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- Kiwi confab
Note: This was an actual conversation I had with a co-worker and his childhood friend.
————————
FADE IN:
EXT. RESIDENTIAL CONSTRUCTION SITE – DAY
A neighbourhood built from scratch, stuffed with new townhouses in various stages of completion.
INT. UNFINISHED GARAGE – DAY
DAVE (23), clad in coveralls and work boots, squats on a plastic crate. He rinses a paint brush in a pail of water.
Two men approach from the driveway: CLINT (27), a slim man in matching coveralls, and GOOSE (29), a stout man wearing a Spider-man tank top, cutoff jeans and sandals.
CLINT: Hey, Dave. You got a minute?
DAVE: For you, Clintoris, I’ve got several.
Dave puts down his brush, stands and dries his hands with a clean rag.
CLINT: This is Goose, a friend of mine from New Zealand.
DAVE: Howdy, Goose. Welcome to Canada.
Dave and Goose shake hands.
GOOSE: Clintoris! That’s brilliant. How did you come up with that?
DAVE: Honestly, it was the first thing that came to mind when we met.
GOOSE: It’s awesome.
DAVE: Back home, no one ever called him Clintoris?
GOOSE: Nah, but I’m sure it’ll catch on real soon.
Goose nudges Clint and gives him a wink.
CLINT: Thanks, Dave. I appreciate that.
DAVE: So why Goose? Is your last name Gosling? Are you a great wing man?
GOOSE: Nah. Clint and the fellas call me Goose because, when I drink, I act like a silly goose.
DAVE: Seriously?
GOOSE: Yippers! And I drink a lot so I get called Goose a lot.
DAVE: Wow. Do all Kiwis suck at nicknames?
GOOSE: We don’t waste time with clever thinking. It slows down our heavy drinking.
DAVE: Ahh, there’s the rub.
CLINT: Drinking piss is our national pastime. It’s what we do best.
Clint checks his watch.
DAVE: Alrighty then. Let’s reconvene up the street. There’s a nice pub just before the lights.
GOOSE: Yeah, she’s a real beauty. I just came from there.
Dave pats Goose on the back.
DAVE: Of course you did, you silly goose. I wouldn’t doubt it for the world.
The three men exit the garage and make their way to a row of parked cars.
FADE OUT.
© 2011 davewrites.ca
- F*xed up!
Note: This is an efficient amalgamation of several bad dates from my 20s, some of which were fix-ups. I really did end a date this way (Urban Well, circa 1999). Although in real life it happened as I was paying the bill. Her reaction was not much different than what I describe here. She was the first and last blonde I ever dated.
Yes, the scene is a little cliché. We are summing up my 20-something love life after all.
I think I’m most proud of the title: “F*xed up!”
————————
FADE IN:
TITLE CARD: The one constant in all your failed relationships is you.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. ITALIAN RESTAURANT – EVENING
DAVE (27) shares a table for two with ALISON (30), a conservative blonde with her hair tied back. Both peruse their menus.
Dave snaps his menu shut and places it on the table. A tall, gangly WAITER (25) appears at his side.
WAITER: Are we ready to order?
Dave gestures to Alison. She looks up, shakes her head and dives back into the menu.
DAVE: (to the Waiter) Give us a few more. Thanks.
The Waiter nods and leaves.
DAVE: So…
Alison stops reading but doesn’t look up.
DAVE: You work with Monica?
ALISON: Yes.
DAVE: In sales?
ALISON: No.
Dave catches himself twiddling his thumbs. He clears his throat and unfolds his hands.
DAVE: So is it Alison with one “L” or two?
ALISON: Just one.
DAVE: Just like the song.
ALISON: Which song?
DAVE: Um… “Alison?”
ALISON: Yes?
DAVE: Huh?
Alison tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and chews her lip. Dave massages his temples.
DAVE: Do you live Downtown?
ALISON: No.
Dave scans their surroundings. The restaurant is full of couples. Everyone else appears to be enjoying themselves.
DAVE: It’s a nice place, isn’t it?
ALISON: Downtown?
DAVE: No, sorry. I meant this restaurant.
Alison shrugs her shoulders and closes her menu. She avoids looking directly at Dave.
DAVE: They just opened a new restaurant across the street from my apartment. (grinning) It’s a Greek restaurant called Mediocreties. It’s okay, nothing special.
Dave waits for a response. Alison picks some lint off her sleeve.
DAVE: (still grinning) It’s just… okay. (deadpan) It’s called Mediocreties.
Dave stares at Alison. She notices and makes brief eye contact with him.
ALISON: I’m not a fan of Greek food.
The Waiter re-appears at Dave’s side. Dave gestures to Alison again. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
ALISON: Yes?
DAVE: So… should we just cut it off here and call it a night?
ALISON: Thank you.
Alison retrieves her purse, stands and leaves the table in one fluid motion.
WAITER: Wow and ouch.
Alison exits the dining area as Dave hands his menu to the Waiter.
DAVE: Penne with chorizo and a glass of Stella.
WAITER: Cheers!
The Waiter collects Alison’s menu, pushes her chair in and crosses to the bar.
Dave reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cell phone. He dials a number then holds the handset up to his ear.
DAVE: Monica! It’s Dave. Um… seriously? This shit has got to stop. It isn’t funny anymore. It’s eroding my self-esteem and I actually feel sorry for some of these girls. I can’t even imagine how you talk them into showing up. Anyways… call me tomorrow, okay? I need you to remind me that I need to get even. Thanks. Bye!
Dave hangs up his phone and places it on the table. He takes a sip from his water glass and stares off into space.
FADE TO BLACK.
© 2011 davewrites.ca
- Caveat machina
FADE IN:
INT. OFFICE BREAK ROOM – DAY
Steam rises from a coffee mug labelled “T.G.I.M!” The mug belongs to Brenda (50), a slender, officious woman in a pencil skirt and cardigan. She drops an herbal tea bag into her boiled water.
DAVE (39) enters from the hallway, impeccably dressed in a dark suit but half asleep.
BRENDA: Good morning, sunshine!
Dave responds with half a smile and the slightest nod. He shuffles toward the back of the room.
BRENDA: Another breakfast of champions?
Dave grunts twice and stops walking when he reaches the vending machine.
BRENDA: How’s junior doing? Has he cut his first teeth?
DAVE: Any day now.
Dave rubs his eyes and surveys the contents of the vending machine. His gaze locks onto a label that reads “D2 $1.25.” Above the label sits a coiled wire stuffed with Snickers bars.
BRENDA: Is he sleeping through the night?
DAVE: (yawning) Not yet.
Dave reaches into his pocket and extracts its contents. He opens his fist to reveal a dollar coin, a quarter, a nickel and 2 pennies.
BRENDA: I have some Wasa Crispbread in my desk if you want healthier carbs.
Dave plunks his biggest coin into the machine and a tiny display registers “$1.00.”
DAVE: Too late.
Dave stares at the first Snickers bar. The wrapper blurs and distorts as the lettering morphs from “Snickers” to “Eat Me!”
Dave smiles.
DAVE: (under his breath) You betcha.
Dave drops his quarter into the coin slot. It clinks and clunks its way through the machine until it reappears in the coin return tray.
Dave looks at the tiny display. It still reads “$1.00.” Dave frowns and retrieves his quarter.
BRENDA: It’s a sign.
Dave looks at the first Snickers bar. The lettering twists and morphs again, from “Eat Me!” to “Shucks!”
Dave stuffs the quarter back into the machine. It tumbles through with a clatter and drops into the coin return a second time.
BRENDA: I told you. Walk away.
DAVE: Not bloody likely.
Dave squints and puts his game face on. He breathes on the quarter, wipes it against his shirt and drops it in a third time—this time adding some backspin.
Clink, tumble, clank, bonk, clunk – coin return.
Dave’s jaw tightens. He retrieves the rejected quarter and holds it up to the coin slot once more.
BRENDA: Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?
DAVE: That’s a definition, not the definition. Tinfoil hats are also a great indicator.
Dave looks at the Snickers bar again. The lettering now reads “Loser!” Dave bares his teeth and inserts the quarter a fourth time.
The coin bank clinks a couple of times and the display updates to “$1.25.” Dave grins as he presses “D-2” on the keypad.
DAVE: So what if you do the same thing over and over and get different results?
The Snickers label reads “Victory!” The vending coil twirls and the candy bar drops out of sight.
Dave gathers his prize and flashes it to Brenda as he walks past her.
DAVE: The machine is insane, not me.
Dave exits the break room holding the Snickers bar over his head like a trophy.
Brenda shakes her head and sips her tea.
FADE OUT.
© 2011 davewrites.ca
- R & R & B & B & S & M
FADE IN:
EXT. BC FERRY – DAY
The massive ship plows across the Strait of Juan de Fuca beneath a clear blue sky. Passengers wander the viewing decks, awestruck by the epic beauty of BC’s coastline.
JENNIFER (22, circa 2001) stands at the stern of the ferry, calm and collected. She rests her forearms against a weathered railing and folds her hands together. The wind tosses her ponytail back and forth.
A present-day DAVE (38) sidles up next to Jennifer. He smiles at her. She smiles at him.
Dave takes a deep breath, exhales slowly and turns his back to the ocean. He rests his elbows on the rail and looks directly into the camera lens.
DAVE: (to the camera) Jennifer and I once took a trip to Saltspring Island.
Jennifer is oblivious to Dave’s soliloquy. No one ever notices him breaking the 4th wall.
Dave abandons his perch and walks toward the camera.
DAVE (cont’): This was quite a while ago. Before our wedding, our son and our home in the suburbs. (over his shoulder, to Jennifer) Are we officially a couple?
JENNIFER: Uh… yeah?
DAVE: But we’re not living together?
JENNIFER: (laughing) God, no!
DAVE: (to the camera) Give it a year.
INT. DAVE’S CAR – DAY
Dave drives away from the ferry dock. Jennifer sits in the passenger seat, refolding a road map.
DAVE: (to the camera) It had been a long Winter. We needed to get out of the city. So I took some time off work and booked three days at a romantic bed and breakfast.
Dave reaches over and pats Jennifer’s thigh. She smiles at him and scrunches her face like a precocious little girl.
EXT. BED & BREAKFAST – DAY
A large country manor sits upon a hill, overlooking the harbour. Jennifer admires the view from the driveway while Dave unloads two suitcases from the rear of his hatchback.
DAVE: (to the camera) I had never been to a bed and breakfast before. I didn’t know what to expect. A good friend described it as spending the weekend with your favourite aunt and uncle.
Dave slams the hatchback shut.
DAVE (cont’): Whatever. It was cheaper than a hotel.
Jennifer saunters down the cobblestone walkway, toward the front door of the house. David trails behind, towing the luggage on their tiny wheels.
On the other side of the front steps blooms a lush flower bed. An older woman, ANA (58), kneels amongst the perennials. She tips back her sun hat and waves a tiny steel spade.
ANA: Halloo! You must be Jennifer and David. Welcome!
Ana points to the front door.
ANA (cont’): Please, go right in.
JENNIFER: Thank you.
DAVE: (to the camera) This is Ana. Ana with one “n.” Ana and her husband Johannes moved to Canada in the 70s. Because they had no children, they were able to retire early and buy this B&B.
Jennifer and Dave climb the stairs.
INT. BED & BREAKFAST FOYER – CONTINUOUS
The front door swings open and Dave enters the quaint antechamber ahead of Jennifer.
DAVE: Thank you, honey.
Dave places their suitcases on a woven rug and slips off his shoes. Jennifer steps in, closes the door and surveys the provincial décor.
DAVE: (to the camera) Ana and Johannes were born in Europe during World War II. Exactly where in Europe, I’m not sure. It’s an awkward question for their generation.
JOHANNES (60) enters from the kitchen, drying his hands with a colourful tea towel.
DAVE (cont’): And since they’ve lived here half their lives, their accents have become vague and marginalized.
Johannes sees Jennifer and tosses his tea towel into the air with a flourish.
JOHANNES: Wonderval!
Dave shrugs his shoulders.
DAVE: (to the camera) What do you think? German? Dutch? Danish?
Johannes shakes Jennifer’s hand with much vigor and enthusiasm.
INT. BED & BREAKFAST BEDROOM – DAY
The large Victorian bedroom has a four-post bed as its centrepiece. The bedspread and wallpaper are covered with printed roses. The walls are also littered with photos and paintings of roses.
The door swings open and Johannes enters with a suitcase under each arm. He steps to one side, letting Jennifer and Dave into the room.
DAVE: (to the camera) They put us in the Rose Room.
JOHANNES: (announcing) We’re putting you in the Rose Room.
Dave smirks to the camera.
JENNIFER: (to Dave, trying not to laugh) Ohhh… it’s a theme room!
DAVE: (to the camera) I prefer more subtle themes. This was a little on-the-nose for me.
Jennifer sticks her face into a bouquet of roses and takes a gigantic sniff.
INT. SAME – LATER
The two suitcases lie open on the bed. Jennifer rummages through hers and retrieves two bottles: a salon shampoo and its matching conditioner. She carries them into the ensuite bathroom.
Dave crosses to an armoire carrying three folded shirts. He opens the armoire doors, revealing an older 20” TV with a built-in VCR.
DAVE: (to the camera) Oh yeah, cathode tubes. I remember these. And VHS! Talk about old school.
Dave tosses his shirts back onto the bed and roots through the armoire. The top shelf is packed with video tapes. Dave tilts his head to one side and reads their spines.
DAVE (cont’): Chinatown, Kramer vs. Kramer, Strangers On A Train, Tender Mercies, Monty Python & The Holy Grail. A great selection for a snobby film buff like me.
Dave runs his finger to the end of the row and taps four unmarked cassettes one by one.
DAVE (cont’): And then. There were. The mystery. Tapes.
He looks into the camera and arches an eyebrow.
INT. FRENCH BISTRO – NIGHT
The candlelit dining room appears empty, save for a small table at the window where Dave and Jennifer sit and sip white wine. Dave sports a wrinkled shirt and tie. Jennifer looks far more glamorous in her evening dress.
DAVE: (to the camera) Later that day, during the most expensive meal of my life to date, with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever dated, I couldn’t take my mind off of the mystery tapes. Were they blank? Were they bootleg copies? Were—
JENNIFER: So, do you want to watch a movie tonight?
DAVE: (to Jennifer) Totally. What are you in the mood for?
JENNIFER: Something we both haven’t seen.
Dave looks into the camera and arches his other eyebrow.
INT. BED & BREAKFAST BEDROOM – NIGHT
Dave and Jennifer sit at the foot of the bed, lit by the glow of the TV. Dave wears a t-shirt and sweat pants. Jennifer wraps herself in a fluffy pink bathrobe.
DAVE: (to the camera) Of course I copped out. What’s worse, l also lied. I didn’t mention the mystery tapes and I told her I’d never seen The Holy Grail, even though I’ve watched it more than The Empire Strikes Back.
TV VOICE (off camera): Your mother was a hamster and you’re father smelt of elderberries!
Jennifer turns to Dave, confused.
JENNIFER: Wait a minute. You say that all the time…
Dave looks into the camera sheepishly.
INT. SAME – MORNING
The two suitcases lie open on the bed. Dave folds shirts into his suitcase.
DAVE: (to the camera) The weekend was great, relaxing. We spent most of it outdoors and I eventually forget about the mystery tapes.
Jennifer enters from the bathroom toting her shampoo and conditioner. She crosses to the bed and stubs her toe.
JENNIFER: Ow!
DAVE: (to Jennifer) You okay?
JENNIFER: Yeah, I just kicked something.
Jennifer bends down and picks up a VHS cassette: Casablanca. She crosses to the open armoire, slides the cassette into an empty space on the shelf and then spots the four unmarked tapes.
JENNIFER: Hmm, what are these?
DAVE: (to the camera) And that’s when we came full-circle. (to Jennifer) I don’t know what’s on them, honey, but they don’t look blank.
JENNIFER: Cool. Mystery Tapes! Let’s find out.
Jennifer slides an unmarked cassette into the VCR and presses “PLAY.” She takes a step back and sits on the bed. Her brow furrows and she tilts her head to one side.
JENNIFER: Is that… is that Ana?
DAVE: (to the camera) Yup, much worse than even you imagined.
JENNIFER: My god, she’s… and… HOLY CRAP!
Jennifer covers her eyes with both hands.
DAVE: Ana and Johannes, our delightful hosts for the weekend, were also adept at making amateur porn… and leaving it around for their guests to discover.
Jennifer peaks between her fingers, shrieks, runs into the bathroom and slams the door.
DAVE: Some mysteries should stay mysteries.
Dave walks over to the armoire, ejects the video cassette and waves it in front of the camera.
DAVE (cont’): This. This made our checkout a little awkward.
INT. BED & BREAKFAST FOYER – DAY
Johannes and Ana stand side by side, grinning. Ana holds out an ornate serving tray and presents Jennifer with her credit card, a receipt and an antique fountain pen. Jennifer avoids eye contact and double checks the charges. Dave stares up at a chandelier.
ANA: So… was everything to your liking this weekend?
JENNIFER: Yeah. Uh-huh. Great.
DAVE: (to the camera) Until twenty minutes ago.
JOHANNES: Did you enjoy our fine selection of films?
Jennifer shudders as she signs her name. She tears the receipt when she dots her “i”.
JENNIFER: Yeah. Classic.
Johannes sneaks a look at Ana and she smiles knowingly. Jennifer pivots, hooks her elbow into Dave’s arm and leads him to the door.
JENNIFER: Come on. I don’t want to miss our ferry.
DAVE: (going, to the camera) Like I said, a little awkward.
EXT. BC FERRY – DAY
Jennifer and Dave stand together at the bow of the ship. Jennifer hugs herself and stares toward the Mainland. Dave puts an arm around Jennifer and kisses her on the temple. She doesn’t react.
Dave turns and looks into the camera.
DAVE: (to the camera) So that’s the story of our only trip to Saltspring Island. Pretty good, huh? Just imagine if it were true.
Jennifer relaxes and becomes at ease with herself and her environment. She smiles at Dave as he walks toward the camera.
DAVE: Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a complete work of fiction. Before we lived together, Jennifer and I did take a trip to Saltspring Island.
EXT. BED & BREAKFAST – DAY
A large country manor sits upon a hill, overlooking the harbour. Jennifer admires the view from the driveway. Dave appears at her side with their luggage.
DAVE: (to the camera) We did stay at a lovely B&B.
INT. BED & BREAKFAST BEDROOM – DAY
Dave flings his suitcase open and begins unpacking. Jennifer carries her shampoo and conditioner into the bathroom.
DAVE: (to the camera) They did put us in the Rose Room.
INT. FRENCH BISTRO – NIGHT
The candlelit dining room is almost full to capacity. Jennifer and Dave sit at a table near the kitchen door. Dave dabs the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin.
DAVE: (to the camera) We did splurge on an expensive French dinner.
Dave toasts Jennifer with his wine glass and she returns the gesture.
DAVE (cont’): So what’s different?
INT. FLOAT PLANE – DAY
The small plane flies over the Strait of Juan de Fuca across an overcast sky. Dave and Jennifer sit in a passenger row, behind the PILOT (45).
DAVE: (to the camera, shouting over the noise of the prop engine) Well, first off, we didn’t travel by boat.
EXT. BED & BREAKFAST – DAY
Dave reaches into the trunk of a taxi cab and removes two suitcases. At the other end of the driveway, a balding MR. HOST (50) rinses the cobble stones with a garden hose.
DAVE: (to the camera) Our hosts were not European or even the slightest bit interesting.
INT. BED & BREAKFAST FOYER – DAY
Dave and Jennifer stand in the middle of the entranceway, hands in pockets.
DAVE: (to the camera) I can’t even recall their names.
A woman, MRS. HOST (50), pokes her head out of the kitchen. She holds up her index finger indicating that she will be “just a minute” and retreats out of sight.
Jennifer looks at Dave, unimpressed.
DAVE (cont’): In fact, there wasn’t much to remember about them or our stay.
INT. BED & BREAKFAST BEDROOM – MORNING
The two suitcases lie open on the bed. Dave folds shirts into his suitcase.
DAVE: (to the camera) The weekend was alright, I guess. We spent most of it indoors. And they did have a decent selection of films.
Jennifer enters from the bathroom toting her shampoo and conditioner. She crosses to the bed and stubs her toe.
JENNIFER: Ow!
DAVE: (to Jennifer) You okay?
JENNIFER: Yeah, I just kicked something.
Jennifer bends down and picks up a VHS cassette: Happy Gilmore. She crosses to the open armoire, slides the cassette into an empty space on the shelf and then spots the four unmarked tapes.
JENNIFER: Hmm, what are these?
DAVE: (to the camera) And there were four mystery tapes.
JENNIFER: What do you think is on them?
DAVE: (to Jennifer) I don’t know, maybe it’s porn.
JENNIFER: Yeah, amateur porn featuring our B&B hosts. (laughing) Ohmigod! Could you imagine?
Dave looks into the camera.
DAVE: (to Jennifer and the camera) You know what? I think I can.
FADE OUT.
© 2011 davewrites.ca
Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.
Groucho Marx (via justbesplendid)- Pulling a fast one
Note: This didn’t happen. I kinda wish it did, but it didn’t.
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FADE IN:
INT. MCDONALD’S RESTAURANT – DAY
A dozen employees swarm around the cramped steel kitchen. A female CASHIER (20) breaks free from crowd. She makes her way to the far end of the service counter and hands a takeout bag to an AUTO MECHANIC (50). He tugs the bag open and looks inside.
CASHIER: Ketchup, straws and napkins are to your right.
The Mechanic grunts and shuffles away. The Cashier waves a hand above her head.
CASHIER (cont’): I can take the next order over here, please!
A BICYCLE COURIER (30), still wearing his helmet and sunglasses, steps from the front of the communal line.
CASHIER (cont’): Welcome to Mc—
BICYCLE COURIER: Combo three. Super size. Coke. Thanks.
The Cashier enters his order into her register. He slaps a 10 dollar bill onto the counter then turns around and surveys the lineup.
The line of customers, over 20 deep, stretches all the way to the entrance. All walks of life are represented including 2 business men wearing off the rack suits—DAVE (36) and PATRICK (32).
Dave unbuttons his jacket and hikes up his pants.
DAVE: What are you getting?
Patrick checks his watch.
PATRICK: I don’t know. What do you recommend?
DAVE: What? What do you mean?
PATRICK: What’s good here?
DAVE: Dude. It’s McDonald’s.
PATRICK: I guess I could go for a hamburger, but they have so many to choose from.
Dave’s jaw drops.
DAVE: Alright. This may sound weird, because it sounds weird in my head, but… how many times have you been to McDonald’s?
PATRICK: Once or twice.
DAVE: Like, once or twice this week? This past month? Year?
PATRICK: Back in college.
DAVE: Back in college! So, like, once or twice ever?
PATRICK: There was a MacDonald’s close to campus. I went with classmates a couple of times.
DAVE: How about when you were a kid?
PATRICK: My folks were health nuts. My sisters are vegetarians. We didn’t eat out much and never had fast food.
DAVE: Hmm, I’ve never experienced pity and envy at the same time before.
Dave points to the backlit menus.
DAVE (cont’): You mean this isn’t permanently etched into your subconscious.
PATRICK: No, but I must admit the pictures look tasty.
Dave rolls his eyes.
DAVE: Wow. This is foreign territory.
PATRICK: I can handle it. It’s like a cafeteria, right?
DAVE: Listen, I pitched McDonald’s because we’re in a hurry and it’s on our way. We can go somewhere else. Seriously, I don’t want you to eat this shit against your will.
PATRICK: We’re already here. The line’s moving fast. I’ll be fine.
DAVE: I don’t know, man. You’ve got me re-examining my life, my health.
Dave runs both hands through his hair and sighs.
DAVE (cont’): For Christ’s sake, have I been sleepwalking for 30 years? Where am I? What have I done?
Dave runs a hand across his belly.
DAVE (cont’): Goddamn it. You are what you eat. And I’m a piece of shit.
PATRICK: Relax.
DAVE: I’m a chubby piece of shit who’s too lazy to eat right.
PATRICK: Come on. Keep moving. We’re next.
DAVE: I don’t know if I should, man. I just don’t know anymore. What the hell am I doing here? Why are any of us here?
Dave bends forward and puts his hands on his knees.
PATRICK: You’re hungry and you need to eat.
DAVE: But this? This!
CASHIER (O.S.): I can help the next customer over here!
Patrick taps Dave on the shoulder.
PATRICK: We’re up. Let’s go.
Patrick makes his way to the Cashier’s till. Dave trails behind, reluctant, ashamed.
CASHIER: Hi! Welcome to McDonald’s. Can I take your order?
Patrick serves up a sly grin.
PATRICK: Yeah, gimme a quarter cheese, large fries, large root beer and six nuggets. Oh, and can I get two dipping sauces? One barbecue and one hot mustard. Thanks.
Dave’s look of torment morphs into disdain.
DAVE: You son of a—
PATRICK: The lady’s waiting.
Dave glares through his friend.
PATRICK (cont’): Hurry up. My treat.
DAVE: Oh, you better believe you’re buying.
Dave turns to the Cashier slowly, without taking his eyes off Patrick.
INT. MCDONALD’S RESTAURANT – MOMENTS LATER
Dave and Patrick hover over the condiments station. Dave gathers a straw, a couple of napkins and a packet of salt. He drops them onto his tray. Patrick pumps ketchup into 4 miniature paper cups.
Dave glares at Patrick’s ketchup and shakes his head.
DAVE: You son of a bitch. You had me believe that I was a filthy piece of shit.
PATRICK: I have two little girls. Where do you think we go after soccer practice? Jesus Christ! I went to McDonald’s twice on the weekend.
Dave turns his back and walks away.
INT. MCDONALD’S RESTAURANT – MOMENTS LATER
Dave and Patrick sit at a small table next to the window. David unwraps his cheeseburger, lifts it to his mouth, frowns and puts it down without taking a bite.
PATRICK: My first real job was at McDonald’s. I was a Crew Chief at 17. It’s still on my résumé. And I know you’ve seen my résumé. You’re the guy who hired me.
DAVE: And I can fire your ass too.
PATRICK: Hey now. All I did was play dumb. You spewed that self-deprecating shit on your own.
DAVE: Shut up and eat your burger.
PATRICK: Thank you. I will.
Patrick takes a gigantic bite of his cheeseburger, smiles and chews with his mouth open. Dave rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
FADE OUT.
© 2011 davewrites.ca
- Forgotten teaser
Note: The following is a work of fiction. I just discovered this sequence in the Notepad on my iPhone. The file’s date stamp tells me I wrote it 13 months ago, on June 23, 2010… yet I have no recollection of doing so.
Here it is in its entirety and exactly as I found it this evening.
————————
FADE IN:
EXT. FRONTIER HOMESTEAD – HIGH NOON
A GALLOPING HORSE slows and stops inches from the gate. THE RIDER slides out of his saddle and touches down in the dirt, spurs jangle. He hitches the horse to a fencepost, removes his stetson and flogs his coat with it. A cloud of red dust envelopes his broad frame.
The Rider steps out of the dust and moseys through the gate toward a modest shack. He slips his hat back on and glances over his shoulder—nothing between him and the snow-capped mountains on the horizon.
EXT. FRONTIER SHACK – MOMENTS LATER
The Rider arrives at the shack’s front door. He places one hand on his hip then opens the door to reveal—
INT. FRONTIER SHACK – CONTINUOUS
A small, sparse room with only two things of note: an old table at the back of the room and an even older PROSPECTOR sitting at that table.
The Prospector squints at The Rider’s silohuette in the doorway.
PROSPECTOR: Can I help you, mister?
THE RIDER: Are you Roy Kimble?
PROSPECTOR: No. But I must be wearing his clothes. You’re the third person to ask me that today. (beat) Are you here to make a deposit or a withdrawal?
THE RIDER: What’s the difference?
The Prospector loses interest in the conversation. He spits tobacco juice onto the floor and wipes his chin.
The Rider shifts his stance to reveal the holster on his hip and the gun at his hand.
PROSPECTOR: Well, if it’s blood you want…
© 2011 davewrites.ca
- Okay, lesson learned
FADE IN:
INT. SUBURBAN CLASSROOM – DAY
Two dozen teenagers loiter about, talking in small groups—nothing unruly, just unsupervised.
The school bell rings as MR. FEHR (40) enters the room. He places a coffee mug on the corner of his desk and claps his hands.
MR. FEHR: Okay, geniuses. Take your seats. Let’s get started.
The conversation circles collapse as each student meanders toward their assigned seat. DAVE (13) makes his way from the back of the room all the way down to the second desk in the first row.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay… Did everyone have a great weekend?
The students mumble their collective indifference. The teacher rolls his eyes and clucks his tongue.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Aww, I’m sorry to hear that. Did everyone manage to complete their homework assignment?
No response. Most students cast their gaze against a wall or onto the floor.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, let’s try that again. Raise your hand if you finished your one-page narrative.
It takes a few seconds, but eventually every student raises a hand above their head.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, excellent. And keep your hand up if you’re ready to read your prose to the rest of the class.
All arms drop, including Dave’s. He tucks both hands under his legs.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, I expected that. But I also promised we’d be reading out loud today.
The students share a collective groan.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, how should we do this? Alphabetical?
Dave shakes his head.
Mr. Fehr surveys his students and makes eye contact with Gillian (13). She sits in front of Dave, in the first desk of the first row. Gillian offers Mr. Fehr a reluctant smile.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, we’ll start in this corner with Gillian. Then we’ll continue up and down each row until everyone has a turn. (looking at the clock) And if we keep a good pace, you should all get your turn today.
The class looks less than enthused.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, I’ll make you a deal. If you guys keep a brisk pace, and we finish early, I’ll let you go for lunch early. Deal?
The students nod. Mr. Fehr sits on the edge of his desk and retrieves his coffee mug. He gestures to the empty space beside the desk.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, Gillian. You’re up.
Gillian rises out of her seat, homework in hand. She twirls a finger through her ponytail as she makes her way to the head of the class.
GILLIAN: Ahem. This isn’t very good, but—
MR. FEHR: Okay, thank you!
Dumbfounded, Gillian looks at Dave. He appears just as perplexed. She turns to face the teacher.
MR. FEHR (cont’): You can sit down now.
GILLIAN: Don’t you want me to read my story?
MR. FEHR: No. Why would I? It isn’t any good.
GILLIAN: How do you know that?
MR. FEHR: You just told us.
Gillian’s mouth opens and closes a few times. She remains standing, quivering, petrified. She looks at Dave again. He looks away.
MR. FEHR (cont’): With an intro like that, there’s nothing you could read to make me think otherwise. Please, take your seat.
Flushed of face, Gillian returns to her desk and sits down. Mr. Fehr turns his attention to Dave.
MR. FEHR (cont’): Okay, Mr. Allen! What have you got for us today?
Dave swallows hard then leaps to his feet. He waves his assignment above his head.
DAVE: Wait till you hear this! It’s the best thing I’ve ever written!
MR. FEHR: Excellent! Can’t wait. Blow us all away.
Gillian slumps in her seat. Dave strides to the front of the class. Mr. Fehr sips his coffee.
FADE OUT.
© 2011 davewrites.ca
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Posts
- Who'th on firtht?
- HIM: Ever had a gay impulse?
- ME: Once.
- HIM: Really? Did you act on it?
- ME: Yup.
- HIM: When?
- ME: Remember last week when I said your shoes didn't match your belt?
- HIM: Yeah.
- ME: That was it.
Solve a chronic guitar problem by drinking beer. Is there a simpler or more elegant solution? I think not.
- Worship not these false idols
- Co-Worker: Omigod! You don't watch American Idol?
- Me: Uhhh, sorry. Not a fan of karaoke.
- Co-Worker: But Idol is soooo much more than that!
- Me: No. No, it's not.
- Co-Worker: What about all the drama?
- Me: It's a tedious popularity contest. It has all the drama of a high school election.
- Co-Worker: It's SO inspirational!
- Me: I'm inspired by originality, not mimicry.
- Co-Worker: Are you going to watch X Factor?
Elmore Leonard’s rules for good writing. More rules by Henry Miller, Margaret Atwood, Neil Gaiman & George Orwell. And timeless advice from Stephen King, Anne Lamott, Ray Bradbury, and more.
- ...because they're in EVERYTHING!
- ME: What do you want to do for our anniversary?
- WIFE: We have reservations at that Greek place on the beach.
- ME: I meant after that.
- WIFE: Like what?
- ME: Want to see a movie?
- WIFE: Sure.
- ME: What do you want to see?
- WIFE: Something without Jason Bateman or Jonah Hill.
- ME: Okay. Maybe next year.
- Pass the ... umm ...
Took a sec, didn’t it.
In our writing, let’s avoid negative constructions that make our readers pause — even if it’s ever so slightly.
- Selective hearing
- Me: I'm sorry, did you say effable or laughable?
- Her: Effable. I said Sarah Palin is effable.
- Me: Oh well, honest mistake.
- 10 Myths About Introverts
Myth #1 – Introverts don’t like to talk.
This is not true. Introverts just don’t talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk. Get an introvert talking about something they are interested in, and they won’t shut up for days.Myth #2 – Introverts are shy.
Shyness has nothing to do with being an Introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don’t interact for the sake of interacting. If you want to talk to an Introvert, just start talking. Don’t worry about being polite.Myth #3 – Introverts are rude.
Introverts often don’t see a reason for beating around the bush with social pleasantries. They want everyone to just be real and honest. Unfortunately, this is not acceptable in most settings, so Introverts can feel a lot of pressure to fit in, which they find exhausting.Myth #4 – Introverts don’t like people.
On the contrary, Introverts intensely value the few friends they have. They can count their close friends on one hand. If you are lucky enough for an introvert to consider you a friend, you probably have a loyal ally for life. Once you have earned their respect as being a person of substance, you’re in.Myth #5 – Introverts don’t like to go out in public.
Nonsense. Introverts just don’t like to go out in public FOR AS LONG. They also like to avoid the complications that are involved in public activities. They take in data and experiences very quickly, and as a result, don’t need to be there for long to “get it.” They’re ready to go home, recharge, and process it all. In fact, recharging is absolutely crucial for Introverts.Myth #6 – Introverts always want to be alone.
Introverts are perfectly comfortable with their own thoughts. They think a lot. They daydream. They like to have problems to work on, puzzles to solve. But they can also get incredibly lonely if they don’t have anyone to share their discoveries with. They crave an authentic and sincere connection with ONE PERSON at a time.Myth #7 – Introverts are weird.
Introverts are often individualists. They don’t follow the crowd. They’d prefer to be valued for their novel ways of living. They think for themselves and because of that, they often challenge the norm. They don’t make most decisions based on what is popular or trendy.Myth #8 – Introverts are aloof nerds.
Introverts are people who primarily look inward, paying close attention to their thoughts and emotions. It’s not that they are incapable of paying attention to what is going on around them, it’s just that their inner world is much more stimulating and rewarding to them.Myth #9 – Introverts don’t know how to relax and have fun.
Introverts typically relax at home or in nature, not in busy public places. Introverts are not thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies. If there is too much talking and noise going on, they shut down. Their brains are too sensitive to the neurotransmitter called Dopamine. Introverts and Extroverts have different dominant neuro-pathways. Just look it up.Myth #10 – Introverts can fix themselves and become Extroverts.
A world without Introverts would be a world with few scientists, musicians, artists, poets, filmmakers, doctors, mathematicians, writers, and philosophers. That being said, there are still plenty of techniques an Extrovert can learn in order to interact with Introverts. (Yes, I reversed these two terms on purpose to show you how biased our society is.) Introverts cannot “fix themselves” and deserve respect for their natural temperament and contributions to the human race. In fact, one study (Silverman, 1986) showed that the percentage of Introverts increases with IQ.(via http://www.carlkingcreative.com/10-myths-about-introverts)
Next on my wish list: Daddy Mojo 6-string Resophonic w/Quarterman aluminum cone, Ted Crocker Stonehenge pickup and sunburst finish.
- Game Night
HeSaid and SheSaid play Trivial Pursuit…
She Said: What is the second smartest animal, after man?
He Said: Woman?
She Said: Screw you, it’s dolphin.
He Said: So woman is third?
