 |
0.00
(0 votes)
You must login to vote
|
|
|
©2005 Marc D. Matlock. All rights reserved.
Cast
Cliff—A tall, boyish looking “yuppie” in his mid-thirties.
Harold—A somewhat weathered looking yet physically fit older gentleman, perhaps sixty years old or so.
Clerk—A clean cut looking man in his mid-twenties.
Scene
(The interior of a suburban YMCA. Stage left: The front desk, where a clerk can be seen doing whatever clerk’s at YMCA’s do to pass the time. A television plays silently in the background, showing some type of animal program as one would see on Animal Planet. Stage right: The inside of the men’s locker room. At rise, Harold is seated on a bench in the locker room facing a row of lockers. Wearing gym clothes, he is somewhat muscular and looks as if he has just finished some form of mild exercise. He is staring at the floor and quietly muttering to himself, at times exhibiting frustration. Cliff enters from the left and approaches the clerk. He is wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and carrying a gym bag and an expensive dark suit).
Cliff:
(to the clerk) Pardon me, sir?
Clerk:
(looking up) Yes, can I help you?
Cliff:
I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?
Clerk:
Certainly.
Cliff:
I’m from Michigan and I drove in this morning for my uncle’s funeral. I’m running a bit late, and I was wondering if I could borrow your locker room to change?
Clerk:
Of course. It’s right over there (gesturing). You need a towel or anything like that?
Cliff:
Nah, that’s okay.
Clerk:
Alright. Make yourself at home.
Cliff:
Thanks.
(Entering the locker room, Cliff sets his gym bag on the bench, and hangs his suit on an open locker door. Harold notices Cliff and gives him a friendly nod. Off to one side is a table that sits in front of a large mirror, and on top of which is a hair-dryer that is plugged into the wall. Cliff notices the electrical outlet, takes out his cell phone charger from his gym bag, and plugs his cell phone in to charge. Both men continue about their business, as Cliff begins to change into his suit. Suddenly, Harold speaks:)
Harold:
(to Cliff, curiously) You’re changing IN to your suit?
Cliff:
Excuse me?
Harold:
You come in here in shorts and change IN to a suit? It doesn’t make any sense.
Cliff:
(smiling) Oh, uh, I’m not here to exercise. I just got in from out of town. I’m here for my uncle’s funeral.
Harold:
Ah.
Cliff:
The wake is at the funeral home around the corner, and the folks up front were kind enough to allow me to come in here and change.
Harold:
I see. (bending over, he fusses with his shoes) That’s a nice place, the funeral home. Nice folks too. Been family owned forever.
Cliff:
Yeah, it looks nice.
(Being short on time, Cliff pays little attention to Harold as he attempts to finish getting dressed. Determined to keep the conversation going, Harold speaks up again.)
Harold:
Sorry to hear about your loss.
Cliff:
Pardon me?
Harold:
I said sorry to hear about your loss.
Cliff:
(curtly) Thank you.
Harold:
Were you close, you and your uncle?
Cliff:
(rummaging through his gym bag) We were when I was younger, like when I was a kid. He was actually my great uncle, on my mother’s side, but we spent a lot of time together.
(A short pause ensues as Cliff continues to go about changing his clothes.)
Harold:
That’s a sharp suit. Is it blue or black?
Cliff:
It’s blue.
Harold:
I have a helluva time with colors. Always did. Looks expensive. What are you, a Vice President or something?
Cliff:
No, uh, I sell pharmaceuticals for a living.
Harold:
You don’t say?
Cliff:
(mildly annoyed, yet somewhat intrigued by Harold’s reaction) What, that surprises you? That I’m a salesman?
Harold:
Not so much I suppose. It’s just that I worked in sales for 25 years and never owned a suit like that!
Cliff:
Hmm. What did you sell?
Harold:
(chuckling) Heh, you name it I sold it! Everything from garden supplies to fem-hi!
Cliff:
(confused) Fem-hi?
Harold:
Yeah, fem-hi. You know, feminine hygiene products.
Cliff:
Ahh.
(A brief pause ensues)
Harold:
That’s a tough gig you know?
Cliff:
What is?
Harold:
Selling fem-hi.
Cliff:
(with mild exasperation) I can imagine.
Harold:
It wasn’t so bad when it was just tampons and whatnot. But when the sprays came out, that was it.
Cliff:
(confused) The sprays?
Harold:
Yeah you know. The feminine deodorant sprays. Then came the vaginal dryness products.
(Continuing to go about his business, Cliff suppresses a smile)
Harold:
(becoming rather animated) I mean, how do you talk to somebody about something like that? At least with the tampons and pads you’ve got charts and drawings you can use to show how they work, or how they perform against the “competition.” But the other stuff, I mean, what do you say to somebody?
Cliff:
I guess that WOULD be a tough sell.
Harold:
(imitating a sales pitch in an exaggerated voice) “Take it from me Mr. pharmacist, I’ve had some really bad snatch in my day, especially when I was in the Marines, but this stuff here (spraying an imaginary product into the air and smelling it) Ahh, just like a rose garden.”
(Cliff smiles and sinckers, unable to keep from laughing. Harold proceeds to introduce himself.)
Harold:
(Reaching to shake Cliff’s hand) The name’s Chapman. Harold Chapman.
Cliff:
(shaking Harold’s hand) Cliff Lane. Nice to meet you.
Harold:
Cliff Lane. What a great name for a salesman! Powerful, short, and to the point. “Cliff Lane, Cliff Lane, Cliff Lane…” You can say it ten times in as many seconds!
Cliff:
(indifferently) I suppose.
Harold:
I’ll bet a handsome young guy like you, especially one named Cliff Lane, could really move some “fem-hi.”
Cliff:
(deadpanning) I think I’ll stick with the pills thanks.
(Cliff moves to the mirror to button his shirt)
Harold:
So you sell pills huh? What kind of pills?
Cliff:
(watching himself in the mirror) Mostly anti-depressants and anxiety meds, stuff like that. There’s a big market for those these days.
Harold:
Is that a fact?
Cliff:
Yeah, it seems half the population’s on some kind of mood altering drug. It’s like it’s become fashionable or something.
Harold:
Kinda like those—oh, what do you call them—male enhancement products?
Cliff:
I assume you’re referring to E.D treatments, or erectile dysfunction?
Harold:
Yeah that’s it.
(a brief pause)
Harold:
You got any samples? Not that I have a problem, but just in case someday, well, you know…
Cliff:
(smirking) You wanna make sure you’re “ready” in case the “moment turns into the RIGHT moment. . .?”
Harold:
(laughing)
Exactly!
Cliff:
Sorry, I can’t help you. That’s another company I’m afraid.
(Another brief pause ensues)
Harold:
I could sell that stuff you know? Those “hard-on” pills? I could sell those.
Cliff:
(matter of factly) I’m sure you could.
Harold: Those commercials you see on T.V. all the time? They’re WAY off base!
Cliff:
(with mild sarcasm) They are huh?
Harold:
Oh yeah. Take those Levitra ads for example. The approach is WAY too subtle to get anybody excited over it. I mean, they’ve got some bimbo on the screen acting all coy and whatnot, saying stuff like “ready to step up to Levitra, for that QUALITY sexual experience?” Just what exactly does that mean, QUALITY sexual experience?
Cliff:
(he shrugs) Well, obviously it’s just a tasteful way of saying. . .
Harold:
(interrupting) I’ll tell you what they ought a have. What they ought a have is some old codger like me saying something like “Attention all divorced corporate executives. Wanna be able to “knock the bottom” out of that trophy bride with the fake tits you drag to Vegas four times a year? Then take some of this!”
Cliff:
(looking a bit confused and taken aback by Harold’s coarse language) Somehow I don’t think. . .
Harold:
(interrupting again) Or better yet, how ‘bout some ad where the couple is sitting around watching re-runs of “Hee-haw” or something, and the husband puts down the newspaper and just “has at” the old lady sitting in the chair next to him!”
(Cliff’s cell phone rings. He gives Harold an “odd” look as he moves to the table to see who’s calling).
Cliff:
(looking at his phone) Shit!
Harold:
Who is it?
Cliff:
It’s my office. (frustrated) Jesus, I can’t even go to a funeral for God’s sake!
Harold:
So don’t answer it.
Cliff:
(Annoyed) Maybe I won’t.
Harold:
(shaking his head) Don’t.
(the phone stops ringing)
Harold:
There, see. All better now.
Cliff:
At least for the time being.
(Another brief pause ensues. Harold forces the conversation to continue while Cliff tries to finish getting dressed.)
Harold:
You look a little bit like my son. He’s a hot shot trial lawyer. Wears dark suits all the time too.
Cliff:
Really? What type of law does he practice?
Harold:
He started out as a public defender, representing scum bags. Then he went into private practice.
Cliff:
(putting on his pants) So what’s he do now?
Harold:
I have no idea. He hasn’t spoken to me in years.
Cliff:
(with half-hearted sympathy) Sorry to hear that. Did you have a falling out or something?
Harold:
(looking at the floor) I don’t know. I guess you’d have to ask him.
(Cliff moves to the mirror to check out his look. He preens himself meticulously).
Harold:
I see you own a cat.
Cliff:
If you must know, I own two. Anyway, how’d you know?
Harold:
Because either one or both of them are all over the back of your trousers. (Harold tosses Cliff a lint brush he has in his bag). Here, use this.
Cliff:
(brushing off his pants) Thanks. I meant to bring one of these but I forgot.
Harold:
No problem. I’ve got nail clippers too if you need those. Just say the word!
Cliff:
That’s okay. I think I’ll be fine. I had a manicure before I left town this morning.
(Another brief pause. Cliff accidentally stuffs the lint brush into his bag)
Harold:
A manicure huh?
Cliff:
Yes.
Harold:
What are you, gay or something?
Cliff:
(matter of factly and slightly insulted) Uh, no, I just like to take care of myself.
Harold:
Hmm. Gotta family? Kids?
Cliff:
No, not yet. Someday though, at least I hope.
(Another brief pause ensues while Harold collects his thoughts)
Harold:
My son used to get manicures. He said it enhanced his credibility in front of juries.
Cliff:
Really.
Harold:
That and a wedding ring. He always wore a wedding ring to court even though he was single.
Cliff:
(with deadpan sarcasm) I won’t insult you by asking if he’s gay.
Harold:
(chuckling) Ha! You’re quick on your feet. I’m guessing you do pretty well for yourself.
Cliff:
(thinking aloud) Generally speaking, I have more good days than bad, so yeah, I guess you could say I do pretty well.
Harold:
Hmm.
Cliff:
And the stuff I sell, the anti-depressants, they’re life-savers for most people, they really are.
Harold:
(He looks at the floor, then changes the subject) You know, I heard the other day that Viagra made some people go blind. What’s up with that?
Cliff:
I’m not sure exactly.
Harold:
The paper said they’re thinking about putting some kind of “warning” on the label. (sarcastically) As if old people having sex isn’t a big enough risk in and of itself.
(Another brief pause. Harold speaks up again).
Harold:
You know what that warning should say?
Cliff:
(sarcastically) I haven’t a clue, but I’m fairly certain you’re gonna tell me.
Harold:
(Ignoring Cliff’s insult) “May cause blindness. And by the way, you might want to consider whether or not you should be doing this anyway.” That’s what the warning should say!
Cliff:
Maybe.
Harold:
That’s sort of a microcosm of life in general you know?
Cliff:
(checking his watch, he moves to the mirror) What is?
Harold:
That whole Viagra-blindness thing.
Cliff:
(again preening in front of the mirror) I’m not sure I follow you.
Harold:
It’s all about “risk-reward.” Every thing we do, every decision we make, day in and day.
Cliff:
I suppose.
Harold:
(again thinking aloud) “You know, I’d really like to make myself pancakes for breakfast, but if I do, I probably won’t have enough time to jerk-off in the shower.”
Cliff:
(looking confused) I’m not sure that’s completely apposite, but I see your point.
Harold:
Apposite? What’s that mean?
Cliff:
(becoming annoyed) Oh geez, I dunno, it means. . .
Harold:
Wait a second. Here. . .
(Harold reaches into his bag and pulls out a pocket dictionary. He looks up the word)
Harold:
Apposite. . .is that two “P’s” or one?
Cliff:
I believe it’s two.
Harold:
Ah, here we go. Apposite: “Being of striking appropriateness and pertinence; very applicable; well adapted; suitable or fit.” (giving Cliff a curious look) You don’t think the example I gave was very “suitable?”
Cliff:
(sighing) Look, maybe it was, I dunno. (he looks at his watch) Anyway, I need to get going or. . .
Harold:
(interrupting) You ever watch Animal Planet?
Cliff:
(expressing mild exasperation) Not recently no.
Harold:
I LOVE Animal Planet! They have the most fascinating stuff on there. Talk about microcosms of human existence! We can learn a lot from the animals.
(Cliff proceeds to stuff the last of his clothes into his bag. Harold continues.)
Harold:
Take gender roles for example. No matter what type of species we look at, from spiders to tree sloths, it seems the female is always the “nurturer.” The males hunt, and the females nest and raise the young.
Cliff:
(checking himself one last time in the mirror, he straightens his tie) If you say so.
Harold:
It’s what Mother Nature intended.
(Only half paying attention to Harold, Cliff unplugs his cell phone and packs away the charger).
Cliff:
(indifferently) Perhaps.
(Clearly agitated, Harold slams an open locker door in anger.)
Harold:
(In a loud voice) Whaddya mean PERHAPS?”
Cliff:
(startled by the slam of the locker) JESUS!
Harold:
Oops! Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .
Cliff:
(interrupting) No, no, it’s okay. Look, Harold. . .it’s Harold right?
Harold:
Yeah.
Cliff:
Look, Harold, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I really don’t have time to debate the issue. (looking at his watch) I need to get going.
Harold:
Okay. Look, I’m really sorry. . .
Cliff:
(interrupting) It’s no problem, really. This has been a fascinating conversation, but I’m afraid I really do have to run.
(Cliff extends his hand to Harold, who shakes it timidly)
Cliff:
Goodbye, and good luck to you.
(Cliff exits the locker room hastily. Harold returns to the seat on the bench and resumes muttering to himself. Cliff stops at the front desk on his way out, where once again the clerk is busy doing whatever desk clerks at YMCA’s do to pass the time.)
Cliff:
(to the clerk) Thanks for helping me out today.
Clerk:
No problem. Glad we could assist you.
Cliff:
(reaching for his wallet) Can I offer you a small donation for your trouble?
Clerk:
Nah, all we ask is that you pass along a kind word.
Cliff:
I think I can handle that. (starting to walk out, he stops abruptly in his tracks) Hey lemme ask you something?
Clerk:
Sure, go ahead.
Cliff:
(laughing slightly, and gesturing toward the locker room) Are all your members as interesting as that Chapman character?
Clerk:
Who?
Cliff:
Harold Chapman. I spoke to him in the locker room. Older guy, carries around a lint brush and a dictionary?
Clerk:
Oh him. He’s not a member here.
Cliff:
He’s not?
Clerk:
Nope.
Cliff:
Then what’s he doing in there?
Clerk:
He’s homeless. Matter of fact, he’s borderline delusional. Been that way for the past 10 years or so.
Cliff:
Really?
Clerk:
Yeah. Ever since his son committed suicide.
Cliff:
(expressing shock) Suicide. . .?
Clerk:
Yeah. From what I remember, his son was this big shot trial attorney in town. Lost a big case a few years back and they found him the next day slumped over his kitchen table with a bullet in his head.
Cliff:
Jesus!
Clerk:
(continuing) He left a note, blaming most of it on his father. Said he was never around, pushed him too hard, nothing he ever did was good enough, you know, that sort of thing. It was a HUGE story for a while.
Cliff:
Really? Why?
Clerk:
As I recall, the newspapers tried for weeks to blame it on the anti-depressants he was taking. Nothing was ever proven though.
Cliff:
(gazing back toward the locker room) I see.
Clerk:
Anyway, the management feels sorry for Harold, so they let him hang around, shower, work out when he wants. He doesn’t bother anybody, mostly just hangs out in the lobby watching Animal Planet. Most people find him pretty entertaining.
Cliff:
Hmm.
(Cliff starts toward the door then stops himself, looks at his watch, and speaks to the clerk again)
Cliff:
(to the clerk) Do you think maybe Harold could use a kind word?
Clerk:
It can’t hurt. A kind word never hurts. (gesturing) You know where to find him.
(Treading lightly, Cliff returns to the locker room and approaches Harold, who remains seated on the locker room bench, staring blankly at a row of lockers in front of him).
Cliff:
Excuse me, Mr. Chapman?
(Harold turns to look at Cliff over his shoulder and speaks in an agitated voice).
Harold:
Oh, it’s you again. The fucking pretty boy salesman with the Goddam manicure. You finished with my lint brush asshole?
Cliff:
Didn’t I give it back to you?
Harold:
Check your bag smart guy!
(Cliff unzips his bag and pulls out Harold’s lint brush. He hands it back to him).
Cliff:
I apologize, here.
(Harold snatches the lint brush aggressively and sticks it into his bag. He continues to stare at the lockers in front of him.)
Cliff:
Listen, the reason I came back in here. . .
Harold:
(Yelling at the top of his lungs) KANGAROO!
Cliff:
Excuse me?
(Harold stands and turns to face Cliff. He continues to bellow.)
Harold:
KANGAROO! KANGAROO! KANGAROOOOOO!
Cliff:
Look, Mr. Chapman, the reason I. . .
Harold:
KANGAROO!!!
(Having effectively stymied Cliff’s approach, Harold sits again, takes a pair of nail clippers from his bag, and ignoring Cliff, starts to trim his fingernails).
Harold:
Time for a manicure.
Cliff:
Look, Mr. Chapman. . .
Harold:
(diplomatically) Please, call me Harold. All my friends call me Harold.
Cliff:
Does that make me your friend then?
Harold:
(smirking) No it doesn’t. In fact, I only have one thing to say to you.
Cliff:
And that is?
Harold:
KANGAROO! KANGAROO! KANGAROOOO!!!
Cliff:
Please, Harold, I feel awfully bad about. . .
Harold:
About what? What should you feel bad about?
Cliff:
(a bit ashamed) I guess I feel like I may have caused you some pain by coming here today.
Harold:
Pain? What pain? (yelling again) KANGAROO!!! KANGAROO!!!
Cliff:
Anyway, I feel like I need to make amends, so I thought. . . I thought I’d offer you a kind word.
Harold:
A kind word eh? Is that all you got?
Cliff:
I guess so. I mean. . .
Harold:
I thought I saw a stick of deodorant in that bag.
Cliff:
(confused) You want my Speed Stick?
Harold:
If you’re offering.
Cliff:
Um, sure.
(Cliff unzips his bag and tosses his deodorant to Harold, who stuffs it into his bag).
Cliff:
Are we “square” now?
Harold:
Whaddya mean are we “square”? I thought you came back in here to offer me a kind word?
Cliff:
Yeah, I guess I did, so. . .
Harold:
(interrupting) Before you do, lemme ask you something?
Cliff:
Okay.
Harold:
I live in a cardboard box okay? You think I have any use for kind words?
Cliff:
(slightly embarrassed and ashamed) I don’t know, I. . . I guess I didn’t think it would hurt.
Harold:
(with heavy sarcasm) You didn’t think it would hurt? (with disgust) You didn’t think it would hurt. That’s some pretty fucking slick shit you know that! Cliff fucking Lane, the fucking PILL salesman!!! Tell me something, which ones are you pushing these days, the little blue ones?
Cliff:
I think I need to go now. (starting to leave) I’m sorry for whatever. . .
Harold:
A kind word eh? Here’s a kind word! (flailing his arms) KANGAROO!!! KANGAROO!!! KANGAROO!!!
(Cliff exits the locker room and hanging his head, walks back to the front desk. Harold takes a seat on the bench again. Placing his head in his hands, Harold begins to sob).
Clerk:
So how’d it go?
Cliff:
(shaking his head) Not good.
Clerk:
Sorry to hear that. But at least you tried.
Cliff:
(gesturing toward the locker room) Hey lemme ask you something. Is he on any medication?
Clerk:
(he shrugs) Ya got me. He has a caseworker, that’s about all I know. She drops in here every once in a while.
Cliff:
Hmm.
(Cliff takes out his wallet and thinks about offering the clerk his business card. Instead, glancing toward the locker room, he changes his mind and hands the clerk a hundred dollar bill.)
Clerk:
Really sir, I told you a donation isn’t necessary. . .
Cliff:
It’s not a donation.
Clerk:
What’s it for then?
Cliff:
(Gesturing toward the locker room) It’s for him. I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d make a trip to Wal-Mart or wherever and buy him whatever it is he needs, okay?
Clerk:
I suppose I can do that. You want me to tell him where it came from?
Cliff:
Nah, that’s not necessary.
Clerk:
Okay.
Cliff:
(Looking at his watch) I really need to go now. Take care, and thanks again for your help.
Clerk:
No problem. And feel free to stop back anytime if you want to change again or whatever.
Cliff:
Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.
(Cliff exits as the clerk returns to work)
The End
|
Related Items
|
|
|
|
