Two people (gender doesn't matter) are visible in a conference room. Both are wearing business attire. One is
standing up next to a projection slide, lecturing about the contents of the slides. The other is sitting down, watching.
The first slide has a graph with the Y axis labeled "money" with a down arrow in red.
STANDING UP GUY:
So as you can see we have no money. It is a thing that we lack.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Mmmhmm, hmm.
Next slide is a picture of a frowny face.
STANDING UP GUY:
And as illustrated here, working in a company with no money makes some people here unhappy.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, interesting.
Next slide is just the phrase "You're a bad human being and a horrible boss."
STANDING UP GUY:
And this slide... wow... how did that...
SITTING DOWN GUY:
What's this funny business about?
STANDING UP GUY:
I'm sorry. That slide is a typo. It shouldn't be in the presentation.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
I should hope so. That's so rude.
STANDING UP GUY:
I know. I'm sorry. It's so offensive. It should read "You're a bad fish and a horrible boss."
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Oh, okay. That's fine then.
Next side is a picture of a puppy in some flowers.
STANDING UP GUY:
This next slide should help cushion that previous data.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
That does make me feel better. Thank you.
Next slide is a picture of a normal red fire hydrant.
STANDING UP GUY:
And here we have a fire hydrant. It's ugly.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yeah, it's so stupid.
The next slide is an orange.
STANDING UP GUY:
Let’s talk peeling oranges.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Peeling oranges is difficult NOT fun. So much effort to get to the fun part. Rubbing them in your arm pits.
Camera pans to the back of the room where an actor (gender doesn't matter again) is wearing a cardboard cut out of
a fire hydrant over their body.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Excuse me. That fire hydrant was my cousin, Jill.
STANDING UP GUY:
Oh, sorry... We didn't see you there.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
What did Jill ever do to you?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
In our defense... we don't like her.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Why are you so mean? You're hurtful, cruel, empty, vapid, shallow people.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Whoa, whoa.
STANDING UP GUY:
We're fish.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Fish?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
Yes.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
If you're fish then why are you talking?
STANDING UP GUY:
Because we have opinions.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Talking fish? You speak? That's incredible. I'm so used to fish using sign language.
Standing up guy signs to sitting down guy, subtitles come on screen and translate for them.
STANDING UP GUY:
(sign languge: subtitles)
Can I please murder this fire hydrant?
SITTING DOWN GUY:
(signing back: subtitles)
I don't know. CAN you?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
(as if to himself)
How can I make money off of talking fish? I better call the government so they can do science on you. Or the entertainment industry so they can mail me gold.
STANDING UP GUY:
Hey, we didn't say that we were okay with being exploited for cash.
SITTING DOWN GUY:
We just implied it.
Slide changes. This slide reads "we are okay with being exploited for cash."
Fire hydrant takes out his cellphone and puts it to his ear.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Hello, government? I've got some talking fish here. Oh, yeah, send them over.
The door opens and two more fire hydrants in secret service style sunglasses enter.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Where are the fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
We're here to take the talking fish away.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
(to Fire Hydrant 1)
Are you a fish?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
No, I'm a normal fire hydrant, just like you and everybody else.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
But are you really? Are you really normal just like everyone else?
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Well, it was hard growing up on 7th street. I always felt a little bit different. Mom drank a lot during the day and Dad wasn't around a lot. I wasn't allowed to play with the other fire hydrants on my street. I didn’t fit in. But
I had something they didn't. A song in my heart.
Music swells up. Fire Hydrant 1. opens mouth and spreads arms.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
What's that smell? I'm hungry.
FIRE HYDRANT 3.
Yeah, I could go for some sashimi. Fish, y'all hungry?
STANDING UP AND SITTING DOWN GUYs:
Yeah...
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
I'm hungry too.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Oh, thanks for sharing.
Awkward pause well they look at each other.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Ready to go guys?
Fire Hydrants 2 and 3 and the fish all leave. Fire Hydrant 1 stays behind and shuffles feet awkwardly. Fire Hydrant
2. pokes head back in room.
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
I'm sorry about that.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
Oh, um, 'scool, yeah, um
FIRE HYDRANT 2.
Gotta save electricity...
Fire Hydrant 2. flips off light switch. The room is dark.
FIRE HYDRANT 1.
…So cold….
End.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Unbearable Roommates
My friends, coworkers, and the coffee barista who I think thinks I'm stupid warned me. They said adult siblings make the worst roommates, but I figured my roommate is going to end up hating me no matter who it is.
The first week my brother David and I were okay; we kept the common areas clean and our music volume low and our sobbing at night to a maximum. The second week we started fighting because I invited his Japanese girlfriend pillow to watch TV and eat cheese with me. Pillows get lonely too. I don’t know why he freaked out about it. It’s not like the friendship bracelet I made for it clashed with the anime art. The third week he turned into a bear.
I sat at the table slurping coffee, watching medical soap operas on my lap top, living life to the fullest. Around 2:00, the grizzly bear lumbered out of David’s bedroom on all fours and sauntered into the kitchen with a judgy sniff at Gray's Anatomy. Balancing on its haunches, it placed both paws on the table and slurped up some of my coffee.
“Excuse me,” I muttered sleepily. “Get your own coffee.”
Whining, he nuzzled me, which is bear language for either ‘I love you’ or ‘I don’t have opposable thumbs. Get the coffee for me before I eat you.’ I poured him a cup of coffee and Bear David, suckled it, spilling more than he consumed, much like human David.
When I got home from work, my leftover salmon curry had been devoured, with complete bearlike disregard for my name which I had labelled all over everything. The pile of bills I was supposed to pay were masticated up and saturated with slobber. That type of passive aggressive behavior is why it’s easier to live with strangers than siblings.
That night I woke up at 2:00am by a snarling sound. I poked my head out of my door and saw David lying on the floor gnawing on the bloody stump of our neighbor's leg.
"Do you have to eat so loudly?" I yawned, arms folded over my pajama shirt.
The bear looked at me for a moment, human blood dripping from its sharp white teeth, scraped its claws against the floor, and lunged at me. It stood up straight and bore down on me, breathing hot stinky torrents of carbon dioxide into my face. It shook a claw at my face and glared at me with a hungry, violent stare.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just keep it down. I don't want to wake the neighb-" I looked at the bloody leg soaked in bear spit. "Nevermind." I slammed the door and went back to bed.
After a few days of David not doing the dishes and shitting on my chair, I was almost mad enough to write him a note. When the bear was lying on the floor and I made a super hilarious joke about a bear skinned rug, he didn’t even chuckle. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘It is note writing time!’ As I rummaged around for my least pretty stationary, the door opened and David walked in, in human form.
“What the hell is that?” Human David said.
“But if you’re here… who is that?” I asked, indicating the bear.
“Barbara, you idiot! Why is there a bear in our apartment?”
“Oh no! How will I ever know which is the real David? I must murder to death the imposter!” I reached for a spatula.
“That is a wild grizzly bear!”
“Quick, human David, tell me something that only the two of us know!” I raised the spatula.
“Um… You didn’t stop peeing your pants until you were in your teens… wait why am I playing along? That is a bear! And what are you doing with the spatula anyway?”
“Okay, that’s close to true. Bear David, same question…” I said.
Bear David growled.
Beating the imposter to death with a spatula was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, mainly because I didn’t do it; he ran away and I didn’t even get to draw any blood. Ten years later, at my wedding, I mentioned to David how weird that week had been, and he put his claw on my dress as if to silently say, ‘I’m proud of you, little sister. So proud.’
Out loud I lovingly replied, “I’m not your little sister. I’m older.”
And he didn’t say anything back, ornery and dejected because the special custom suit was too tight for his big hairy bear shoulders.
The first week my brother David and I were okay; we kept the common areas clean and our music volume low and our sobbing at night to a maximum. The second week we started fighting because I invited his Japanese girlfriend pillow to watch TV and eat cheese with me. Pillows get lonely too. I don’t know why he freaked out about it. It’s not like the friendship bracelet I made for it clashed with the anime art. The third week he turned into a bear.
I sat at the table slurping coffee, watching medical soap operas on my lap top, living life to the fullest. Around 2:00, the grizzly bear lumbered out of David’s bedroom on all fours and sauntered into the kitchen with a judgy sniff at Gray's Anatomy. Balancing on its haunches, it placed both paws on the table and slurped up some of my coffee.
“Excuse me,” I muttered sleepily. “Get your own coffee.”
Whining, he nuzzled me, which is bear language for either ‘I love you’ or ‘I don’t have opposable thumbs. Get the coffee for me before I eat you.’ I poured him a cup of coffee and Bear David, suckled it, spilling more than he consumed, much like human David.
When I got home from work, my leftover salmon curry had been devoured, with complete bearlike disregard for my name which I had labelled all over everything. The pile of bills I was supposed to pay were masticated up and saturated with slobber. That type of passive aggressive behavior is why it’s easier to live with strangers than siblings.
That night I woke up at 2:00am by a snarling sound. I poked my head out of my door and saw David lying on the floor gnawing on the bloody stump of our neighbor's leg.
"Do you have to eat so loudly?" I yawned, arms folded over my pajama shirt.
The bear looked at me for a moment, human blood dripping from its sharp white teeth, scraped its claws against the floor, and lunged at me. It stood up straight and bore down on me, breathing hot stinky torrents of carbon dioxide into my face. It shook a claw at my face and glared at me with a hungry, violent stare.
I rolled my eyes. "Fine, whatever. Just keep it down. I don't want to wake the neighb-" I looked at the bloody leg soaked in bear spit. "Nevermind." I slammed the door and went back to bed.
After a few days of David not doing the dishes and shitting on my chair, I was almost mad enough to write him a note. When the bear was lying on the floor and I made a super hilarious joke about a bear skinned rug, he didn’t even chuckle. ‘That’s it!’ I thought. ‘It is note writing time!’ As I rummaged around for my least pretty stationary, the door opened and David walked in, in human form.
“What the hell is that?” Human David said.
“But if you’re here… who is that?” I asked, indicating the bear.
“Barbara, you idiot! Why is there a bear in our apartment?”
“Oh no! How will I ever know which is the real David? I must murder to death the imposter!” I reached for a spatula.
“That is a wild grizzly bear!”
“Quick, human David, tell me something that only the two of us know!” I raised the spatula.
“Um… You didn’t stop peeing your pants until you were in your teens… wait why am I playing along? That is a bear! And what are you doing with the spatula anyway?”
“Okay, that’s close to true. Bear David, same question…” I said.
Bear David growled.
Beating the imposter to death with a spatula was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do, mainly because I didn’t do it; he ran away and I didn’t even get to draw any blood. Ten years later, at my wedding, I mentioned to David how weird that week had been, and he put his claw on my dress as if to silently say, ‘I’m proud of you, little sister. So proud.’
Out loud I lovingly replied, “I’m not your little sister. I’m older.”
And he didn’t say anything back, ornery and dejected because the special custom suit was too tight for his big hairy bear shoulders.
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