theory is not that simple—except in your case, perhaps.
ROZ: Hey! I'm trying to help.
FRASIER: Oh, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I know you are trying to help. (sighing) You know, maybe you're right (seeing Roz smile an 'I-told-you-so' smile) (quickly before Roz speaks up), but only partly. I've been under a lot of stress lately. Just this year, my divorce was finalized, I closed my private practice and moved from Boston leaving my only child with my ex-wife, and I returned to my hometown, started a new career, bought a condo, and my father and his dog moved in with me…
ROZ: (grinning) And you're not gettin' any.
FRASIER: (ignoring Roz's comment) Any one of these is considered as a stressor almost as devastating as death in the family.
ROZ: In that case, a night of passion may be the cure for what ails you.
FRASIER: I don't know… I don't think I'm ready for a new relationship at this point of my life. I mean, the dust hasn't quite settled yet since I moved back to Seattle.
ROZ: I'm not talking about a meaningful relationship—it's strictly a one-night stand, no strings attached. And… (taking out her address book from her purse) (flipping through some pages of the address book) Dr. Roz is prescribing you… (turning a few more pages) (placing her index finger on one of the names in the address book) Rachel!
FRASIER: But…
ROZ: You available tonight?
FRASIER: No, I have a wine club meeting…
ROZ: What about tomorrow night?
FRASIER: Attending a party at my brother's.
ROZ: Maybe it's easier if you tell me when you're available.
FRASIER: (thinking for a moment) Thursday should be okay… I'm not really sure about this whole thing though.
ROZ: Oh, come on. Rachel's perfect for this kind of thing. You gotta trust me on this one.
