Sunday, October 25, 2009

Week 40, Day 280 - "Mr. Jones"

“Mr. Jones”

Written by Joe Janes

10/25/09

280 of 365

CAST

MR. JONES, 40s

BEARDED BOX OFFICE WOMAN, 20s

(Lights up on a young woman with a big, bushy beard sitting in a chair. Next to her is an empty chair. Mr. Jones enters stage right. He is a modest, middle-aged man who carries a metal clipboard. He wears a light gray suit with a dark blue tie. He tries to speak, but the box office woman holds up her hand to silence him each time. In the distance, from off stage left, we hear a burst of applause from an audience made up of thousands of people. Mr. Jones exits and then re-enters. He looks puzzled.)

MR. JONES

I need to see the theater. The actual space. I need- (The bearded woman gives him a devastating glare that silences him. We hear a Mexican horn and another burst of applause.) Now, see here. The capacity of this theater is, officially, at 38 people. That sounds like much more than 38 people. (Offstage, we hear a gunshot and then a moving, loving, smitten soft chorus of “awwwwww” from the audience. Mr. Jones moves towards the door. Bearded Lady blocks him as a bouncer would.)

MR. JONES (whispering)

Ah. I see. I will wait for the performance to be over. Do you have you a chair?

(She shakes her head no. She slowly sits back down being sure to take up both chairs.)

MR. JONES

You must be a volunteer. I’m from the city. I’m here to inspect the establishment. Exactly how much longer is the show?

(The box office woman indicates she does not know.)

MR. JONES

It’s just that, most shows have already let out. If this is longer than shows at real theaters, how much longer?

(The box office woman indicates she does not know. We hear wood creak and break as if under a great weight and then we hear an angry Hitler quacking. Mr. Jones listens, as does the box office woman, and they now hear absolutely nothing.)

MR. JONES

I’m going to go in. If the show is still going on-

(The box office woman holds out her hand for money.)

MR. JONES (continuing)

I told you, I’m here to-

(The box office woman holds out her hand for money.)

MR. JONES (continuing)

If the show’s still going on, I’ll just look at the ceiling and wait for it to be finished.

(He exits. The box office woman begins to produce, to her surprise, an egg from her mouth. As the egg protrudes and pops out, the sound of a manual typewriter becomes louder. She removes her beard and sets the egg on the beard on the chair next to her. The typewriter dings, an elephant trumpets, a loud splash is heard, and a crowd erupts in applause. Mr. Jones re-enters.)

MR. JONES

I just saw the most amazing thing. I just saw an elephant type a political manifesto for Equatorial Guinea on a mechanical typewriter with no less than three sets of carbon paper and never using the letter “e.” He then dove 60-feet into a bucket of water. Water that was on fire. And his typing was flawless!

(The box office woman holds out her hand for money. Mr. Jones defies her and runs back into the theater. If it is possible for more eggs to be produced from her mouth, this is where they are produced and added to the beard nest. As many as possible. If not from her mouth, she finds them in various nooks and crannies on her body. Mr. Jones runs back in. He has been bound with scarves and has wads of used typing paper in his mouth. He also now wears high heels and has a bone through his nose. His fly is undone and his shirttail sticks out through it. He manages to spit out the paper.)

MR. JONES

I walked into the room and I saw somebody naked and I asked who he was. I try so hard, but sometimes, I just don’t understand. Something is happening here, but I don’t know what it is. Oh my God, I feel so all alone. I saw a geek and he asked me how does it feel to be such a freak? Impossible! He handed me a bone. I have many contacts among the lumberjacks to get facts when someone attacks my imagination. Nobody has any respect! I have been with professors and with great lawyers with whom I discussed lepers and crooks. I’m very well read. Everyone knows that! The sword swallower also asked me how it felt. He borrowed my throat! There ought to be a law!

(He kneels. Exhausted.)

MR. JONES

A one-eyed midget yelled at me.

(He struggles back to his feet and starts to go back into the theater, but hesitates.)

MR. JONES

A naked man stole my clipboard. I didn’t get his name. He can keep it.

(Dejected, beaten, whipped, he heads to the exit, still attached to the chair.)

MR. JONES (upset, choking back tears)

I give to charitable organizations!

(He exits. The box office woman produces Mr. Jones’ clipboard from under her dress and smashes the eggs with one grand smack. Off stage we hear a cow moo and a tiger roar and then swords clanking as they battle and then the cow falls and we hear a death moo. The box office lady sheds a tear as lights fade and the offstage audience builds from a single clap to full applause.)

Week 40, Day 279 - "St. Drunken's Day"

“St. Drunken’s Day”

Written by Joe Janes

10/24/09

279 of 365

Cast:

Mr. Tippett, 40s

Chris, 20s

Levar, 20s

(Lights up on Mr. Tippett working at his desk Chris sticks his head in the door)

CHRIS

Levar said you wanted to see me, Mr. Tippett?

TIPPETT

Yes, Chris. Have a seat.

(Chris does as Mr. Tippett finishes up some work and picks up a file.)

CHRIS

I like that painting.

TIPPETT

Shut up, Chris.

CHRIS

Yes, Sir.

TIPPETT

I’ve been going over your record. Seems you had a few sick days this year.

CHRIS

Yes, Sir. But I’m pretty sure I’m within my allotment of company sick days.

TIPPETT

You are. But I just wanted to make sure we had them right. According to this, you called in sick February 17th, March 18th, May 6th, August18th and November 1st. Does that sound right?

CHRIS

Yeah, I think so.

TIPPETT

Do you remember what you had?

CHRIS

The flu, I think.

TIPPETT

Each time?

CHRIS

Something like that. Headachy, sweaty, some vomiting and diarrhea. Nothing you’d want me bringing to work. Is there a problem? I mean, I wash my hands and cover my mouth when I cough or sneeze, but you know how it is. Only so much you can do.

TIPPETT

I agree. But here’s the odd thing. You missed the same five dates last year. And the year before. And the year before that. How do you explain that?

CHRIS

Seasonal allergies?

TIPPETT

I think, and I’m just hypthothesizing, that these dates have something to do with them being the day after Mardis Gras, St. Patrick’s Day, Cinco de Mayo, your birthday and Halloween. That you may have, perhaps, not had the flu, but been massively hung over each time.

CHRIS

Well, I suppose I could have mistaken being hung over with having the flu. They are very similar.

TIPPETT

I’m not sure what to do here, Chris. Being hung over doesn’t constitute being incapacitated.

CHRIS

We should go out drinking some time.

TIPPETT

Are you Catholic?

CHRIS

No.

TIPPETT

Irish?

CHRIS

No.

TIPPETT

Hispanic.

CHRIS

I don’t think you are legally allowed to ask me these things.

TIPPETT

If you are celebrating these holidays because of religious or cultural purposes, I can look the other way.

CHRIS (in a bad Irish brogue)

Always after my lucky burritos…that Pope.

TIPPETT (sighs)

Do you have any ethnic or religious affiliation?

CHRIS

I’m just a white guy who uses any occasion as a flimsy excuse to drink. Heavily.

TIPPETT

Next year, you are not allowed to take any day off that follows after one of these holidays. Is that clear?

CHRIS

Yes, Mr. Tippett.

TIPPETT

You may go back to work.

(Lights flash, Chris exits, and we transition to sometime in the future. Tippett presses an intercom button.)

TIPPETT

Levar, can you send Chris in?

LEVAR (VO)

He called in sick, today, Mr. Tippett. Said he had the flu.

TIPPETT

Really? Okay. Thank you, Levar.

LEVAR (VO)

You’re welcome.

(Tippett thinks for a moment. He grabs his desk calendar and looks at yesterday.)

TRIPPLETT

What was yesterday…Mother’s Day?

(Cut to a drunken Chris wearing pearls like they were Mardi Gras beads.)

CHRIS

Whoo! Whoo! Yay, mothers! This brunch rocks! Go moms! Who wants imitation pearls? Hey, lady! Show me your stretch marks! Whoo! (He suppresses some nausea.) I feel sick.

(Blackout)