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Edd
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Posted: Sat Dec 1st, 2007 04:03 pm |
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WIN A REAL NON-VIRTUAL PRIZE (All hardcover):
1. SOMETHING CLOUDY, SOMETHING CLEAR, Tennessee Williams’ last play
2. RACING DEMON by David Hare
3. LOVE! VALOUR! COMPASSION! by Terrence McNally
4. MOON OVER BUFFALO by Ken Ludwig
5. ARCADIA by Tom Stoppard
6. MRS. KLEIN by Nicholas Wright
7. THE CRYPTOGRAM by David Mamet
8. TOUGH COOKIES by ECW (autographed Samuel French acting edition, softcover)
You choose. All you have to do is write a play that is at least one page and NO more than two pages. That’s it!
DO NOT post it in the forum. Send it to me directly at edd@edwardcrosbywells.com with "FORUM CONTEST" in the subject line. Deadline: January 31, 2008. You’ll have two months to compose an entry this time.
When I have made my decision, I will post all the plays on the forum at the same time for all to read. At least six entries to validate the contest are required. Should there be less than six entries those plays that were entered will roll over to the following month, and those playwrights will have the option of entering a second play.
I will make my decision based on what tickles, amuses, wows me, or is simply a reaction to what I ate that day. This contest is not scientific and I am certainly no judge of what is "best." I know what I like and what I like less and that's pretty much all there is to it. It’s meant to be fun.
I wish you Love, Laughter, Bravos and Fabulous Lighting,
~Edd
* * * * * * * * * * * * AND NOW FOR THIS MONTH’S WINNER!
There were eleven submissions. I truly enjoyed each and every one of them, but as you know, I only give one prize. If I could afford to give each and every one of you a prize this month I certainly would. You were all winners and that’s not any proverbial bull.
David (Muncy) Muncaster’s delightful CRACKED RIBS shows us the complacency and indifference of long-term relationships and reminds us to watch out for that karma! EXCHANGE by Alan Woods deals with those everyday frustrations that can overwhelm even the most unflappable of us. Careful! We’ll be doing a lot of exchanging after Chanukah and Christmas. Hey you bobbysoxers and be-boppers, throw on your glad rags, hold tight and boogie to the beat of HOUSE OF BLUE LIGHTS a fabulous rendition by last month’s winner Shirley King. There’s the clever, sly and original THE APPOLOGIZER by Eleanor Tylbor. You’re going to love it. We all need one of what she’s got to offer. Then there is the darkly satirical WE JUST LOVE YOUR BOOK, an author’s nightmare none of us want to have by Theodore D. Kemper. Theodore, I just love your play. Mary Alice Mark’s CRONE’S CONE is a scary little piece dealing with the general dehumanization of our necessary institutions and the perils of modern banking in particular. Before you make a deposit make sure you know how to make a withdrawal. FERRY TERMINAL by Bo Anderson is a delightful fantasy concerning a potty-mouthed fairy (I’ve known many in my life.) You will enjoy this black comedy. I have come to expect solid writing and something relevant and timely from Mary Steelsmith. In her bittersweet and delicately beautiful HOMECOMING she does not let us down. SHAKESPEARE FOR TODDLERS by Leon Kaye demonstrates how it is best to be careful with what you fill those young minds. One day it can all come back to haunt you—as it does in this witty little ditty. The Borgs are coming! The Borgs are coming! What happens when man and technology meld into one? Find out in Trish Ayres’ delightful UPS AND DOWNS. And, finally, we come to HAIKU DIALOGUE by Alan Haehnel. I know a thing or two about haiku. I know that it is more than just counting syllables. In its conciseness there must be an essential truth, an illuminated wisdom. With each re-read of Alan’s play I unearthed deeper discoveries that, in its entirety, satisfied my sense for haiku. We all need to take giant leaps out of the ordinary from time to time. Alan did when he chose to experiment and to break away from the standard form and he succeeded brilliantly. Because of that, Alan Haehnel’s HAIKU DIALOGUE is this month’s winner! Alan, pick your prize and email me your postal address.
Congratulations to all eleven of you. Thank you.
* * * * * * * * * * * * Haiku Dialogue by Alan Haehnel
Haiku: A Japanese poetic form using five syllables in the first line, seven in the next, and five in the last.
Robert:
My left arm pains me.
My chest is pressing inward.
Not now. God, not now.
Karen (on phone):
At last I’m settled.
My father made a garden.
You have to come see.
Robert:
Karen! (She runs in.) Call someone.
Karen:
Daddy! Oh, don’t stop breathing.
(Into phone) Call an ambulance!
Robert:
Remember the seeds.
When you see them pushing through
Clear the dirt away.
Karen:
You’ll be there to help.
You can teach me everything.
Robert:
Keep after the weeds.
Karen:
Daddy, keep talking.
You have to open your eyes.
Stay. You have to stay.
Robert:
They dry out so quick.
You’ll water them, won’t you?
You’ll keep them alive.
Karen:
Stay. You have to stay.
Robert:
Be patient. The plants will come.
Karen:
Daddy. Daddy! Stay.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * *
CRACKED RIBS by David Muncaster
Scene: A Sitting Room
MARY: Oh, you are such a baby.
DAVID: No, I'm not a baby. I'm a forty nine year old man who is in some pain.
MARY: Pain? What do men know about pain? You should try childbirth before you talk about pain.
DAVID: And what exactly do you know about childbirth? Or have I missed something?
MARY: That's not the point.
DAVID: The point is I have cracked several ribs and it hurts. It hurts considerably. I know it's not the worst thing in the world. I know that there are things that are more painful. In fact I am thinking of doing some of them to you right now!
MARY: So does this mean that you are going to be neglecting your husbandly duties for a while?
DAVID: And what might they be?
MARY: Oh, cutting the grass, changing light bulbs, putting out rubbish, that sort of thing.
DAVID: I thought that was what you meant. I think I had better take things easy for a while.
MARY: (With sincerity) Does it really hurt?
DAVID: Only when I laugh. You're not planning to get your hair done in the next couple of weeks are you?
MARY: How you managed to trip over that step is beyond me.
DAVID: It could happen to anyone.
MARY: No, I can't imagine it happening to anyone. I can imagine it happening to you. I mean, how long have we lived here?
DAVID: I don't know. Twenty years?
MARY: And that step has been here the whole time. It didn't appear overnight? How come you choose to trip over it now?
DAVID: I didn't choose it. It chose me. Look, (gently) I know that you hate me with every fibre of your being but couldn't at least pretend to be sympathetic?
MARY: All right. I'll be a good little wife. I'll mop your furrowed brow, bring you cups of tea, I'll even cook you my famous stew.
DAVID: Well, two out of three ain't bad.
MARY: No honestly. We all deserve to take it easy once in a while. You just sit there and watch the football on the TV. I'll even go out and get you some beer. How about that?
DAVID: Well, blow me, love is not dead!
MARY: Put your feet up. I won't be long. Anything else you want?
DAVID: Crisps, nuts, chocolate?
MARY: OK. See you soon
(Mary exits.)
MARY: (Off) Oh Christ!
DAVID: Mary? Mary are you OK? Mary!
END * * * * * * * * * * * * EXCHANGE a short play by Alan Woods
Scene: a cash register in a large store
KENTON: I’d like to return this, please.
MALIN: What’s wrong with it? Is it broken?
KENTON: No, it’s just not good enough.
MALIN: Not good enough? What do you expect for $12?
KENTON: Something that’s not junky.
MALIN: For $12, you get junky. You want better than junky, that’s $34.99. Or more.
KENTON: Look, I just want to return it
MALIN: Unless it’s defective, you can’t return it. That’s our policy.
KENTON: You don’t accept returned merchandise?
MALIN: Not unless it’s defective. See the sign over the cash register?
KENTON: Yes
MALIN: What’s it say?
KENTON: “No returns unless defective.”
MALIN: So.
KENTON: (smashes object against counter) OK. It’s defective.
MALIN: (pulls out thick wad of papers) OK. You’ll need to fill out forms 416, 309, 1820, and 211. In triplicate.
KENTON: Can’t you just give me my money back?
MALIN: Not without the forms. You’ll need to have those notarized. Monica’s a notary. She’s over in foundation garments.
KENTON: (throws papers down on counter). Forget it! I’ll give the damned thing to Goodwill!
MALIN: They don’t take defective merchandise.
(Blackout)
END * * * * * * * * * * * * HOUSE OF BLUE LIGHTS By Shirley King
(KELLY enters the elevator and is greeted by MERVYN.)
MERVYN: All Aboard! What's your pleasure, treasure?
KELLY: Take me to the fifth floor, please.
MERVYN: Fifth floor? Doc Dibble, the Botox King? Not a smooth move.
KELLY: Hey! Doctor Dibble helps people.
MERVYN: How? By holding back the sands of time? Can't be done. Hate to see you get all puffed up like a bullfrog.
KELLY: That's not what Botox does. It just relaxes the frown lines.
MERVYN: What are you hiding? A few little wrinkles?
KELLY: Maybe. What's so wrong with cosmetic enhancement?
MERVYN: Remove that road map and nobody knows where you've been. Stick with me, sugar. I'm time-tripping back to the Forties.
KELLY: Oh, God. Why did I get on this elevator?
MERVYN: Lace up your boots and we'll zoom on down to a knocked out shack on the edge of town.
KELLY: Pardon me?
MERVYN: House of Blue Lights, Ella Mae Morse. The Forties are yanking my chain. Gotta go, go go.
KELLY: The Forties? Hitler, the Holocaust, World War Two?
MERVYN: Hey, we gotta accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative --
KELLY: Okay, move this elevator right now or I'm screaming for help.
MERVYN: Cool down. You want to go on living in a world of hurt?
KELLY: I don't know what you mean.
MERVYN: Jason. Good thing you dumped that cat.
KELLY: You know about that? After he cheated on me, what could I do?
MERVYN: Go for Botox? Not the answer.
KELLY: You know, you might be right. Botox won’t make me feel better --
MERVYN: Well, all reety, all rootie, all reety again! I'm running outta jive talk.
KELLY: Will you stop with the all reeties and let me finish? It won’t make me feel better. Not really. Oh, maybe for a while but then I’ll need to keep getting injected with a toxic drug like, forever.
MERVYN: Hey, you figured out what put the tox in Botox. Groovy!
KELLY: That's it? That's all you're going to say?
MERVYN: What? You want flowers, candy, a ring?
KELLY: How about shrimpers and rice? They're very nice.
MERVYN: Where'd you learn that?
KELLY: My grandma. She loved the Andrews Sisters. I’ve always been…cautious.
MERVYN: Where'd it get you? Going for Botox when you could be going for –
KELLY: What?
MERVYN: Adventures! Take a chance, Angel Eyes. The Forties are waiting!
KELLY: I can come back if I don't like it?
MERVYN: Trust me, you won't want to. Hold tight, sugar. Here we go!
END * * * * * * * * * * * * THE APPOLOGIZER by Eleanor Tylbor
CAST OF CHARACTERS
CLIENT
PROFESSIONAL APPOLOGIZER (PA)
SCENE: A small office. A man is seated behind a desk, absorbed in his writing.
CLIENT: Excuse me...
PROFESSIONAL APPOLOGIZER (PA): (looking up) Hello! You're looking for a job, right?
CLIENT: Not really...
PA: It's a natural assumption you dropping by here.
CLIENT: Excuse me?
PA: There you go again!
CLIENT: I'm sorry?
PA: See what I mean? You're a natural!
CLIENT: I beg your pardon?
PA: Oh you're good alright!
CLIENT: Let me explain. I'm looking for the Appologies'R'Us Enr.
PA: That would be us.
CLIENT: Good. So I'm in the right place.
PA: You would be correct. I am an ARSE.
CLIENT: If you say so.
PA: ARSE... That's what we call ourselves. Arses.
CLIENT: O-kaaaaay... Fine with me.
PA: What can we do for you?
CLIENT: I'm looking for someone to apologize for me.
PA: That can be arranged. And what will we be apologizing for?
CLIENT: A late return of a library book.
PA: Oh that's a bad one alright. How late are we talking here?
CLIENT: Well...um...
PA: Come now - don't be shy!
CLIENT: Okay. Twenty years.
PA: Twenty years? Oh that's gonna cost you.
CLIENT: I know. What with interest and everything.
PA: Hmmm... This will be a challenge for sure. Okay. We'll do it! We ARSES can handle any task. There’s no job too small or too big.
CLIENT: I'm so relieved. When can you start?
PA: Perhaps next week...maybe the week after. Then again, it could be a few months.
CLIENT: Is there a problem?
PA: Did I mention that we’re a chapter of Procrastinators Anonymous? What's a few years between friends, anyway?
END * * * * * * * * * * * * WE JUST LOVE YOUR BOOK (A One-Minute Play) by Theodore D. Kemper
Characters
EDITOR, male or female, age indifferent except that he/she is older than the author.
AUTHOR, male or female, age in his/her twenties or thirties.
Setting: Editor’s office
Time: The present
EDITOR: That’s what I’m telling you, we’ve accepted your manuscript. I know the advance is microscopic, in pennies not dollars, but think royalties. It’s all in the contract.
AUTHOR: That’s really wonderful. But you said you won’t be printing my book. I don’t understand.
EDITOR: Nothing to understand. We just love your book--all the editors do!--but we won’t print it since we would certainly lose money on it. After all, who knows you? You don’t have a track record. But we’re an old-line house with a grand tradition and principles, not some glitzy, cold-hearted multinational. We’re proud to take a chance on a new writer.
AUTHOR: But I still don’t understand.
EDITOR: It’s simple. Most publishers are mentally challenged. They print books and lose money on almost all of them. By not printing your book, look at the money we save: copy editing, proofreading, composition, design, paper, ink, press time, binding, storage, distribution, marketing, PR. I mean, you don’t have to be Steven Hawking to understand that by not printing your book, we maximize the minimization of our losses. In this way, given the awful state of the publishing industry today, we can survive for a while. Of course, at some point, we’ll have to reconsider. But who knows? Maybe people will turn off their television sets or stop surfing the internet. Anything is possible. (Confidentially.) Personally, I think the “L” word may become popular again. Literacy, I mean.
AUTHOR: (Dubious.) Yes, I see. But what if someone wants to read my book. How will they get it? How will they even know about it?
EDITOR: They won’t. But if anyone does find out about your book, we’ll say it’s not out yet. Books are always “in press.” We can’t worry about that now.
AUTHOR: But no one will ever see my book.
EDITOR: (Mimicking.) My book! My book! That’s all you think about! Like many first-time authors, you are inordinately enamored of your book. That is just narcissistic self-indulgence! You don’t seem to realize that we sincerely love books and how really fine we were willing to be with you. Well, I see this isn’t going to work. Let’s forget about it. Find another publisher, if you can. (Disgustedly.) Authors! Pooh!
END * * * * * * * * * * * * Crone’s Cone By Mary Alice Mark
Cast of Characters
PHILLIPIA HIGGINS, everyone’s beloved granny, very well accoutered.
TELLER, business formal.
CONSUMERS, waiting in line for the teller.
Setting: A teller window at a large bank.
At Rise: Phillipia is at the teller’s window. She has an enormous ice cream cone wrapped in napkins. It melts sloppily and quickly. People in line exchange glances to, indicate amusement and compassion for the innocent maladroit as phillipia attempts to steer her way through a simple transaction. The TELLER responds to the people in the line. We join the scene in progress.
PHILLIPIA: My mother’s maiden name was Harrigan, surely you remember, (singing) “H” “A” double “R” “I-.”
(PHILLIPIA casually hands the dripping ice cream to the person next to her. Being socially adept, that person holds it for a moment, then, PHILLIPIA being busy, passes it to the next person.)
TELLER: I’m sorry, Ma’am, I don’t remember. Perhaps you have a favorite pet?
PHILLIPIA: I considered using that one, but my cats circled around, defying me to name one. I have my birth certificate, social security card, passport, bank book, bank card, check book, marriage license, my husband’s death certificate and certificate of burial, just to prove I don’t have him out there sitting in the car-.
TELLER: We need your password, ma’am, it’s for your own protection. . . . I know, it’s complicated. Is there someone who could handle your banking for you?
PHILLIPIA: Seems like everyone already has access to this account, but me.
TELLER: We need the password that’s on this computer- . . . (In response to CONSUMERS in the line.) . . . Who’s the president of the United States of America?
PHILLIPIA: What the hell do I care? He’s not lurking about to monitor your procedure. I have done business with this institution for nearly fifty years.
TELLER: This is the way it’s done, now. We can’t change it.
PHILLIPIA: Who can?
The End * * * * * * * * * * * * “Ferry Terminal” by Bo Anderson
Bob: Hey you, what are you doing here, the terminal is closed, get out.
Fairy: What the crap are you doing here?
Bob: I’m the janitor, you’re going to have to leave; you’re not supposed to be here.
Fairy: I’ll be gone soon enough, asshole. (Coughs)
Bob: Look I’m just doing my job ok, and since the current threat level is ORANGE now not only do I have to clean toilets but I’m also responsible for security, so get the hell out.
Fairy: I can’t leave; this is where I’m supposed to be.
Bob: Nobody is supposed to be here but me, you got it?
Fairy: You see that sign, dumb ass.
Bob: Yes, ‘Ferry Terminal’, yes now can you get-
Fairy: -Now look at my wings, shit bag.
Bob: What the hell are you wearing wings for?
Fairy: I’m not wearing them, I’m a freaking fairy you dumb bastard.
Bob: A fairy? Like Tinkerbelle or something? No, no, no, I know you aren’t no fairy.
Fairy: What would silly little man like you know about it? (Smokes and coughs)
Bob: Well, you’re smoking cigarettes, you smell bad, and you swear a lot.
Fairy: Ok, obviously Disney has brain washed you, look we can’t all be prissy little Ms Perfects like Tinkerbelle, for some of us shit happens. You ever been diagnosed with Terminal Lung Cancer?
Bob: What? No, no I haven’t. Why?
Fairy: Then you don’t know a god damn thing!
Bob: So what you’re dying, like for reals?
Fairy: DING, DING, DING!!! We have a winner!
Bob: What is this some kind of joke or something, this isn’t funny.
Fairy: No it’s not funny at all, in fact it sucks balls. (Smokes and coughs blood)
Bob: Look, you can stay here alright. Just for a couple hours while I clean, but you better be gone before the morning shift arrives, or my ass is on the line.
Fairy: Thanks, you’re a freaking gem.
Bob: (Cleans for a time, then stops) Is there anything I can do for you, you wanna maybe sit down, and I could buy you a coke or something.
Fairy: No thanks, I’m going to die soon, but… Well… No, never mind.
Bob: What? What is it?
Fairy: It’s silly but you, well you could clap, that might help.
Bob: Clap? Clap for you? How would that help you?
Fairy: Well it couldn’t hurt, but if you’d rather go back to cleaning the crappers-
Bob: -But if I clap that might help with your cancer?
Fairy: YES! Yes, you dumb bastard, clap and say you believe in fairies! Do it NOW!!!
Bob: (clapping) Uh, I believe in fairies, I believe in fairies, I believe in fairies.
Fairy: LOUDER, and hop around in a circle on one foot you ass pony!
Bob: (Hops, claps, and repeats) I BELIEVE IN FAIRIES, I BELIEVE IN FAIRIES!!!
Fairy: DANCE MONKEY, DANCE! (Fairy laughs hysterically, laughs turn into coughs and she starts chocking on her own blood and dies.)
Bob: Oh my god, she’s dead, help, somebody help! (Bob exits screaming for help)
THE END * * * * * * * * * * * * HOMECOMING By Mary Steelsmith
EVERETT and ADA stand with their backs to the audience, waving and cheering at unseen soldiers returning from deployment. Everett salutes each and every one of them as they pass. They finally turn to face us. ADA wears a yellow ribbon and carries a banner reading “Welcome home Sergeant Sue.”
ADA: Is that the last of them?
EVERETT: Looks it.
ADA: Where is she? Where’s our little Sue?
EVERETT: She was always the tag-along. Always late for everything. Always slept in. Probably snoozing on the jet plane right now.
ADA: Maybe something happened. Maybe it’s the wrong plane.
EVERETT: Maybe she’s just lazy and didn’t think to call her mom and dad.
ADA: Not our girl. Not our little Sue. She wouldn’t worry us.
EVERETT: When I was in the service...
ADA: Here we go again.
EVERETT: Like I said, when I was in the service, we showed our parents some respect. The Master Sergeant made us write home every week, whether we had family or not.
ADA: Well, our Susie got to be the Sergeant didn’t she? Outdid her old man, didn’t she? She probably made them all write home. Besides, she wrote us all the time.
EVERETT: E-Mails don’t count.
ADA: Just ‘cause you can’t work the computer. And you’re too stubborn to try and learn.
EVERETT: Don’t go there again, Ada. It’s not as if she couldn’t sit down and write a real letter.
ADA: And what, give it to an insurgent postman? She was assigned to the worst place.
EVERETT: Attached. Not assigned. How many times do I have to tell you, “assigned” means fighting and like the President said, there are no women in combat.
ADA: Right. Attached. Some creep attached an IED to the bottom of the Stryker vehicle she was driving and knocked it in the air, but hey, she wasn’t assigned so it doesn’t count. She wasn’t really wounded because there are no women in combat. And of course she’s not coming home by way of some hospital in Germany. That didn’t happen either. Where is she?
EVERETT: They’ll bring her out. Had to empty the plane first. My lazy girl.
ADA: Then she’ll come out, Everett?
EVERETT: Then she’ll come out.
ADA: Will you hold up the sign?
EVERETT: For the last time, Ada. I’m not gonna hold that stupid thing.
ADA: Salute her, then.
EVERETT: What?
ADA: Like you did with the others. Salute her, Everett. She did you proud.
EVERETT: But she’s my little girl.
ADA: All the more reason.
EVERETT: Why?
ADA: When she went... to that place.... part of you went with her. If not for your little girl, show some respect for yourself. Wait, I see a wheelchair. Susie. Susie!
(ADA exits, running. EVERETT looks off. A beat, then his arm comes up in a solemn, respectful salute.)
END * * * * * * * * * * * * SHAKESPEARE FOR TODDLERS A Very Short Play By Leon Kaye c. 2007 All Rights Reserved.
A librarian-type, conservatively dressed, LIBBY, walks onstage with a large book in hand.
5-20 ACTORS sit on the floor. They’re supposed to be toddlers and act accordingly… oohing and ahhing, spitting bubbles, falling over, kicking, etc.
LIBBY: Good morning, children. (looks at one child) What a precious little girl! Hi Baby! Hi Baby! (to all) My name is Libby and I’m going to read to all of you. Because reading is good. (looks at one child, smiles) Yes it is! Yes it is! Reading is good!
(LIBBY opens her book, reads) All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. (A child goo-goo’s) They have their exits and their entrances. And one man in his life plays many parts. His acts being seven ages.
(LIBBY waits for a reaction.) Wasn’t that wonderful, children? I feel your brains getting larger and your cognitive abilities taking shape. (One child SQUEALS.) Right. Ya see! Just wonderful. We’re learning, aren’t we?
(A CHILD Goo’s) We are. Now then… (reads) Macbeth says, Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come let me clutch thee. (A CHILD CRIES.) I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensibly To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation.
(THE CHILDREN seem to SIGH.)
Yes! We’re imagining, aren’t we? We see the dagger. Yes, we do! Yes, we do! (A CHILD ah’s) You understand this, don’t you? Shakespeare isn’t so hard. Let’s read some Julius Caesar, all right?
(MANY CHIILDREN AH.) Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears.
CHILD 1: Indeed!
LIBBY: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
CHILD 2: Forsooth!
CHILD 1: Indeed!
LIBBY: The evil that men do lives after them.
CHILD 3: True.
CHILD 4: Indeed, true!
LIBBY: The good –
CHILD 2: Forsooth.
LIBBY: Is oft interred with their bones;
CHILD 2: Quite true.
CHILD 4: Yes, I agree.
CHILD 2: Forsooth.
LIBBY: Now then, it’s rude to interrupt.
CHILD 5: Let’s kill her. (Surprised, Libby backs away)
CHILD 4: Where is Cassius?
CHILD 2: Ete Brutus?
CHILD 3: I’ll be MacBeth.
CHILD 5: I’m Richard the third.
LIBBY: AHH!
THE END.
* * * * * * * * * * * * UPS AND DOWNS By Trish Ayres
The play takes place in an elevator at an expensive department store.
ELEVATOR: Welcome to Pettibone’s. (nervously) Walter, you’re in early.
WALTER: What are you doing? That’s my greeting--
ELEVATOR: --I, I’m practicing . . . for . . . when you retire.
WALTER: How did you know? The misses and I decided last night that I’m going to retire in 6 months--
ELEVATOR: --Why not today?
WALTER: We can’t until the misses gets SSI . . . she needs the insurance, you know with her heart problems. (Walter plays with elevator buttons.)
ELEVATOR: Quit pushing my buttons. I mean, please--
WALTER: --These are new. You know, Little George looked real funny at me yesterday. I asked him what was wrong and he blurted out he was going to miss me. I hadn’t told him I was planning on retiring.
ELEVATOR: Remember when he was a little guy running around here, I can’t count the times we saved him by shutting the doors with him inside before his Daddy found him. George Sr. never looked too long, he was always smoozing with the rich white haired ladies . . . and the young ones!
(George Sr. talks over speaker.)
GEORGE SR.: Turn on automated system. I hope it works.
ELEVATOR: Welcome to Pettiflo-n-e-s. (garbled slow speech)T-o-d-a-y-’s. 2.
GEORGE SR.: --George Jr. I don’t know why I let you talk me into trying to retro fit this ancient elevator. Has Walter been released? We’ll need him for a bit longer.
WALTER: (whispers to elevator) Thanks!
GEORGE JR.: I’ll contact a rep. about getting a new elevator. (beat) Sorry Dad.
(Lights to black.)
END
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shirleyk
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Posted: Sun Dec 2nd, 2007 05:50 am |
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Congratulations, Alan! What an interesting play!
I really enjoyed reading November's plays. So much variety, so many smart, funny, moving, ingenious ideas. This is such a talented group.
Nice work!
Shirley
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Alan
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Posted: Sun Dec 2nd, 2007 01:41 pm |
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Thanks, Shirley. This was a great challenge; I thank Edd for creating it, for urging us to keep stretching. Increasingly, I've become more and more interested in the poetic expression of ideas, but still within the genre of playwrighting--this exercise helped try it out.
Alan
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