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by Kelly O’Brien
This play may not be rewritten or tampered with in any way. Those who are interested may perform it, but they must give credit to the author and (if they would be so kind) email her if it will be performed. 3m 2f MOM: Middle-aged mother of three who is in control of everything, especially her family. Tries to make everyone have a good time. DAD: Middle-aged father; tries to be cool like one of the kids, but ends up looking like a dork; usually under the control of MOM KATIE: Sarcastic teenager in constant conflict with MOM; always getting picked on by older brothers TIM and SEAN, but the kids tend to stick together in opposition of parents or just for a laugh. TIM: Twenty-something who’s still living at home; the oldest child, usually the leader of the pack, and always up for annoying everyone. SEAN: Middle child who is going off to college. Quiet, but always willing to team up with TIM to cause trouble, especially to pick on KATIE.
A mini van. DAD is driving and MOM is in the passenger seat. KATIE and SEAN, both teenagers, are sitting in the bucket seats; TIM, a twenty-something, sits in the back. Van is full of bags, luggage, junk food, and wrappers. MOM: (exasperated) What now?! KATIE: All I wanted…was a slurpie. MOM: For the love of God, Katie, how old are we?! If we didn’t get out on the road by— DAD: Precisely seven o’clock, we would be stuck behind miles and miles of morning rush-hour traffic! (vigorously puts baseball hat on and mutters about different routes) We would’ve been able to fit in a bathroom break along the way (through gritted teeth) had we been on time… MOM: (interrupts) But thanks to princess over here, who likes to take forty-five minute showers—wait, no bathroom break? SEAN: I’m pretty sure it was more like an hour. TIM: Yeah, I timed it. Ya really gotta stop slappin’ your fat around so much in there and just get in and out. KATIE: (pointing at SEAN) You can just shut your damn mouth, and you (pointing at TIM) spent twice as long as me in there using up all of my conditioner on your ugly head, and then push me out of the other bathroom just so you can buckle your pants in front of the mirror?! Who needs a mirror to buckle their pants?! MOM: (to KATIE) Hey! If I hear you cuss one more time missy, I’m gonna put soap in your mouth! (pointing to TIM) You stop bothering your sister, and you (pointing to SEAN) just…go to sleep or something. Silence KATIE: Where is this soap you threaten me with? MOM: Quit with the attitude, Katie. KATIE: (meekly) Okay…gosh. A few seemingly long moments of silence. Kids look bored. Parents look frazzled. MOM: Babe, slow down a little bit. These people are nuts to go seventy on the highway like this. Just go the limit. DAD: (rolls eyes, ignores MOM) MOM: (starts gripping back of driver’s seat hard) Watch out for that big truck coming up on the side! Oh, I don’t know why these huge trucks are allowed to drive on the highway! They shouldn’t go that fast… KATIE: Where are they supposed to drive—in a cornfield? MOM: Kaitie! TIM: Shit, will everybody just calm down? KATIE: Hey! Tim totally said a cuss word! Mom?! Aren’t you gonna do anything about it? MOM: (ignores KATIE) Let’s listen to the radio. MOM hits a button and a popular rap song begins blaring. Kids start dancing and singing to the song simultaneously. DAD looks amused. MOM: (turns radio off) Not that! I am not going to listen to any (mimics sound) “thump-da-thump-da-thump” music. Let’s listen to the “Remember the Titans” CD for awhile. (puts in CD) ALL KIDS: NO!!! TIM: We listen to that frickin’ CD over and over every time we go on a road trip. KATIE: Yeah, I’m starting to associate all our boring trips with Credence Clearwater Revival…and other groovy sound of the ‘70s. SEAN: Ya wouldn’t be far off though, would ya? Kids laugh. KATIE: Nice one, Sean. SEAN: Hey, it’s funny ‘cuz it’s true. MOM: C’mon. Let’s all sing this one! (turns up music) DAD, SEAN, TIM: Noooo! MOM and KATIE begin singing loudly and having a good time. SEAN and TIM chime in even louder and more off-tune to annoy everyone. All getting louder and louder until… DAD: (shouts) Alright! Enough of that nonsense…let’s go back to quiet time. KATIE: We could always listen to the Dixie Chicks? DAD, SEAN, TIM: NO! (MOM: Oooh, yeah!) SEAN: Hell no! KATIE: (whines) Mom! (motions towards SEAN) TIM: Okay, I got a nice compromise…(climbs over everyone and puts in CD) Song “18 Wheels on a Big Rig” starts. Kids sing along for awhile. MOM looks amused. DAD: What, are you guys like four or something? Turn that crap off…(mumbles) you kids are a constant headache… TIM: Hey Sean, ya better get used to that kind of music now that you’re going to college in “the corn!” (laughs) KATIE: Yeah, I can’t believe you’re going to Chapman College in Chapman, Illinois! I bet the only store they have is called—(jazz hands) Chapman! TIM and KATIE laugh. SEAN: Yeah, yeah. If you guys hate it so much, why’d ya come? Silence MOM: They wanted to see you off to college (extra emphasis) because they know they’re gonna miss you! KATIE: (mockingly; in Aussie accent) Ya hear that, Little Tugger? We’re gonna miss you! TIM: Yeah, we wuv you! KATIE and TIM pat, pet, and hug SEAN and squeeze his cheeks. SEAN: Okay, get off me! You guys are so queer. KATIE: Well, what can I say, I love a good four hour drive to the sticks. Really clears up the sinuses, ya know? TIM: Hey, I got a good one. (clears throat; begins in a jingle tone, with country accent) I got no teeth and I lost my hair, It’s Chapman! It’s CHAPMAN! I wear dirty underwear, It’s Chapman! It’s CHAPMAN! KATIE and TIM laugh hysterically. SEAN trying not to laugh. Car begins to get quiet. SEAN looking distractedly out the window, TIM listening to music on headphones, and KATIE sleeping awkwardly with mouth open (maybe snoring). TIM nudges SEAN and points at KATIE. TIM and SEAN begin to put Cheetos in KATIE’s mouth, and SEAN takes pictures on his cell phone. KATIE wakes up sputtering and angry. KATIE: What the hell is wrong with you people?! MOM: Kathleen Elizabeth! That’s strike two; one more, and you’re grounded the second we get back. KATIE: (visibly upset) Wha?—But—didn’t you—have you been in a coma? Did you not see what they did to me? (gesturing wildly) MOM: Oh, they’ll be in trouble. We’ll stop feeding them or something… DAD: They’re in trouble right now. If you boys pull another stunt like that again, I’ll start pulling leg hairs. (MOM: Ya hear that? Huh? Huh??) TIM and SEAN still laughing. DAD: Ya think I’m kidding? I can reach back there. I’ll pull this van over if I have to. Sudden silence. DAD: Hey, you guys want to hear something funny? Crickets DAD: (hears cricket noise) Huh. Anyways…I’ve been training this guy, Mujibar, over the phone to take over a position in India. So one day I say, “Mujibar, you have to pass this final test to qualify for this job.” Mujibar says he’s ready, so I tell him, “Make a sentence using the words yellow, pink, and green.” So this Mujibar fella says, (in Indian accent) (All others mouth last line with annoyed faces.) “The telephone goes green, green, and I pinked it up and say, ‘Yellow, this is Mujibar.’” Silence. DAD smiles. Phone rings TIM: Hey babe, what’s up? (pause) Yeah, we’re almost there. I’ll call ya when I get back. (pause, then quietly and quickly) I love you too, bye. KATIE: So, how’s the wife? TIM: Prettier than you, thanks for asking. KATIE: Ooh, not very nice are we? SEAN: (sensing the tension, interrupts) Hey, did you guys see that episode of “South Park” last night? KATIE: Yeah! The one where the lady had a fetus attached to her head? TIM: Yep, that was pretty sweet. SEAN: Yep. Silence. Everyone looking out the windows. KATIE: (suddenly sings) Pick my ears with a cotton gin, It’s Chapman! It’s CHAPMAN! Button my pants with a bobby pin, It’s Chapman! It’s CHAPMAN! Kids laugh. Parents try not to. TIM: (also sings) Chop my shoes from a hickory tree, It’s— MOM: Alright guys, that’s enough. SEAN: Nice touch with the hickory tree. KATIE: Yeah. TIM: I thought so. DAD: All right, people; we have arrived. KATIE, SEAN, TIM: (mock enthusiasm) Yaaaaay! Everyone piles out of the van. KATIE: Oh, thank God! (stretches legs) I thought I was gonna have a blood clot in there. DAD: Well, in my day, we were all crammed into the backseat of a [model of car] without air conditioning, reclining seats, or even seat belts! KATIE: That’s great, Dad…did the dinosaurs get in the way at all or…? DAD: (laughs) Yeah, okay. Bags/luggage have been moved offstage left by all. All standing outside van facing SEAN. DAD: Okay, well have fun. Study hard. (shaking SEAN’s hand) See ya soon, kiddo. TIM: (punches SEAN’s arm) Bye, loser. KATIE: (tousles SEAN’s hair) See ya! (TIM and KATIE leave stage and return with popcorn and slurpies and watch MOM crying with entertainment.) MOM: (clutches SEAN, sobbing) Okay. (sniff) Well, do you have everything? I think you have everything… SEAN: Mom, I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine. If I need anything, I’ll call, okay? MOM: (starts sobbing again) Yeah, okay. Don’t forget to call (sniff) a lot, okay? (hugs SEAN) Oh! (Pulls teddy bear out of bag.) You almost forgot Mr. Snuggles! Because I just know how you can’t sleep without Mr. Snuggles! (Hands SEAN bear; SEAN tries to hide bear behind his back.) Bye, I love you. Have fun. SEAN exits stage left. MOM, DAD, KATIE, and TIM quietly get back to the van and start the drive back home. The car is oddly silent. Everyone looks kind of sad, staring out of the window. And suddenly… MOM: Oh my God, I don’t think they see us! TIM: Dad, watch out! DAD: Shit! MOM and KATIE scream. Black out lights. Lights slowly fade on DAD: Is everyone okay? MOM: Yeah. TIM: I’m fine. All look at KATIE KATIE: I spilled my slurpie. Lights fade
By Kelly O’Brien
This play may not be rewritten or tampered with in any way. Those who are interested may perform it, but they must give credit to the author and (if they would be so kind) email her if it will be performed. 4m, 1f FLETCHER: English businessman in his early thirties. Very sarcastic and quick to blame Bogtree. BOGTREE: Almost the exact same English businessman as Fletcher, but more patient and a little bit chunkier. Both have very pompous English accents. JOHN: Average American in his late twenties; organ transporter DOCTOR: Woman in her mid-thirties who seems to have to much time on her hands. YOUNG MAN: Intern to the doctor, eager to learn the trade.
Scene opens with two English gentleman standing side-by-side, dressed to a T in suits, at center stage. They’re both silent for a minute because the author likes awkward silences—it’s kind of her thing.
FLETCHER: Well, you really put your foot in it this time, Bogtree. BOGTREE: Me?! Why, I never! If it wasn’t for your poor eyesight and headstrong ways, we wouldn’t be in such a kerflummex. I mean, c’mon… “Out of Order” means “Out of Order,” Fletcher! FLETCHER (confused): “Out of Order,” you say? Heh…I thought it was something like “Made to Order” or even “Outer Door.” Yes well… (Getting defensive) I may have had time to investigate the matter further, but we did have an important meeting to attend, for which we were already terribly late! (Pause) FLETCHER: And “kerflummex”? Why don’t you just put on an ascot, smoke a bloody pipe, and sell “I heart the Queen” t-shirts?! Honestly… BOGTREE: Ah, piss off. (Suddenly remembers the argument.) And yes, I do recall that we were late, but do you think that makes a bit of difference now? The meeting has been over for hours and the investors are probably on private jets halfway home by now. (Depressed) Which is where we should be…with their money! (Grumbles) FLETCHER: Oh, don’t even start with me! We would’ve had plenty of time if you hadn’t stopped to talk to that awful American woman. BOGTREE: I was only being polite! (Thinking out loud) Although, she was kind of awful…with that ghastly dress and that peaky face… (Motions with hands) not to mention the hat with the feathers— FLETCHER: Bogtree! Does it look like I care about her bloody hat?! My point was that she was wasting everyone’s time! How could you ever possibly give her directions to the Dress Barn (Imitates woman) “somewhere near 5th Avenue”? BOGTREE: Might I bring up the “Out of Order” sign again? FLETCHER: Yes, and you might want to mention how you managed to spot this fateful sign and not bother to bring it up before we went in? BOGTREE (Starting to shout): Why, I’d be delighted! You see, thanks to your kind gesture to let me carry both our briefcases, the contracts, and your non-fat latte, I didn’t quite have control over the situation while you were shoving me into this death box! FLETCHER: Well, maybe I thought you could use a non-fat latte because if you didn’t have such a fat ass, I might not have been forced to shove you into anything! Both men attack each other, trying to choke one another while screaming: BOGTREE: You little bog-trotter! FLETCHER: I’ll kill you, ya little turf cutter! Ahh!!! BOGTREE: I’d like to see you try with those chicken arms! C’mon, is that all you’ve got? FLETCHER: At least I don’t look like Harry Potter’s fat uncle! BOGTREE: I oughta— JOHN: Hi. Could you press 9 for me, please? BOGTREE (Elated): Oh! You mean it’s fixed? Good show, old chap, we’re gonna get out of this scrape yet! Both frantically push buttons. Suddenly, FLETCHER pins JOHN up against the wall and shouts: FLETCHER: How did you get in here?! JOHN: I pressed the “Up” button, same as you. BOGTREE (Softly): You didn’t happen to see the sign, did you. JOHN: I don’t think I know what you’re talking about, I was a little distracted. You guys were yelling pretty loudly, plus… (Nervous) Uh…could you just press 9 for me? I gotta get this heart over to the chopper headed for NYU hospital ASAP. BOGTREE (Slumping to the ground): Well, I hope you have enough ice in that cooler to freeze hell over because you’re not getting out of here any time soon. JOHN: What do you mean? FLETCHER: He means that we’re stuck in here because the elevator is out of order, you twit. BOGTREE: Oh, don’t even start with “Out of Order” again! JOHN: Wait a minute. How did I—uh, or any of us—get in the elevator in the first place is it’s out of order? BOGTREE: It appears that the buttons on the outside of the elevator are working properly, but the controls in here…are…not. FLETCHER (Pretends to open envelope): And the Nobel Prize goes to… BOGTREE: What’s important (Glares at Fletcher) is that the phone and the emergency buttons aren’t functioning either— JOHN (Slowly): And neither is my cell phone or my walky-talky, so…we’re trapped. BOGTREE: Bingo. FLETCHER: Thanks for all of that, Sherlock. I do hope Nancy Drew will come rescue us next, so we can all go out for ice cream later! BOGTREE: Does your constant sarcasm give you any comfort, Mr. Fletcher? FLETCHER (Sits): Yes…it does, actually. JOHN (Also sits): Well, I see you two have gotten to know each other pretty well in here. FLETCHER: Oh no, Mr. Bogtree and I have been good friends since we were tots. JOHN (To BOGTREE): Was he being sarcastic just now? BOGTREE: I know—it’s hard to tell. But he speaks the truth on this matter. JOHN: Then why do you guys call each other by your last names? Isn’t that a bit formal? FLETCHER: We’re not barbarians, you know. BOGTREE: Yes, first names are reserved only for the use of mothers and as a marker on your tombstone. FLETCHER: Since we haven’t got anything better to do, pretend that I care, and tell me your name. JOHN (Looks horribly depressed and sighs): My name is John Trent, I just killed a guy (Holds up cooler), I’ll probably lose my job after this…along with my wife, and I just sat in gum. How do you do? FLETCHER: Americans are such terribly depressing people. BOGTREE: Yes, quite. Everyone is silent for a moment, then— JOHN: So, since we obviously know what I do for a living, what type of business are you gents in? BOTH (Look at each other with shifty eyes): Business. JOHN: Business. Yes, well…if you won’t tell me what you do, at least give me your full names—in case I’m in charge of marking the tombstones. BOGTREE: As you wish, Mr. Trent. My name is Tobias Bogtree. (Shakes hands with JOHN) Pleasure. JOHN: Yeah. By the way, you can call me John. JOHN and BOGTREE look expectantly at FLETCHER. FLETCHER: Oh, all right. (Gets wallet out and looks at ID.) It appears to be…Danby. Oh…that’s quite terrible actually. BOGTREE: You had to look at your driver’s license? FLETCHER: What? I haven’t seen my mother in quite a bit. Another bit of a pause. BOGTREE: Well, Jonathan, I must bring up the proposal of eating that heart in your cooler. JOHN: Whoa, hang on, you can’t be serious?! FLETCHER: It would be just the thing with a thin layer of Honey Dijon. JOHN: Again, sarcastic or no? BOGTREE: It’s really up in the air at this point. But you can’t think I’m that crazy for wanting to eat the bloody thing. We’ve been in here forever! JOHN: Listen Toby, we’ve been in here—what—one, maybe two hours? And anyway, I’m at the point where I’d rather eat you two freaks before I’d eat this heart to survive! BOGTREE: What is this “Toby” thing you speak of? FLETCHER: It’s not me, is it? (Looks in wallet again.) BOGTREE: Oh I know! It’s that chap who rode Seabiscuit or…that Spiderman fellow! JOHN (In a dejected voice): Tobey Maguire. BOGTREE: Yes, that’s the ticket! JOHN: Okay, great. Well, I have a deck of cards in my bag from my lunch break if anyone wants to play. FLETCHER: I suppose it will give us something to do until we get out of this place. BOGTREE: Yes, we’ll play for the heart! While JOHN is dealing the cards, a woman and a young man wearing lab coats walk in from stage left and stop just next to the elevator. YOUNG MAN: And what are your findings on these patients, doctor? DOCTOR: Well, they all seem to believe that they’re stuck in an elevator day after day. Those two there (Points to BOGTREE and FLETCHER) aren’t even English…I think they’re brothers from Queens. The other one is a pre-med student who cracked under the pressure. YOUNG MAN: Shouldn’t they be isolated? They seem like they could be dangerous. DOCTOR: Nah, they’ll be fine. It’s useful to study their interactions with one another. Plus, they’ve been my only entertainment since “The OC” got cancelled. Watch this. (Stamps foot.) JOHN: Ya hear that? I think someone’s coming for us! FLETCHER: Terrible shame, I just got Gin! BOGTREE: We’re playing poker! YOUNG MAN: Doctor, how long should we let this go on? DOCTOR: At least until they find out that it’s my turkey sandwich they’ve got in that cooler. It should put on an entirely new spin on the game. BOGTREE: I’m telling you, that heart smells like smoked turkey! Lights fade on the three playing cards.
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