Sunday, April 3, 2011

Kitchen Conversations

Conversations that should never make it into any screenplay, or play, but are too good to not be written down.


Three girls and two guys sit around a coffee table. Drinks in hand and dressed to the T, these twenty-somethings are ready to conquer a Saturday night. The empty and half empty bottles of wine and spirits stand guard on the coffee table, forbidding the threat of boredom.

JANE, a tan brunette with a go-get-em attitude, is commanding the floor.

JANE:  No, here's how it happened: So, my brother used to play guitar in this band, like this complete bro jam band, like Dave Matthews Band or some shit. Anyway, so his band was playing at this festival, right? And my mom is the only one that can make it/is actually willing to go listen to my brother's shitty band at this ridiculous hippie ass festival. So my mom gets there, my brother's been there all fucking weekend, and she immediately starts texting me, "Jane, wish you were here! Free drinks! Yay!" And I'm like "Oh fuck. Already?" So I'm like, "Whatever, this is nothing new." And I move on with my day not thinking anything of it, right? A couple hours later I get this text from her that goes, like, "Oh my God it's so weird how you have to get down on your knees to smoke pot now!" And I'm just like "Uh, what?" So I call my brother and I'm like, "Where the fuck is Mom and what happened?" and he's like, "I don't know! She just got drunk backstage and ran off!" So, me, my other brothers, and my dad all fucking high tail to that damn festival and go searching for my mom. We end up finding her drunk off her ass with a blunt in her hand in this circle of fucking fat rednecks with no teeth and beer stains on their fucking wife beaters and we like pry her out of there and the whole ride home she's just giggling and telling these awkward stories about her and Dad in college while my Dad is trying to either shut her up or change the subject. It was easily one of the weirdest days of my life. And that's why I don't like smoking pot anymore.

All other persons in living room are nearly asphyxiated from laughing too hard for too long. 

1 comment:

J. P. Alexander said...

"this ridiculous hippie ass festival" --love this monologue. I want to read the whole play!