[She speaks.]
I’m sorry. I must be coming off as a crazy person. And, I’m trying to tell you that you’re so good at your job. I’d hate for you to think I’m just now becoming crazy!
[She laughs.]
There’s that laugh. You’re an amazing person. But, sometimes you just got a branch out and try something different. Someone very wise once told me that.
[Getting emotional.] God Brian, don’t get choked up now. Change is hard. I think I told you that one. But hey, we’re both going to be okay.
[She speaks.]
Oh, you better. I’m going to treasure the invoice for this session for a long, long time. Please. Think of me fondly.
Fuck Yes
Alessandra Rizzotti
LUKE, 43
LUKE is meeting Kate, a girl he’s had a crush on for a long time, at her apartment, to eat dinner. Problem is, he’s already in a relationship. He sits down and takes a deep breath.
LUKE Oh man. You’ve caught me just when I’ve been trying to make things work with Jill for the last three years and it’s one of those things where I never felt a spark ever, so why am I even trying? It’s such a gray area. I don’t even feel anything for her in the passionate sense. I literally look at her and think, “You’ll do.” And I want to have babies real soon. If I wait any longer, they’ll be mentally disabled.
I remember looking at you in the hallway at work and just wanting to stare every time. I would tell my office buddy that. I’d be like—there is this girl at work and I just want to rape her . . . but in a good way. Like with my eyes. UGHHHHH.
You really like me, Kate? You do? That kills me. Why were we always in relationships? Why didn’t we stop those relationships and just say, “Fuck yeah—let’s date now!?” I mean that was my thought process, at least. I guess I was scared. I also thought maybe you were too young. I wasn’t sure what was the right thing to do.
And I don’t fuck around, Kate. I don’t. I’m a faithful person. I don’t sneak around. So . . . you’re opening Pandora’s box. I mean, I need to think about this. I’m going to have to keep you posted. Hopefully I don’t have to keep you posted longer than a month. I don’t want to think too hard because I have always felt a spark with you and I don’t think I’ve ever felt that with someone right away. I would have babies with a firecracker like you. I mean, you better get ready in a year, because that’s my plan.
I don’t want to freak you out by saying this, but I seriously would make you my wife. I want to spend my life with you. Getting to know you every day. And I don’t think we need to necessarily share the same interests to do that. Love is about a methodology. You like honesty, you like being open, you like being sensual, you’re drawn to touch. That’s all the love I want. Is that what you want? I feel like three dates and I already know. Do you feel that? If I don’t kiss you now, I’ll regret it. And I need to calculate all this data to determine if a future is possible. So, come over here. I gotta scientific method our chemistry.
[LUKE kisses her.]
Wow. Oh man. Oooooo. I love the way you kiss. I love how you move against me. I’m so nervous to tell you this, but I want to be honest because you said that was important to you. Oh man . . . this is hard. Okay . . . here goes. I have herpes. The genital kind. Is that okay? Ugh . . . so lame. I am such a dummy. And I want to have unprotected sex, obviously, because of the baby thing, so . . . is that too much pressure? I’m all like—”Fuck yes” about you, but I totally get if you’re like “Fuck no” about me. Think on it. If you need a week, I’m totally down for you to process that. But just know, people with genital herpes need love too.
Ha-ha . . . ugh . . . you’re so beautiful, you know that, right?
Man . . . What I would do to you.
Let’s Be Friends
Eitan Loewenstein
STEVE, late teens to early 20s
STEVE, bro-ish, walks in the front door of his apartment. His roommate is already chilling on a sofa in the living room.
STEVE Oh my god. I had a day. A day! You know that girl who always sits next to me on the bus . . . Tiffany? Right. She’s supercute, she’s funny, she’s got a job. Prime dating material. Except for the whole riding the bus thing. Well. Alright, today starts off great. She saves me a seat, as per the usual. No horrible smells in the air, no homeless people giving me the stink eye. Total romance opportunity. I’ve got this awesome breakfast burrito, but they screw up and give me bacon. I pick out the bacon and offer it to her. So she’s laughing at me for not eating pig, which I don’t really appreciate, but whatever. We’re both cracking jokes. This is like Meg Ryan–level stuff. So I give her the old, hey, I’ve got a sofa and a copy of Transformers on Blu-Ray. Why don’t you come by and I’ll protect you from the Decepticons? and she gives me the old, let’s be friends.
That’s actually what she said. Let’s be friends. Those have to be the worst three words in the English language. I honestly think it’s more painful than when that girl said, “man, that’s small.” At least there you had genetics to fall back on. With the friend thing . . . What? I’m on my own. But it’s not even true! She doesn’t want to be friends.
We’re not going to be sending each other Christmas cards, talking about Bundt cake recipes, and swapping paperbacks. We’re just two people who will never see each other naked. Friends. Look at me. I take the time out of my day; I build up the guts that it takes to ask a girl out. I’m shy. This isn’t easy. I’ve got social anxiety issues. They took years to work through. And this Tiffany has the balls to say . . . well, you know.
That’s bull. Man, you know me. I’m honest. I don’t play it like that. If I don’t want to date someone, I tell them. If I think your poetry sucks, I tell you that your poetry sucks. If I think a girl’s fat, I will tell her that she’s fat. I mean, not to her face. She’d kill me. But I’m honest. There is something about wearing a dress that makes it impossible to tell the truth. That’s why my dad and I never got along.
Am I the only one who listened in third grade? Honesty is the best policy. Mrs. Shando. But she was a woman, so maybe she was lying about that. Maybe it’s not the best policy. Maybe there’s some other policy that’s even better. I should look her up online. Ask her.
I’ve got all this free time now, since I’m not dating Tiffany.
[Beat.]
This day has sucked. Sorry for bitching. I’m done. I’m going upstairs to watch a movie and go to sleep.
[Turns to go, pauses, turns back.]
No, you know what? That’s not right. I’m telling you the truth. I’m going up to my room, I’m going to watch porn, and I’m going to fantasize about your sister and I’m not going to lie about it. Do you know why? Because I am a man.
Bathroom Smiles
Meryl Branch-McTiernan
JOSH SHAPIRO, 32
JOSH SHAPIRO, small and wiry, is talking to a couple sitting next to him at an Italian restaurant in New York.
JOSH You guys look happy. Taking bites off each other’s plates. Are you gonna split a dessert? The crème brûlée looks fabulous. I never get dessert. For a single person, it just seems decadent.
I’m actually on a date. She’s been in the bathroom for ten minutes already, and I’d like to finish my meal while she’s gone. But that might be awkward. Would it? Is she taking a dump during dinner? On a first date? Or does she have some kind of Clark Kent/Superman thing going on? As I sit here, watching the mozzarella on this chicken parmigiana congeal, she’s actually flown out the bathroom window and is saving some old lady from a purse-snatcher.
No, she’s not Superman. She’s probably on the phone with her friend, Lexi, or “her girlfriend” as she says. I hate it when chicks call their friends “girlfriends,” because I get all tripped up for a second. Your girlfriend? Does that mean you’re gay? Then why am I dropping money on your second cosmo? We get it. You have a friend that’s a girl, but
if you’re not eating her out, she’s not your girlfriend.
She’s probably telling Lexi that I fudged my height in my OkCupid profile. The difference between five seven and five nine is negligible. But it opens up the door for me to meet women who are “6”s and let them decide for themselves whether or not two inches matter. And why should she care? She’s barely five feet.
I don’t get why women love the bathroom so much. It’s like their power center. They go in with fuchsia lips and come out with plum. Sometimes they even have couches in there. For what? In case you want to read a book while inhaling the sweet aroma of farts?
My sister tells me that when one chick passes another on the way into the bathroom stall, they smile at each other. Why? Reassurance? Don’t worry, I didn’t take a dump. I was just changing my tampon. And I never sprinkle on the seat, ’cause I’m a lady. That smell is not my fecal matter. It was somebody else, someone who didn’t smile.
There’s no eye contact when I pass another dude on the way into the bathroom. I’m busy praying to God that he’s a shy guy who uses the stall to piss. Maybe that’s the difference. We know using the stall only means one thing.
Now you see these trendy bars with coed bathrooms. I don’t like ’em at all. The other day I was washing my hands at the club and the girl next to me, who was pretty hot, couldn’t figure out how to get the automatic sensor thing to work. I helped her. But I felt like I was turning into a woman. Everyone was smiling at each other in the mirror. The bathroom is not a place where I have to be “on,” where I have to be thinking about flirting with hot girls.
I wonder if I should order another gin and tonic. It’ll be my third. I wrote in my profile that I was a social drinker, whatever that means. I mainly drink with friends, except when I’m home trolling Facebook alone. Drinking while using a social network counts as social in my book. I forget how often she says she drinks, but it’s got to be more than “sometimes.” I never message girls who say they drink “sometimes.”
If she doesn’t come back before I catch the waitress’s eye, I’m ordering another. Maybe I should just date the waitress. I wonder if she’ll be happy to serve me when she’s off duty. I’ve never dated a waitress before.
If you asked me ten years ago if I would ever have to resort to shopping for girls online, I would have laughed in your face. I don’t even like ordering books off Amazon. But at thirty-two, you start to worry. Is this gonna happen for me? I’d love another decade of bringing girls home from bars. But the truth is, in the blink of an eye I’ll be forty-two, and then I’ll be fifty-two, and one day they’ll stop coming. Won’t they? I don’t want to find out. So that’s why I’m here, staring into my empty glass, watching my chicken harden, while BeachGrrl87 is partying it up in the bathroom.
So how did you two meet?
Bored Barista
Carla Cackowski
BARISTA, 20s to 40s
A BARISTA stands behind a counter, waiting for customers that aren’t coming. Eager to please, this guy has a hard time being alone. There is one other person, unseen by the audience, sitting at a table in the coffee shop.
BARISTA You writin’ a screenplay? Uh. I said, “You a writer?” Or are you just Facebookin’? Ah. E-mails. Lots? Wow. Can I be your assistant? Just kidding. I’m kidding. I mean, unless you need an assistant. In which case, I’m serious.
[He takes a sip out of a can.]
Red Bull. Yeah, I can’t drink coffee anymore. Doesn’t work. I’m too tough for it. I’m a machine and the only oil that gets my engine runnin’ is the Bull that is Red.
[The BARISTA whistles a tune.]
You’re in here all the time. This is like, your office or something, huh? Kidding. Except that, well, it’s kinda true. Nah, fine by me. Especially during the slow hours. I’m cool with it. You want a refill? You sure? On the huz-ouse. Huh? The house. For free. On me. Want it? Sweet!
[He runs over to the table, picks up the customer’s coffee mug, runs behind the counter, pours the refill, runs back to the table, drops the mug on the table, stands there. Waiting.]
You are welcome! Anytime, my man. Any. Time.
[The BARISTA still stands there.]
Mind if I sit?
[He sits.]
So how’s that dog of yours doing? Yeah, dog. Wasn’t that you who has the dog that comes in here sometimes? No? Huh. I must be thinking of somebody else. This other guy has a dog, damn cute dog, named Benny, no, uh, Lenny. That’s not right either. Bonzo. That’s it! Yeah, Bonzo the dog. Damn cute dog. Ever thought about getting a dog? Me neither. I imagine taking care of a dog is like taking care of another person. Who has time for that? Not me, my friend, oh no, not me.
Mind if I stand?
[He stands.]
I got this lower back problem. Cannot get comfortable for too long, you know. Mind if I ask you a personal question? Where’d you get your T-shirt? It’s tight, man. I like it. Nah, I mean I like that it’s tight. Good for you. Not many dudes can pull that off. Just a T-shirt? Nah, man. That shirt’s a lady magnet.
[He tries to high-five the customer. It’s awkward.]
Aw, sorry! You gotta get back to work. I get it. I gotta get back, too. To work. No problem, man. Just know that if you need anything, I am mere steps away from making it happen for you. I got your back.
[The BARISTA goes behind the counter. He whistles another tune.]
Hey man, want a scone? No. You sure? A croissant? Bagel? Granola? Macaroon? Beef jerky?
You gotta go? Ah man, don’t go. Please don’t go. You gotta go. I understand, man. Sure. See you later, brotha. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just be . . . here.
Craven Saint Todd
Brandon Econ
CRAVEN SAINT TODD, 28
CRAVEN SAINT TODD would prefer not to discuss the period in time prior to his being sired and taken into to the cult of Nosferatu. His entrance into this world was fraught with much darkness and light—mostly light and light burns (get it away, get it away, hiss, hiss!). And please do not bring up his two older brothers, Van Saint Todd and Helsing Saint Todd; they always tease him and steal his black eye shadow (which CRAVEN steals from ULTA, but still . . .). CRAVEN loves anything by Anne Rice and enjoys eating Nutter Butters while hanging upside down from the rafters, which he can only do for so long before the blood of his victims (maybe?) rushes to his head.
Here, CRAVEN is talking to his new neighbors, Chris and Susan Brown, on their doorstep.
CRAVEN SAINT TODD I hope I’m not interrupting. I saw you unloading boxes, so I figured I’d stop by.
Hi, I’m Craven Saint Todd, I’m a vampire. I mean, not really. But I am a vampire. So, I live next door to you. I guess we’re neighbors. You know. So I just wanted to come over and clear the air. Is this your wife?
Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Craven Saint Todd. I’m a vampire. Well, not really, but, you never know. Oh wow, Chris and Susan Brown. What a great name for both of you. Wow, yeah. Lemme give you the rundown. Well, so this IS a really family-oriented community, it’s pretty quiet around here normally. It’s really great, you know. But sometimes me and my brood have these monthly gatherings. I wanted to make sure that you knew that. I don’t want to get started on the wrong foot. You know. The person that lived here before, total ass. I mean, he would call the police on us every time we would have our simulated slayings. It got really bad morale-wise. We would plan things months in advance, you know. Find an actor on L.A. casting and everything. So I just wanted to let you know that we do that sometimes.
Oh, yeah it’s this thing we do. Well, we just run through the neighborhood and chase down an actor, corner her, and then drain her life force. I mean not really, but, usually.
I just had a thought—you and Susan should totally come over for dinner one night. Well, yeah, when you get settled in. I love to entertain new guests. I make some of the best Mexican food. You would think I was a r
eal Mexican instead of a vampire. I mean, yeah. You two could stick around and I could introduce you to my cohorts. Usually every first Tuesday of the month we have a traditional Mexican dinner and masquerade ball in my backyard. We all dance and drink and listen to Gregorian chants. You know, just relax and share in the joys of being a member of the living dead. I mean not really, but, well? So that would be fun. You would be surprised how . . .
Oh, you have a cat—put it away! Put it away! I’m just joking, you know. Well you have to lighten up a little, Chris. Me and my coven do that sort of thing all the time. Some of us get really into it. I remember last week. Alana brought over real human blood. Well it was Pinot Noir, but you know what I mean. We were passing it around like in a real blood-rite and some of us just, you know, went on a rampage in the community and were jumping on cars and chasing children and I found a rock and I threw it. It got really crazy. When I woke up the next morning, I had wine stains all over my jabot. You have no idea how difficult it is to get that out. We just really let loose. But we have a lot of fun, really. Really!
Well, I’ve talked your ear off nonstop. I better let you get back to unpacking. It was nice talking to you, and think about my offer. We’ll probably see each other again. Like in the middle of the night when I’m standing over your bed ready to suck you dry. I’m only kidding, but, well, maybe. Bye.
Morty Weinberg
Andy Goldenberg
MORTY, older man
MORTY, a crotchety older man, raises his hands, stopping a kid from complaining about his phone’s reception.
MORTY Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s with all the noise? This is a Target Superstore, not a city hall. We should be so lucky to shop at a place that has daily discounted prices on wrapping paper, office furniture, and bathroom essentials. Before you were even a twinkle in your mother’s eye, people had one good that they sold and whatever they charged, that’s what you paid. And nobody specialized in wearable video cameras and neon pink flip-flops. What are you so angry about? How can you be mad in a magical wonderland of knickknacks, figurines, and cleaning utensils on generous markdowns. Look at the lighting in here! It’s so friendly and fluorescent, calling out to you, like God on high, saying, “Step right up to the super savings. Get ’em while they’re hot. While Supplies Last.” We only have a limited time here on Earth, not to mention only one hour on the parking meter, and it’s just a waste of all those precious minutes to be upset. What’s that? They’re out of your phone? Oh, the new iPhone. The phone’s got a name. We should be so lucky to even have a phone. Our ancestors had to yell as loud as they could, and if nobody heard them, they didn’t do anything. You know, before schlepping all this way, you should have stayed at home and searched their inventory on the Internet. We should be so lucky to even have the World Wide Web and not have to step outside of our warm and cozy houses. Those who came before us had to round up all their earthly possessions into a wagon whenever they needed to come into town and it wasn’t a balmy seventy-six degrees outside. It was unforgiving winters where you lost members of your tribe just to make a toilet paper run. And it wasn’t super comfortable two-ply. And they sure as hell didn’t have any adorable T-shirts with cartoon unicorns on them. Nine ninety-nine? That’s a steal! Target? I just hit the bullseye! Are you kidding me? We have it lucky! [To employee.] Not you. [Reading his nametag.] Alex from Tarzana. You? You work for minimum wage, five times harder than my tottela. He’s a plastic surgeon, two years out of medical school, with a beautiful wife and a baby with the cutest little punim. You. You need a little more luck in your life. Speaking of which, is there a way to get a quick price check on this Doctor Dre compact disc? It was in the value bin, but it’s still got the original price tag.
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