The Sound of One Hand Withholding Applause

The Florist
Jason fished out his wallet and looked up. Then his heart swelled against his ribcage.

The florist was gorgeous.

“Oh, these are beautiful!” she said.

“Hah,” said Jason.

“Are they for your girlfriend?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Jason.

“She’s lucky,” she said, and she unveiled a smile that sucked the air out of Jason’s lungs.

“Thanks,” said Jason.

The florist tallied up the flowers in the bouquet, giving Jason the opportunity to trace with his eyes the contours of her wavy black hair and her flawless forehead.

“$37.70,” she said in a voice that massaged his brain. She rang up his credit card and added, “Guys don’t know how to pick out flowers. But you did good.” Her eyes crinkled.

“Hah,” said Jason.

He signed the receipt, and on his way out of the store, the florist called to him, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Thanks,” said Jason.

• • •

Throughout dinner with Lauren that night, Jason panicked every time he caught sight of the bouquet in its vase.

What if she sees it? he’d ask himself, before forcibly calming himself down. He’d look over at Lauren, who’d grin back at him.

The three of them sat at the table in tense silence.

All I Want is a Relaxing Dinner with Limp Bizkit
(A restaurant. A MAÎTRE D’ answers the phone. It’s FRED DURST.)

MAÎTRE D’
Good afternoon, Kyle’s on Seventh.

FRED
Yes, I’d like to make a reservation for tonight.

MAÎTRE D’
Certainly, sir. How many will be dining?

FRED
Four.

MAÎTRE D’
And your name please?

FRED
Durst.

MAÎTRE D’
“Durst”?

FRED
Yes.

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry, is that “Durst” or “Burst”?

FRED
Durst.

(The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write it down, but second-guesses himself.)

MAÎTRE D’
Sorry, is that “Durst” with a “D” or “Burst” with a “B”?

FRED
Durst with a D.

(The MAÎTRE D’ pauses.)

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry sir, is that “D” as in “duck,” or “B” as in “buck”?

FRED
“D” as in “duck.”

(The MAÎTRE D’ winces.)

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry. Is that “duck” as in “I went hunting and shot a duck,” or “buck” as in “I went hunting and shot a buck”?

FRED
“I went hunting and shot a duck.”

(The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write the name down, but stops himself.)

MAÎTRE D’
Um. Was that “I went hunting and shot a duck as it paddled in the pond,” or “I went hunting and shot a buck as it gamboled through the woods”?

DURST (irritable)
I went hunting and shot a duck as it paddled in the pond.

MAÎTRE D’
Thank you, Mr. Durst. Sorry about that.

FRED
It’s fine.

MAÎTRE D’
May I have your first name?

FRED
It’s Fred.

(The MAÎTRE D’ is about to write it down, but stops himself.)

MAÎTRE D’
I’m sorry, was that “Fred” or “Red”?

Action Movie One-Liners Don’t Work In Real Life
(Wesley Snipes talks on an airplane phone to hijacker and terrorist mastermind Charles Rane.)

In “Passenger 57”

SNIPES
You ever play roulette?

RANE
On occasion.

SNIPES
Well let me give you a word of advice: always bet on black.

In Real Life

SNIPES
You ever play roulette?

(pause)

RANE
Do I what?

SNIPES
Ever play roulette.

RANE
Why?

SNIPES
Just answer the question.

RANE
No, I don’t think I’ve ever played roulette.

SNIPES
Okay.

(pause)

RANE
Why do you ask?

SNIPES
No reason.

RANE
No, tell me why you asked me that!

SNIPES
It’s stupid.

RANE
What’s stupid?

SNIPES (sighs)
If you had said “yes,” I was going to tell you to always bet on black.

RANE
Why would I do that? That’s not a good strategy at all.

SNIPES
Look, just drop it.

RANE
I mean, more than half of the pockets on a roulette wheel are not black. They’re just as likely to be red. What the hell are you talking about?

SNIPES
I’m black.

RANE
Sorry, you cut out for a second.

SNIPES
I’m black.

RANE
Oh.

(pause)

SNIPES
So, yeah.

RANE
So it was a joke?

SNIPES
Kind of.

(pause)

RANE
We’re on the phone, how would I know you were black?

SNIPES
Just drop it.

RANE
And what color do you think I am? Red?

SNIPES
Look, the point is, I’m going to need you to land the plane and let all the passengers go.

RANE
No!

(RANE hangs up)

Keith Olbermann Addresses the Guy Who Sat Behind Him at the Movie Theatre
Finally, as promised, a special comment for the guy sitting behind me at the 9:15 showing of “Iron Man” last night.

I don’t assume for a moment that you are familiar with Ralph Waldo Emerson, sir, but there may be something for you to learn in his aphorism, “Life is not so short but that there is always time enough for courtesy.”

Because last night, before the movie even started, you abandoned courtesy with a swiftness bordering on psychotic.

You saw fit, during the preview of “The Love Guru,” to voice the vulgar acts you would like to perpetrate on Jessica Alba. Your taste in female pulchritude notwithstanding, you’d do well to keep those comments to yourself. The imaginary exploits that were so intriguing to you held no such fascination for those of us within earshot of you, a group which, if I am not mistaken, included everyone in the theatre.

Not content with that act of inconsideration, you took it upon yourself to begin nudging my seat.

I am no Pollyanna; I know that a certain amount of jostling is to be expected even in a crowd of the most careful and considerate people. But it became clear that this shifting was not brought about by the act of innocently settling into your seat, but was rather the result of you propping your feet on the back of the empty chair to my left.

I glanced back at you, hoping to remind you with my eyes that you were in fact not in your living room with a coffee table in front of you, but rather at a public venue filled with strangers who had paid for the privilege, not of listening to your witticisms, but of watching “Iron Man.”

You gaped back at me with your uncomprehending eyes and finally asked, quoting here, “What is your problem?”

(TITLE SCREEN: “What is your problem?” – The Guy Sitting Behind Me At The Movie Theatre)

What is my problem? What is my problem, sir?

That you would exhibit such blockheadedness that you wouldn’t know and/or care that your actions detracted from my experience. That you would be so brazen in your entitlement as to be immune to censure and embarrassment. That you would wait until the movie started before slowly and noisily unwrapping the cellophane on your box of Dots. That is my problem.

When at last I stood up to leave that aisle and find another seat, suddenly you were aghast at my rudeness, snapping at me to sit down, and lambasting me for daring to block a portion of your view for three seconds’ worth of the film.

It is at this moment that you made the transition from ignoramus to traitor. In spite of your impressive list of crimes against every other moviegoer in attendance, you chose to play the injured party – a sensitive, upstanding soul in a world gone mad – at the slightest hint of inconvenience presented to you.

It is an upheaval of the social construct to expect the rest of us to conform to your gerrymandering standards of etiquette. That is my “problem.” That is the problem of every other paying audience member in that theatre. And at last, that is your problem, sir. For you have gotten this far in your life without the implications of that hypocrisy managing to creep their way into your skull.

Finally, I appeal to your self-interest, since you have demonstrated your incapability to experience the slightest trace of empathy. Someday, perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but surely some future day, you will find yourself seated in front of a fellow audience member even more lowbred and oafish than you are.

Perhaps he will demonstrate his intellectual vacuity by repeating every one of the movie’s idiotic punch lines. Perhaps he will answer several calls on his cell phone throughout the film. Perhaps he will bring a squirming toddler to an R-rated picture, and you will bear the brunt of all the fussing and scolding.

Then you will realize too late which side of this social conflict you are on.

Good night and good luck.

RAW: The Write Club Sampler
In case anyone is interested, a short piece I wrote is being performed in Chicago as part of an evening of short pieces. It's called "Raw: The Write Club Sampler." It runs the next three Tuesdays (May 13, 20, and 27) at 8pm at the Peter Jones Gallery. (That's at 1806 West Cuyler, just north of Irving Park and Ravenswood.) I'm also acting in a couple of the scenes.

It's $5. Cheap, easy, and followed with wine - just like me. No reservations required.

If you come, pee before you arrive. It's not an ideal restroom situation.

What Happens in Degas, Stays in Degas
(A WOMAN and MAN sit sullenly in a Paris café in 1876. The woman stares ahead drunkenly, a glass of absinthe on the table in front of her. The man smokes a pipe and stares offstage. They sit next to each other but don’t acknowledge each other. They are silent for several moments.)

(Enter MARK and CAROLYN, two modern-day American tourists in their fifties. They wear Hawaiian shirts and carry maps and a digital camera. CAROLYN nudges MARK and points, none-too-subtly, at the French couple. MARK nods and snaps a picture of them.)

(MARK and CAROLYN sit down next to the couple. MARK flags down a WAITER, who squints at them quizzically.)

MARK
Deux absinthe, merci.

(The WAITER contemplates them, bewildered, for a beat, then turns and exits.)

CAROLYN
Well, I thought that ballet was simply charming.

MARK (reading a guidebook)
Yes.

(CAROLYN turns and speaks to the WOMAN.)

CAROLYN
Bon jour. We adore your ballet. We just came from there.

(The WOMAN turns her ghostly gaze on CAROLYN and blinks languidly a few times. Apparently unsure whether or not MARK and CAROLYN are hallucinations, she returns to contemplating the middle distance.)

MARK (to CAROLYN)
Now, don’t drink it until we’ve prepared it.

CAROLYN
Oh, will you get your nose out of that book? Relax!

MARK
We have to do the ritual. Do you want to experience this or not?

CAROLYN
We’ll be fine.

(The WAITER wheels a cart up to the table. He sets before MARK and CAROLYN two glasses of absinthe, a pitcher of water, a bowl of sugar cubes, and two flat metallic utensils.)

MARK
Merci.

(But the WAITER has already turned and begun wheeling the cart off.)

CAROLYN (delighted)
Well look at this!
(She notices something missing.)
Oop. We didn’t get spoons. Waiter!

MARK (holding up a flat utensil)
No, these are the spoons.

CAROLYN
How are you supposed to stir with those?

MARK
You don’t stir. Look.
(MARK performs these steps as he describes them.)
You set a spoon over the glass. Then you put a sugar cube on it.

(CAROLYN turns to the WOMAN and whispers mischievously.)

CAROLYN
This isn’t legal in our country. Or time.

MARK (continuing)
Then you pour water over the sugar cube and into the glass until it gets milky.

CAROLYN
Goodness!

MARK
You try.

(CAROLYN repeats the steps with her own glass.)

CAROLYN
Do we drink it now?

MARK
Let’s go for it!

(MARK and CAROLYN raise their glasses to each other, then to the MAN and WOMAN, who ignore them. MARK and CAROLYN sip.)

CAROLYN
Oh, my gosh. It tastes like… Oh, I can’t put my finger on it.

MARK
It’s bitter.

CAROLYN
Crows. It tastes like Crows.

MARK
What do you mean it tastes like crows?

CAROLYN
The movie candy. Crows. They’re like Dots, but they’re black, and they taste like black Jujyfruits.

MARK
Yeah. Licorice.

CAROLYN
Oh!

MARK
It’s supposed to taste like licorice.

CAROLYN
I didn’t know it was supposed to taste like black licorice. This whole time I was thinking red licorice.

MARK
Red licorice isn’t licorice.

CAROLYN
I thought it would be like a glass of strawberry liqueur. Like that Alizé strawberry liqueur?

MARK
Alizé isn’t strawberry, it’s passion fruit.

CAROLYN
Then what was the strawberry liqueur we had at that aquarium fundraiser? It was so fun!

MARK
Dolfi.

CAROLYN
Dolfi. I was thinking this whole time that we’d be drinking strawberry Dolfi liqueur.

MARK
Absinthe is green. Why would you expect a green drink to taste like strawberry?

CAROLYN (to MAN)
Excuse me.
(The MAN does not react.)
Excuse… Par-done mwah, monsieur.
(The MAN slowly turns to CAROLYN.)
I’m sorry, would you mind putting out your pipe?
(The MAN continues sucking disinterestedly on his pipe.)
We’re American. It’s just a little jarring.

(The MAN slowly turns away again.)

MARK (to CAROLYN)
Do you want to switch seats?

CAROLYN
No, I won’t give him the satisfaction.

MARK (whispering)
They’re French. They’re notoriously rude. Do not take it personally.

CAROLYN (a little louder than necessary)
Well they have no problem taking our money personally.

MARK
Shh. Switch places with me.

CAROLYN
Licorice isn’t green either.

MARK
Who said it was?

CAROLYN
I don’t think I like this. The bloom has just evaporated off the charm of the evening for me. I’d like to go back to the hotel.

(The WOMAN startles them by unleashing a long sigh of infinite sadness. MARK and CAROLYN look at her for several seconds, but she is unaware of their existence. The WAITER passes through again, and MARK flags him down.)

MARK
The bill? Um… L’addition, s’il vous plaît?

(MARK holds up a credit card. The WAITER makes no attempt to take it, staring back with a look of brazen, open-mouthed confusion.)

CAROLYN
They won’t have heard of credit cards, Mark.

MARK
Oh, dammit, you’re right.
(MARK takes a wad of paper money from his fanny pack.)
French francs? Do you take French francs?

(The WAITER blinks at them, then makes the vaguest cursory gesture excusing himself and exits.)

CAROLYN
Just leave some money on the table, and let’s go.

(CAROLYN gets up and leaves. MARK counts out a few bills and sets them on the table. He follows CAROLYN off. A beat. The MAN refills his pipe, relights it, and puffs deeply.)

Shadows on the Cave Wall
(RICK and STEVE in the front of a car. RICK is driving. STEVE is in the passenger’s seat.)

(RICK suddenly swerves, then honks his horn.)

RICK
Look at this jackass.

STEVE
What a moron.

RICK (yelling out window)
Jackass!
(pause)
Sometimes I think everyone except me is an idiot.

(pause)

STEVE
Am I an idiot?

RICK
Well, let’s approach this Socratically. Are you me?

STEVE
No.

RICK
Then I’m afraid you are an idiot. QED.

(pause)

STEVE
I’m not a fan of that conclusion.

RICK
Well, your problem is with Socrates, not with me.

(pause)

STEVE
No, you know my problem with Socrates? That cave allegory. That’s some bullshit right there.

RICK
You think bare language, in and of itself, is an adequate method to describe the depth and breadth of reality?

STEVE
Well, no. I just think it’s a shitty metaphor. It’s too baroque. Prisoners since birth in a cave who can’t move their heads and are therefore forced to watch shadow puppets cast by a fire above and behind them? Come on.

RICK
I see.

STEVE
If you have to go that far to prove a point, maybe you don’t have a point at all.

RICK
That was Plato.

STEVE
Bullshit. It was Socrates.

RICK
It was the character of Socrates in Plato’s Republic.

STEVE
Oh.

RICK
That’s essentially like saying you hate Toulouse-Lautrec because you don’t like the way he sang “Nature Boy” in “Moulin Rouge.”

(pause)

STEVE
Well, I don’t.

Las Vegas Itasca
(An architectural planning meeting in Vegas. WENTWORTH, BRAD, and GEORGE stand around a table. On the wall is a placard: Wentworth Casinos, Las Vegas, NV. Out the window is a view of the Strip.)

WENTWORTH
Who’s next?

BRAD
We’ve got Kirk Luberda. Bright young architecture student from the Midwest.

GEORGE (skeptically)
Ah. What do you think he’ll try to foist on us? Mies van der Rohe? Frank Lloyd Wright?

BRAD
I don’t know. I think it’s about time for a Chicago-themed hotel/casino. That would be a draw. People could stay in the miniature Sears Tower. You could make a restaurant in the shape of Wrigley Field.

GEORGE
Call it “Ivy’s”! Serve deep-dish pizza! Italian beef!

BRAD
And that big Picasso! He could be our spokesman! Like a robot-gangster-Picasso in a fedora that would stand at the door and welcome visitors!

GEORGE
And we could sell miniature brass reproductions of the Space Needle!

BRAD
That’s in Seattle.

WENTWORTH
Guys, guys. This is not our job. Let’s see what Mr. Luberda has to offer before we overthink this thing to death.

BRAD
Mr. Luberda? Come in please.

(LUBERDA enters, carrying a portfolio and a tarp-covered object, which he sets on the table.)

LUBERDA
Good afternoon, gentlemen.

WENTWORTH
Mr. Luberda. The theming of a casino is vitally important. It must be new and innovative, but classic in its execution. How well a theme taps into the zeitgeist can determine whether a casino lasts a mere year, or sticks around for a full three years.

BRAD
The point is, when the building is imploded, can we look back and say, that was a gimmick we’re proud of? Or will it be another “Bridget Jones’s Pai Gow Palace”?

(WENTWORTH, BRAD and GEORGE shudder.)

LUBERDA
I think you’ll be tickled with what I’ve come up with. As you can imagine, there’s a soft spot in my heart for the Midwest.

BRAD
I knew it!

GEORGE
Will you have a Space Needle?

WENTWORTH
Gentlemen, please. Go on.

LUBERDA
Well. Maybe it’s best for me to just show you.
(He lifts the tarp, revealing a miniature suburban town.)
I give you: Las Vegas Itasca!

(pause)

GEORGE
What does “Itasca” mean?

LUBERDA
It’s my hometown. It’s a suburb of Chicago. That’s in Illinois.

(They all look over the model.)

BRAD
What’s this structure here?

LUBERDA
It’s the gazebo.
(Pause. The other THREE look blankly back at him.)
In Usher Park!

WENTWORTH
Will people know what that is?

LUBERDA
They’ll know it’s where they cash in their chips. Beautiful, functional, and full of swans, just like the real Usher Park.

BRAD
(points to a tiny human figure on the model)
This woman here on the stage. She looks like Bonnie Raitt.

LUBERDA
She is. A professional Bonnie Raitt impersonator will perform nightly.

BRAD
Why is she wearing handcuffs?

LUBERDA
Do you guys not read the news? She was arrested in Itasca in 2001 for protesting Boise Cascade’s deforestation practices.

WENTWORTH
I don’t know, Mr. Luberda. This all seems kind of esoteric.

LUBERDA
Is candy too esoteric for you?

(LUBERDA presses a button and the roof of the miniature Bethany United Methodist Church opens, shooting out colorful boxes of Nerds, Gobstoppers, and Lik-M-Aid.)

GEORGE
(gasping delightedly)
An assortment of Willy Wonka products!

LUBERDA
Their factory is located in Itasca, on Norwood Avenue.

GEORGE
Oh! Are all the cocktail waitresses dressed as Oompa-Loompas?

LUBERDA
You tell me.

(LUBERDA pulls a sketch out of his portfolio featuring an orange-skinned, green-haired cocktail waitress in short white overalls. She holds a tray with a complex, striped drinking vessel with an elaborate bendy-straw sticking out of it.)

WENTWORTH, BRAD, and GEORGE
Ooooh!

LUBERDA
And...

(LUBERDA turns the page to another drawing: a man wearing huge glasses and a beige windbreaker sits glumly at a blackjack table.)

BRAD
Is that John Cusack, as he appears in the movie Grace is Gone?

LUBERDA
(nodding)
...which filmed in Itasca.

GEORGE
That’s the one where his wife dies in Iraq!

LUBERDA
And all the dealers will be dressed like him.

WENTWORTH
I’ll tell you what, Mr. Luberda. I’m starting to take a shine to this idea. You’ve got the contract.

(They shake hands.)

LUBERDA
Thank you sir!

WENTWORTH
Thank you. Let’s break ground immediately and start building Las Vegas Itasca. And we’ll see how long it lasts before we have to raze it.

(A miniature rumbling. Tiny flashes of light appear along the bottom of the model. It descends into tiny puffs of smoke and dust, and it is gone.)

(LUBERDA shrugs comically. WENTWORTH, BRAD, and GEORGE laugh and point. Freeze-frame. Closing credits.)

Never Waste Your Commute
On the train to work this morning, I invented an epic superhero battle.

(Link goes to the cover of "True Amazing Stories of True Adventure Stories! Vol. 3 Issue 7," published 1942.)

If either of these characters already exists, please don’t tell me.

Toodle-oo, Tuvalu
(An expanse of water, extending all the way to the horizon. Eventually, a ROWBOAT appears and drifts to center stage. DONALD, 50, is rowing. His son JASON, 18, is engrossed in a handheld holographic videogame. It is 2050.)

DONALD (looking around)
My gosh, this brings me back.
(turns upstage, looks into the distance)
Wow.
(he looks to JASON)
When I was your age, all this was land.

(JASON gives the surrounding water a cursory glance and goes back to his game)

JASON
Hm.

(pause. DONALD points to the middle distance.)

DONALD
You see out there? Jason, will you look?

(JASON puts his game on “pause,” exasperated. he looks where his dad is pointing.)

JASON
Sure.

DONALD
No, to the left a bit.

JASON
Okay.

DONALD
Directly below there, about fourteen feet, is the Rhenium Vapor Fountain where your mother and I used to play Intra-Continuum Space-Candyland.

JASON (creeped out)
Aw, Dad. C’mon.

DONALD (smiling)
What? We weren’t always old. We used to be a young dating couple, like you and Nicole.

JASON (blushing)
Uh, no. I don’t think you were ever like me and Nicole.

DONALD
Things getting serious between you two?

JASON (smiling)
I don’t know. Whatever.

DONALD
You ever tell her you’re a Tuvaluan?

JASON
No.

(pause. DONALD is visibly saddened.)

DONALD
Not even a word about it? How come?

JASON (shrugs)
It hasn’t really come up.

DONALD
It’s something to be proud of. Tuvalu took a look at the rising water levels and did something about it. They went into battle to save their homeland.

JASON
Yeah, I know. “They sued the U.S. and Australia to get them to cut down their CO2 emissions.”

DONALD
It’s an inspirational story.

JASON
No, “David and Goliath” is an inspirational story, because David won. How does our story end? Well, here’s our homeland. Oh, except for the “land” part.

(pause)

DONALD
It was a brave fight. And it was the right fight. The outcome doesn’t change that.

(pause)

JASON
I know, Dad. It’s just... It’s the past. It’s gone. I’m just focused on other things.

DONALD
Yep. Well. You’re not alone.

(the boat runs up against something and lurches slightly. DONALD reaches down over the side of the boat and finds a tiny point of land sticking up an inch out of the water. he holds it at arm’s length to push the boat away from it.)

JASON
Is that...?

DONALD
Put your hand there.
(DONALD takes JASON’s hand and holds it on top of the point of land.)
That’s the highest point on Tuvalu. That’s your soil. It doesn’t matter if you can’t see it anymore. It’s always yours.
(pause)
You feel that?

(pause)

JASON
Yeah.

DONALD
I used to have to reach up to put my hand on this point. You could sit here and watch the sun set into the South Pacific. You had a view of the whole nation stretching out in all directions, up to sixteen feet below you in some places.
(DONALD removes his hand. JASON keeps his in place.)
That’s yours.

(pause)

JASON
Yeah.

(DONALD looks around at the surrounding ocean while JASON continues to contemplate the land under his hand)

DONALD
I suppose the sunset must happen a few seconds sooner now than when I was a kid.
(he reaches to the floor of the boat and pulls up a plastic bottle of water. he unscrews the cap and takes a swig. he holds it out to JASON.)
You want to do the honors?

(JASON looks at his dad and takes the bottle. he holds it out over the tip of land and pours. the water level gradually rises until the land disappears beneath it. he hands the bottle back to DONALD, who screws the cap back on. DONALD rows the boat off stage, while JASON stares at the point where the land was.)

Bookworms
(A public library at night. JOYCE is a librarian, bespectacled, primly dressed, her hair in a bun. She is closing up for the night, saying “goodbye” to the final patrons and locking the door behind them. She turns off the overhead fluorescent lights and heads back to the counter. She stretches, exhausted.)

(Suddenly, she leaps up and sits on the counter. She flicks a switch and is awash with radiant spotlights. A raunchy, sexy drum loop begins. She removes her glasses and flings them away with abandon. She reaches behind her head and removes a pin, sensually shaking her long, luxurious hair around her shoulders. She launches into a rap.)

JOYCE
You’re waitin’ in the straight lines,
I’m dolin’ out the late fines.
I love a page-turner (or so you’ve heard through the grape vines).
You sidle to the counter like you’re readin’ off the book spines.

Let’s see your card.

What’s on your mind?
You wanna be my lover?
The only date you’ll get from me is stamped inside the cover.
And I got stacks of new releases, so ya better not hover.

Don’t try so hard.

Yeah, I’ve seen ya. Lurkin’ in the shelves,
Like a schoolboy giggling at Our Bodies, Ourselves.
You’re too overdue, which goes to confirm,
You ain’t quite man enough to handle this bookworm.

(JOYCE bumps and grinds while MYRTLE, another buttoned-up librarian, enters. MYRTLE flings off her glasses, undoes her hair, unbuttons the top button on her blouse and takes over.)

MYRTLE (pointing to the various aisles)
History and mystery,
Geography, biography,
Psychology, theology,
Ya feel like gettin’ knowledge-y?

JOYCE
Damn!

MYRTLE
Hell yeah, y’all ain’t gettin’ no apology!
Language is elastic, better check your etymology!

JOYCE
True dat!

MYRTLE
Rifle through my card catalog.
Yeah that’s right, I work it old school, analog.

It’s all right here, systematic and methodical.
The heaviest tome to the lightest periodical.
The infinite down to the infinitesimal.

JOYCE
You better get acquainted with the Dewey decimal.

MYRTLE
It’s all about the Melvils.

JOYCE
Gotta find it where I stack it.

JOYCE & MYRTLE
If you wanna get a peek inside my dust jacket.

MYRTLE
You think you belong in our philosophy section?

JOYCE
You’re a Norman Vincent Peale in a Chomsky collection.

MYRTLE
Now you’re layin’ down your learnin’?

JOYCE
Expectin’ me to squirm?

JOYCE & MYRTLE
You ain’t got the skills to handle this bookworm.

(JOYCE and MYRTLE dance ass-to-ass. LOUISE, a third librarian, glides in on a book cart. She leaps off, flings away her glasses, undoes her hair, and tears away her blouse, revealing a glittery bra.)

JOYCE & MYRTLE
Research!

LOUISE
That’s why there’s cards in here!

JOYCE & MYRTLE
Rare books!

LOUISE
That’s why there’s guards in here!

JOYCE & MYRTLE
Old bums!

LOUISE
That’s why it stinks in here!
Don’t bring no food or drinks in here!

You gotta lotta nerve, droppin’ off your son and daughter,
Then checkin’ out my ass while they check out Harry Potter.
Hell, look all you want, but try not to pout.
I’m a reference librarian, so you can’t take me out.

You can access all these books for free
But not my Gray’s Anatomy.
Don’t know a dirty word? Just come to me.
I’ll point you to the OED.
Ya down with OED?

JOYCE & MYRTLE
Yeah, you know me!

LOUISE
Ya down with OED?

JOYCE & MYRTLE
Yeah, you know me!

LOUISE
Ya down with OED?

JOYCE & MYRTLE
Yeah, you know me!

LOUISE
Who’s down with OED?

JOYCE & MYRTLE
This li-brar-y!

(Enter FRAN, an older, more dignified librarian. She is disgusted.)

FRAN
Hey!
(The music stops cold, and JOYCE, MYRTLE and LOUISE stop dancing.)
What the hell is going on in here?
(The other LIBRARIANS look sheepishly to the floor.)
You gotta hike up them skirts, lay-deeees!

(FRAN rolls her skirt up at the waist, revealing her ankles. The other LIBRARIANS cheer, and the music starts up again.)

JOYCE, MYRTLE & LOUISE
Awwww, yeah!!!!

FRAN
All other librarians,
Take our advice
And keep real quiet!

JOYCE, MYRTLE & LOUISE
Shush it good!

FRAN
’Cause if you step to us,
There’s gonna be a riot!

JOYCE, MYRTLE & LOUISE
Shush it real good!

JOYCE
All you other book-bitches? I don’t mean to slander ya!

MYRTLE
But we run the tightest since the one at Alexandria!

LOUISE
But if you insist, and you want a brawl…

FRAN
We’ll take it fist-to-fist, like Mailer and Vidal!

ALL
Just keep your head low and agree to our terms.

FRAN
There’s no way in hell you can beat these bookworms.

(ALL cross their arms in front of their chests.)

ALL
Words.

Fuck Leonardo DiCaprio
(JUSTIN and CRAIG, two twentysomethings, are sitting on a couch in their shared apartment. JUSTIN is reading a People magazine, and CRAIG is operating a video game controller.)

JUSTIN (looking up from his magazine)
Fuck Leonardo DiCaprio.

CRAIG
What?

JUSTIN
Oh, it’s just... he’s “romantically linked with Israeli supermodel Bar Refaeli.”

CRAIG
There are Israeli supermodels?

JUSTIN
And before that it was Gisele Bündchen, and who knows who else. The guy goes through beautiful women like Kleenex. I’m so jealous.

CRAIG
Eh. I used to be.

JUSTIN
Before you became gay?

CRAIG
No. The way I see it, someone is having sex with supermodels. Score one for us.

JUSTIN
Who’s “us”?

CRAIG
Men. Somewhere out there, there’s a man having sex with models. Yay men.

JUSTIN
Yeah, I don’t feel any luckier.

CRAIG
The real tragedy would be if these women were wandering around with nobody to throw them to the ground and do them in the soft grass. Would you want to live in a world like that?

(pause)

JUSTIN
No.

CRAIG
Leonardo DiCaprio was available, and qualified, and he stepped up. Try saying this. What’s this model’s name?

JUSTIN
Bar Refaeli.

CRAIG
Say, “Leonardo DiCaprio and I are fucking Bar Refaeli.”

JUSTIN
“Leonardo DiCaprio and I are fucking Bar Refaeli.”

CRAIG
Congratulations, dude. She sounds hot.

(pause)

JUSTIN
We don’t have any Oscars though.

CRAIG
No, but you and Jack Nicholson have a shitload.

JUSTIN
Hey, yeah.

CRAIG
And... (he throws down the video game controller) Leonardo DiCaprio and I just beat your high score in “Centipede.”

JUSTIN
Fuck both of you.

I'm Lucky To Have Met Nathaniel
(JULIA and ALEX sit at a table in a coffee shop. JULIA is holding ALEX’s hand.)

JULIA
You know what? I want you to know that you’ve meant a lot to me during the time we’ve spent together, and that whatever our differences, and whatever needs we’re no longer able to fill for each other, you’ll always remain a part of me. I’m lucky to have met you, just like I’m lucky to have met Nathaniel. And he’s right for me at this point in my life. And I hope you find someone who’s right for you. And I know you will. I know you’ll find someone who can fully appreciate all you have to offer, and she’ll be a very lucky girl.

ALEX
Wow. Thank you, very much. I really needed to hear that. And as for you, I hope your relationship with Nathaniel fails miserably, and that you make each other very unhappy. And I don’t just mean for the week or so after you eventually break up; I want you to be deeply scarred by this relationship you’re about to embark on, to the point where you’ll never again come close to knowing true love. And I want you to turn to drink for solace, and to sink slowly into despair and alcoholism. And eventually, I’d like for you to run over some kids in a drunk driving accident, and for this to eat you up with grief until you finally take your life in a grisly and public suicide.

The Wine Tasting
(A wine SALES REP stands behind a table, impassive, bored. On the table are several different bottles of wine. Enter a young WOMAN carrying a plastic wineglass. The SALES REP slips into sales mode.)

SALES REP
Good evening.

WOMAN
Good evening! What do you have here?

SALES REP
These are the wines of Chile and Argentina.

WOMAN
Oh, that sounds lovely. Where should I start?

SALES REP
I would start with the Carmenere, and work your way down the line.

WOMAN
All right!

(She holds out her glass, and the SALES REP pours. Enter young MAN from the opposite side of the stage with a plastic wineglass.)

MAN
Hello.

SALES REP
Good evening. We’re doing Chile and Argentina.

MAN
Sounds great!

(The SALES REP pours him a slug too. The MAN and WOMAN sip.)

WOMAN
Oh. That’s nice.

MAN
Yes. Very nice.

(pause)

SALES REP
You should be getting some blackberry.

(MAN and WOMAN nod)

MAN
Definitely.

(pause)

SALES REP
And a hint of mocha.

WOMAN
Mm-hmm.

(pause)

SALES REP
And a little graphite.

MAN
Graphite, yes!

SALES REP
You’re picking up the graphite?

WOMAN
I could write a letter with this wine!

MAN (bursting out with laughter)
Pah hah hah!

SALES REP
Very good, miss.

(MAN and WOMAN sip)

MAN
“Write a letter.” That was good.

WOMAN
Thank you.

(MAN and WOMAN sip)

MAN
Maybe we could each buy a bottle, and we could write letters to each other with the wine!

WOMAN
Oh, but I’d rather drink it!

MAN
Two bottles each then, one for drinking and one for writing letters!

(MAN and WOMAN laugh. The SALES REP slumps and rolls his eyes.)

WOMAN
I think we have a plan!

SALES REP
Let’s move on to the Malbec.
(The SALES REP pours. The MAN and WOMAN sip.)
This is a young wine, but it’s precocious.

WOMAN
Pert!

MAN
Yes, “pert”!

WOMAN
Cheeky!

MAN
Who does this wine think it is?

WOMAN
I want to spank this wine!

MAN
Do I... detect... wood?

SALES REP
Very perceptive, sir.

WOMAN (to MAN)
Go you!

SALES REP
Before barreling, the vintner...
(He sighs)
...melts down a birch log and adds it to the wine by straining it through a sandalwood colander. So you’re probably getting birch and sandalwood.

MAN
I was going to say sandalwood!

SALES REP
You should also be getting a touch of children’s tears, grilled raven’s feathers, and cherry cola.

WOMAN
Yes! I was like, “Where is this Cherry Coke coming from?”

SALES REP
Well, more Cherry Pepsi.

WOMAN
Cherry Pepsi... Oh, okay. Yes.

SALES REP
But Mexican Cherry Pepsi. Made with sugar cane, not corn syrup.

WOMAN
You’re absolutely right. You’re absolutely right.

SALES REP
On to the Merlot?
(He pours)
This one is called “Tu Padre es una Mujer Fea.” It means “Sultry Sunday Morning.”

WOMAN
Oooh.

SALES REP
It’s the winemaker’s favorite time of the week, on his veranda, looking out over the humid hillsides, surrounded by cumulus clouds, wisps of mosquito netting, and millions of tiny, colorful frogs. All of which you can taste here.

MAN
Frogs?

SALES REP
Yes sir.

(The MAN swishes the wine is his mouth thoughtfully)

MAN
Kind of a scaly, amphibious minerality? Maybe?

SALES REP (nodding)
Anything else?
(They stare blankly)
The sound of helicopters?

MAN (gasps)
Wow.

WOMAN
That’s astounding. Is there a heliport near the vineyard?

(SALES REP shakes his head, taps his temple)

SALES REP
In his mind. He’s haunted by his childhood rescue from a riot at a pinball tournament.

WOMAN
I think I can taste pinballs!

SALES REP
I’ve never noticed that before, but I bet you’re right! On to the Cabernet Sauvignon?
(With ham-fisted mischief)
Now be careful with this one. It’s a Cab said to have aphrodisiac properties, so be mindful of who happens to be nearby when you taste it.

(MAN and WOMAN glance at each other with looks of mock concern. The SALES REP pours. the MAN and WOMAN taste.)

WOMAN
Wow.

MAN
Whew.

WOMAN
Okay.

MAN
Yes.

WOMAN
I could see... I could see how that... Wow.

(The WOMAN absently unbuttons the top button on her shirt.)

MAN
I sense some, ah... I sense some... I’m definitely detecting some wood.

WOMAN
May I have some more?

MAN
Yes, let me get in there too.

(The SALES REP pours. The MAN and WOMAN drain their cups, then stare deep into each other’s eyes, then push all the bottles to the floor, leap over the table, and begin feeling up the SALES REP.)

SALES REP
Shell I put you down for a case each then?

WOMAN (wrapping her leg around the SALES REP)
Oh my god, more.

MAN (kissing the SALES REP’s neck)
Two cases.

SALES REP
And some artisanal pretzel bread?

WOMAN
Oh god, yes!

MAN
Give me the biggest motherfucking loaf of artisanal pretzel bread you can fit your fucking arms around!

SALES REP
Very good.

(Clothes are flying everywhere as lights come down.)

It’s Three A.M.
(Nighttime. The Oval Office is dark and empty. Several moments pass. Then the calm is pierced by the sound of a phone ringing. It rings a second time. And a third. Finally, we hear the shuffling of someone approaching. The door opens, and in stumbles PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA, tightening the belt on his bathrobe. He flicks on the light and picks up the receiver on the red emergency telephone.)

OBAMA
This is President Obama. (pause) Hello?

(The phone continues ringing.)

OBAMA
Shit.

(He jabs two keys on the telephone, hangs the phone up, then picks up the receiver again.)

OBAMA
Hello?

(The phone continues ringing.)

OBAMA
Dammit.

(OBAMA hangs up, then falls into a chair and rubs his temples, listening to the phone ring a few more times. Finally, resigned, he pulls out his cell phone and dials. He covers his other ear as he waits for an answer.)

OBAMA
Come on... Pick up...
(pause)
Hillary? It’s Barack again... Yes, I know what time it is, I’m sorry. But it seems that something’s happening in the world, and, well, I suppose you can hear for yourself... Yes... No, I already tried pressing star-nine, and it just kept ringing... All right, hold on.

(He presses two keys on the red phone and picks up the receiver again.)

OBAMA
President Obama, White House.

(The phone keeps ringing.)

OBAMA
No, Hillary, it didn’t work, I told you... It’s what?... Stuck in conference mode? What the hell is conference mode?... Unplug the phone? If I unplug it and plug it back in, won’t I disconnect the call?... Listen, that may have worked in the 90s, but things have changed in Washing– Okay! Okay, I’ll try it.

(OBAMA falls to his hands and knees and feels around under the table for the phone cord. But soon the ringing stops and is replaced by a tinny recording of “Hail to the Chief.”)

OBAMA
Crap, it went to the machine.

(We hear a recorded message playing.)

OBAMA (RECORDING)
Hello, you’ve reached Barack Obama...

PAUL (RECORDING)
...and Ron Paul...

MICHELLE (RECORDING)
...and Michelle!

OBAMA (RECORDING)
We can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave us a detailed message at the beep. Stay full of hope, America!

(beep)

MAHMOUD (ON ANSWERING MACHINE)
Mr. Obama. It’s President Ahmadinejad. I can only assume by your failure to answer that you do not take my threat seriously.

(OBAMA frantically presses buttons on the phone.)

OBAMA
Mahmoud! Wait! Hello?

MAHMOUD (ON ANSWERING MACHINE)
It is therefore that I have launched my sleeping-baby-seeking missiles, aimed at households across your country’s heartland. Perhaps next time, you will take my call. Ahmadinejad, out.

(Click. Dial tone. OBAMA falls to his knees and beseeches the heavens.)

OBAMA
NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

(OBAMA weeps on the floor. An inset appears of HILLARY CLINTON, festooned with American flag pins, hoisting a Bible and breastfeeding an infant. She gazes at the baby for a second, then whispers to us.)

CLINTON
I’m Hillary Clinton, and I approve this horrifying vision of a world without me as President. (She looks to the baby.) Shhhhh... shhhhhh....

Bedrock Brown Line
Brown Line CTA Stations in the Time of the Flintstones

Washington --> Washingstone

Quincy --> Quartzy

LaSalle --> LaShale

Library --> LaBreary

Adams --> Adamantisaurus

Madison --> Cro-Magnison

Randolph --> Raptordolph

State --> Slate

Clark --> Jurassic Clark

Merchandise Mart --> Troglodyte Mart

Chicago --> Bedrock

Sedgwick --> Sledgewick

Armitage --> TarPitage

Fullerton --> Fossilton

Diversey --> Dinoversey

Wellington --> Skellington

Belmont --> Belmontosaurus

Southport --> Sabertoothport

Paulina --> Ptaulinadactyl

Addison --> Mastodon

Irving Park --> Igneous Park

Montrose --> Wooly Mamtrose

Damen --> Cavemen

Western --> West-Stone

Rockwell --> fine as is

Francisco --> Franciscoal

Kedzie --> Kedztinction

Kimball --> Neanderthall

Rules & Regs
(CHERYL is in her cubicle, talking on the phone.)

CHERYL
I know, Sue, I couldn’t believe it either… No, you were so right to feel that way…
(GREG enters and stands in the doorway. CHERYL sees him but continues talking.)
Don’t be. He shouldn’t have been taking up two seats.
(GREG knocks softly on the doorway. CHERYL holds up a finger.)
There were two comfortable chairs in the entire coffee shop, and he sits in one of them and drapes his coat over the other. I would have been pissed too.
(GREG sits on the edge of the desk.)
Sorry, Sue, I have to go. Uh-huh… Yeah… Well, these things have a way of coming back around, don’t you worry… Uh-huh… Uh-huh.
(GREG taps his watch.)
Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.

(CHERYL hangs up. GREG stares at her a few seconds.)

GREG
Cheryl, we’ve been over this.

CHERYL
Are you serious?

GREG
Of course I’m serious. Did you think I was joking?

CHERYL
It’s just that I can’t believe you would hound me about my personal phone calls when Jim is in the next cubicle, building a siege engine!

(pause)

GREG
A siege engine?

CHERYL
Yeah! He’s got a catapult he’s working on in there!

(pause)

GREG
I didn't know he was doing that.

CHERYL
He totally is!

GREG
That's wrong too. That can't happen.

(GREG stands and exits the cubicle. The stage rotates, and we follow GREG into the neighboring cubicle, where JIM sits typing at his computer. On the floor are enormous planks of timber, giant wooden bolts, and several feet of leather belts. GREG carefully steps over a huge wheel.)

GREG
Jim?

JIM
Hey!

GREG
Can I talk to you for a second?

JIM
Sure thing.

GREG
Um… I shouldn’t have let it get this far, so in a way the blame lies with both of us–

JIM
If this is about the Bellwether invoices, I’m on it. I’ll upload them to the database this afternoon.

GREG
No, Jim, it’s the catapult. I can’t have you constructing a catapult in your office.

JIM
Technically, it’s a trebuchet.

GREG
It makes no difference what form of siege engine you’re building…

JIM
Hells yeah it does! Technically, a trebuchet is a type of catapult. But when Americans think of a “catapult,” they think of a “mangonel.” That’s the clunky, stiff-armed log that just hurls something off into the distance.
(He cranks his arm with exaggerated clumsiness.)
Thwunk.

GREG
And that’s not what you’re doing.

JIM
Uh, no. The trebuchet utilizes a sling. Much more elegant, much more accurate, gets a little extra torque at the release point. This is what you want to use to launch some flaming garbage or a diseased corpse over a wall.

CHERYL (off)
You better not be thinking of launching any corpses into my cubicle!

JIM
Don’t flatter yourself!

GREG
Jim, the point is that I can’t have you working on this in your office.

JIM
I only work on it during my lunch break…
(louder)
…unlike a certain person chatting with her sister all damn day!

CHERYL (off)
She’s going through a breakup!

GREG
I’m more concerned about safety. I don’t want it to go off accidentally and send a photocopier crashing into a conference room.

JIM
It takes several strong men working in tandem to fire one of these. It’s not going to go off accidentally.

GREG
Siege engines are obsolete pieces of weaponry, rough-hewn and unpredictable. Unlike modern firearms, there are no regulations or licensing procedures in place concerning their safety in an office environment. Accidents happen, Jim.

JIM
I don’t know what kind of idiot you think you’re dealing with, but I would not have embarked on this project without a thorough understanding of what I’m doing.

GREG
I don’t think you’re an idiot, Jim.

JIM
Who caught the error on the Bellwether invoices right before they were sent out? I saved this company tens of thousands of dollars!

GREG
Thank you.

JIM
And frankly, unless you can point me to the Rules & Regs where it says I can’t construct a trebuchet in the workplace, I think I’ll keep right on constructing mine.

(pause)

GREG
Do you know what a rollmop is, Jim?

JIM
A pickle wrapped in herring.

GREG
It’s a pickle, wrapped in herring. There was a project manager named Ackerman who used to make them, and it stank the place up something fierce. I told him to knock it off. He pulled that “show me the Rules & Regs” crap, and no, according to the letter of the law, there was no anti-rollmop clause. But the next time we updated the Rules & Regs, we added one. And the next time he stank up the break room with herring, he was out of here.

JIM
When was this?

GREG
Seven months ago.

JIM
And how often are the Rules & Regs updated?

(brief pause)

GREG
That’s not your concern.

JIM
Cheryl, how often do they update the Rules & Regs?

GREG
You don’t have to answer that, Cheryl.

CHERYL (off)
Every five years.

(pause)

JIM
It appears we are at an impasse.

GREG
It appears we are.

JIM
And I’m the one with the siege engine.

(GREG and JIM stare each other down for several moments. Then GREG leaves. JIM returns to his computer. After a beat, GREG reappears at the cubicle door.)

GREG
But watch your back, Jim. If I catch you so much as thinking about wrapping a pickle in herring, you are out on your ass.

(GREG leaves again. JIM once again returns to his computer. Beat.)

CHERYL (off)
Hey, Sue, sorry we got interrupted… What I was saying was one of these days that guy is going to take up two seats in the wrong coffee shop. Then he’ll know what it feels like.

(JIM shakes his head in exasperation. Blackout.)

Glengarry Red Cross
(The waiting room at a blood drive. NURSE BLAKE (Alec Baldwin) and NURSE WILLIAMSON (Kevin Spacey) stand in their scrubs before LEVENE (Jack Lemmon), MOSS (Ed Harris), and AARONOW (Alan Arkin), who are sitting at tables and filling out forms to give blood.)

BLAKE
Are they all here?

WILLIAMSON
All but one.

BLAKE
Well, I’m going anyway.
(to the group)
Let’s talk about something important!
(BLAKE sees LEVENE picking up a Nutter Butter from a plate on the counter)
Put that cookie down! Cookies are for donors only.
(LEVENE laughs incredulously. BLAKE approaches him.)
You think I’m fucking with you? I am not fucking with you. I’m here from Red Cross HQ. I’m here from Mitch and Murray. And I’m here on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Levene?

LEVENE
Yeah.

BLAKE
You call yourself a blood donor, you son of a bitch?

MOSS (standing)
I don’t gotta listen to this shit.

BLAKE
You certainly don't pal. ’Cause as you all know, first prize is you can donate a pint of whole blood. Anybody wanna hear second prize? Second prize is you donate platelets. Third prize is you’re anemic. You get the picture? You can’t donate blood, you can’t donate shit, you are shit, hit the bricks pal and beat it ’cause you are going out!

MOSS (sits)
What’s your name?

BLAKE
Make Your Next Meal A Hearty One, that’s my name. You know why, Mister? ’Cause you had a piece of toast and a cup of coffee for breakfast this morning, I ate a twelve-dollar omelet. That’s my name!
(to LEVENE)
And your name is “You’ve Spent 5 Cumulative Years In Europe Since 1980.” Then have a fucking Oreo and go home.
(to everyone)
Because only one thing counts in this life! Get them to draw from the vein which is dotted! You hear me, you fucking fairies?
(BLAKE flips over a blackboard that features two sets of letters. He points to “B-S-E.”)
“B-S-E.” B: Bovine. S: Spongiform. E: Encephalopathy. Have you got it, you fucks? If so, get your pulpy, Creutzfeldt-Jakob riddled brainpan the fuck out of my waiting room.
(He points to “A-B-AB-O.”)
“A-B-AB-O.” “A” can receive “A” and “O.” “B” can receive “B” and “O,” ’cause it’s fuck or walk. “AB” can receive “A,” “B,” “AB,” and “O” -- the universal recipient, for Christ. “O” is the universal donor.
(walks to MOSS)
Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Allergic to iodine? Fuck you -- go home and vomit some shellfish.
(to AARONOW)
You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this -- how can you take the abuse when you sit in that chair with a fucking needle sticking into your forearm? You don’t like it -- leave. You know what it takes to donate blood?
(BLAKE goes to his briefcase and removes a vial of copper sulfate solution with a drop of blood in it. He dangles it in front of his crotch.)
It takes a hemoglobin concentration of over 12.5 grams per deciliter to donate blood.
(throws the vial back in the briefcase, pulls out a stack of cards)
These are the “Be Nice To Me” stickers. And to you, they’re gold. And you don’t get them. Why? Because to give them to you is just throwing them away.
(he hands the stack to WILLIAMSON)
They’re for donors. I’d wish you good luck but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it.

(exit BLAKE and WILLIAMSON)

The Psychiatrist Sketch
PSYCHIATRIST
Your wife maintains that you don’t show her enough affection.

PATIENT
I show my wife a lot of aggression.

PSYCHIATRIST
“Affection.”

PATIENT
Yes.

PSYCHIATRIST
You said “aggression.”

PATIENT
No, I said affection.

PSYCHIATRIST
It’s very interesting to me that you confused those two words.

PATIENT
Whatever I said, I meant “aggression.”

PSYCHIATRIST
Aggression?

PATIENT
No, aggression. You’re browbeating me.

PSYCHIATRIST
Not at all. I think your wife feels unappreciated because of the lack of physical displays of affection.

PATIENT
I think my wife is turned off by it. I think she hates public displays of aggression.

PSYCHIATRIST
“Affection.”

PATIENT
When we’re out, I try to give her a slug, or even just a little kill on the cheek, and she’s up in arms. It embarrasses her.

PSYCHIATRIST
Have you attempted this in private?

PATIENT
This isn’t private stuff! It’s not like I’m trying to French kill her, or unbutton her shoot or anything.

PSYCHIATRIST
French kill her?

PATIENT
Kiss. It’s not a French kiss, just a little punch on the cheek.

PSYCHIATRIST
But is she more responsive in private?

PATIENT
I try to get aggressionate in private. But usually she’d rather talk.

PSYCHIATRIST
She wants a conversation?

PATIENT
Yes, but I’m not in the mood for conflagration. She keeps drowning on and on, and talking gets in the way, when I just want to strangle up with her, or do some killing.

PSYCHIATRIST
“Kissing”?

PATIENT
And this isn’t deadroom talk, it’s more like nagging. Like a pop quiz about our suffocationship.

PSYCHIATRIST
You just referred to your bedroom as a “dead-room.”

PATIENT
Whatever tomb it is, that’s not the point. I can’t get into physical aggression if she keeps going on about “expressing our true flayings for each other.”

PSYCHIATRIST
“Feelings”?

PATIENT
Yes! Isn’t that ridiculous? She keeps talking about “revealing our true ammunitions” and “expressing our flayings.” “Finding true stabbiness in our knife together.”

PSYCHIATRIST
I think she just wants to hear that you’re committed to maintaining the relationship.

PATIENT
I’m definitely committed to maiming the relationship. That’s not even a question. We’re very attacked to each other.

PSYCHIATRIST
She needs to hear that. It seems to me.

PATIENT
I shove my wife. I shove her very much. And I don’t want anything to gun between us. But sometimes, I swear, I just want to grab her by the hair and run her through a meat grinder.

(pause)

PSYCHIATRIST
That was a very violent image.

PATIENT
Yes, I’m sorry.

Gesundheit
(We are in the cubicle shared by KASEY and BEN. At rise, KASEY sits in one of the chairs in front of her computer. BEN is not present. KASEY is tearing a piece of paper into strips, then tearing each strip into smaller strips. She brushes all the strips off her desk into the wastepaper basket. One shred of paper misses the wastepaper basket and falls, unnoticed, to the floor just as BEN arrives with a mug of coffee.)

(BEN sits and exhales loudly, staring at KASEY. KASEY does not look at him.)

BEN
Man.
(pause)
Right? Shit.

KASEY
Yeah.

BEN
Always great to start off your fucking week with a meeting like that. Fuck me.

(pause. KASEY stifles a sneeze.)

KASEY
Krccch.

BEN
Gesundheit.

KASEY
Thanks.

(pause)

BEN
Rick. That cocksuck should do our job for a day. Just give it a shot, for 8 hours. Of course, then he’d have to get in before 11:30.
(pause)
Right?

KASEY
Yeah.

BEN
8 hours. An 8-hour workday would take him a fucking month. Fucking fuckjob.

KASEY
Krccch.

BEN
Gesundheit.
(pause)
You shouldn’t stifle your sneezes. You could hurt your ears.

KASEY
Krccch.

BEN
Gesundheit.
(KASEY holds up a finger as if to say, “Just a minute,” and exits. BEN looks at his computer screen and mutters to himself.)
Fucking bastard piece of shit son of a bitch fuck. Do our job for 8 hours, you asshole, if you can get in before fucking noon, you piece of shit asshole.

(BEN picks up a stress ball and begins squeezing it furiously. We hear KASEY sneeze loudly from offstage.)

KASEY
Ah-CHOO!

BEN
Gesundheit.

KASEY
Ah-CHOO!

BEN
Gesundheit.

(BEN catches sight of the stray shred of paper on the floor. He picks it up and is about to throw it away when he notices what’s written on it.)

KASEY
Ah-CHOO!

BEN
Gesundheit.
(KASEY returns wiping her nose with a tissue and sits at her desk. BEN watches her.)
You coming down with something?

KASEY
I don’t know.

(BEN looks from the shred of paper to KASEY and back.)

BEN
I found this slip of paper on your floor. It says “other fuck.” What’s “other fuck”?
(pause. KASEY looks at the wastepaper basket, then back to BEN)
Did you write “other fuck” on a piece of paper?

(pause)

KASEY
It’s part of the word... um... “motherfucker.”

(pause)

BEN
It is?!

KASEY
Can I have it back please?

BEN
Why did you write “motherfucker” on a slip of paper? Is it for a fortune cookie?

KASEY
I need that back.

BEN
Why?

KASEY
I need to throw it away.

BEN
No. I’m gonna laminate this. I’m gonna press it in a Bible.
(KASEY reaches for a pad of paper on her desk and begins writing furiously on it. BEN tries to look over her shoulder.)
What are you writing now?

KASEY
It’s personal.

BEN
Are you writing “motherfucker” again?

KASEY
No.

BEN
You are! You’re writing “motherfucker!”

KASEY
I can’t talk right now, I really need to get – krccch.

BEN
Gesundheit.

(KASEY lifts BEN’s mug and hurls it at the wall, where it explodes into ceramic shards and splatters of coffee.)

KASEY
FUCK!
(KASEY grabs BEN’s stress ball. She throws it at him. It bounces off his shoulder.)
What the FUCK. All I FUCKING ask you is to FUCKING leave me a-FUCKING-lone! That is ALL. I FUCKING. ASK. Mother ffff. Son of a ffff.
(she tries to calm herself down, but fails)
AND! You don’t have to fucking say “gesundheit” every motherfucking time I fucking sneeze you FUCK.

(BEN braces himself for another hurled object, but KASEY is quiet, bottling her rage. Several seconds pass. RICK appears at the door to the cubicle, dressed in a suit and holding a cup of coffee.)

RICK (tersely)
And by the way, next time I call a meeting, you show up on time –

KASEY
Get the FUCK AWAY FROM US.

(RICK, startled, disappears. KASEY stands, panting for a few seconds. She stomps to her chair and sits down, seething. BEN sits perfectly still, silently panicking.)

(pause)

BEN (quietly)
I have to.

KASEY (snaps)
What?

(pause)

BEN (quietly)
I... I have to say “gesundheit” or I feel like something horrible will happen to my family.

(pause. KASEY and BEN don’t move or make eye contact for several seconds. Finally, inevitably...)

KASEY
Krccch.

(BEN bites his lip.)

BEN (quietly)
Gesundheit.

KASEY (quietly)
Thanks.

(KASEY reaches for her pad and begins writing again. As quietly as possible, BEN crumples up the shred of paper and drops it into his wastepaper basket. Lights.)