Short Stories & Plays

A Testament to Online Dating

          Comedy

Characters:

Guy - Average looking, very nervous and fidgety

Girl - Very attractive, obviously out of Guy’s league, but very nice, understanding and patient.

Waitress and two paramedics

Setting:

A nice, upscale restaurant

———————————————————————————————-

     (Guy and Girl enter and wait to be seated)

Guy:  So… have you ever been on a date like this before?

Girl:  No, this would be the first.

Guy:  I’ve been on a few, but never with someone as compatible.

Girl:  Yeah, Find-me-a-date.com seems really accurate and thorough.  I feel like I know a lot about you already.

Guy:  Likewise.  I don’t remember seeing anything about food preferences, so I really hope you like the restaurant; it’s one of my favorites.

Girl:  It seems very nice.

     (Waitress approaches)

Waitress:  Good evening.  Table for two?  Right this way please.

    (Both approach table, following the waitress.  The guy sits down first while the girl stands by her chair, waiting for Guy to pull it out for her)

Waitress:  I’ll be back in just one moment.

     (Waitress exits, Guy realizes that Girl is waiting for him)

Guy:  Ohh! I’m so sorry!

     (Guy jumps up to pull out chair and bumps the table, spilling a glass of water down the front of his pants)

Guy:  Ohh my goodness.  I’m such a klutz.  (wipes at pants with a napkin for a few moments)  Ohh, I’m so sorry… here, ummm, have a seat.  (Guy pulls out Girl’s chair as Waitress enters.

Waitress:  (from behind Guy)  What can I get you to drink tonight?

     (Guy is startled, and turns to face Waitress behind him with a firm grip still on Girl’s chair.  Chair moves with Guy, Girl falls flat on the floor)

Guy:  Ohhhh my goodness are you ok?!  I’m so, so sorry!  What can I do…

Girl:  No, really, it’s fine.  I’m ok.

     (Girl climbs up to seat, sits and situates herself.  Guy returns to chair)

Waitress:  So what would you like to drink?

Girl:  Red wine, please.

Guy:  Red wine for me also.

Waitress:  No problem.  I’ll be right back with your drinks.  (Exits)

     (After an uncomfortably long period of silence)

Girl:  So what do you do?

Guy:  When?

Girl:  No, I mean for a living.

Guy:  Ohh, of course, yeah… I work in I.T.

Girl:  I.T.?  Like with computers?

Guy:  (speaking very nervously) Yeah, I do a lot of program and network troubleshooting, but I also fix end user PC’s as well.  Most people don’t understand their own computers, much less a network.  I can’t imagine what it must be like to not know the differences between hubs, switches, and routers.  I mean, for starters they all operate at different layers of the OSI model… duh… but to really know the capabilities and limitations of each is crucial when implementing any kind of network, even a small home network.  Just the other day, I had to explain to someone that you can’t set up an IP address on a hub!  I mean, can you believe the nerve of some people?  You know, the ones that really kill me are the people who don’t understand how to identify the root directory of a volume when repairing FAT boot sectors and FAT tables for a FAT32 partition.

Girl:  That sounds… interesting…

Guy: (with more confidence) Ohh yeah.  It can also be a little dangerous.  You know, a few weeks ago I had to talk someone through the steps to remove files off of a hard drive corrupted by a particularly nasty boot-sector virus, using nothing but the command prompt window!

Girl:  (trying to sound interested)  Really.  Wow.

Guy:  Yeah!  One minute you’re harmlessly downloading a file, and the next you can’t even access your operating system!  Most people can’t function without a GUI-that stands for graphical user interface- I mean, one wrong move and… BAM!  There go all of your important and irreplaceable files.  That guy could’ve lost EVERYTHING!  It was tedious and exhausting, a lot like defusing a bomb.

Girl:  Wow, you must be quite the hero around the office.

Guy:  Well, you know, all in a day’s work.  So enough about me… what kind of work do you do?

Girl:  I work at the local newspaper.

Guy:  Nice!  What’s that like?

Girl:  It’s fun, I get a lot of time to…

Guy: (interrupts) I bet you’re pretty good with words then, huh?

Girl:  Well, I guess you could say…

Guy:  You know, I was a pretty good poetry writer myself.

Girl:  Really.

Guy:  Yes, yes.  You want to hear one?  Check this out.  (clears throat)  “The night is as dark as the inside of my heart’s shell.  After her, I can never love again.  My life is now empty and void of all rays of God’s sunshine.  And then you came along and brought back the light.  Your breasts are as watermelons and your rear is like two pillows on a futon.”  So what do you think?

Girl:  Well that’s… nice…

Guy:  Yeah I think so too.  I worked pretty hard on it.

     (Waitress enters)

Waitress:  So are you guys ready to order?

Guy:  Absolutely.  I’ll have the fillet Mignon with the garlic mashed potatoes, salad, and a side of portabella mushrooms.

Waitress:  Excellent choice sir.  And for you Ms.?

Girl:  I’d like the chicken parmesan, please.

Waitress:  Very good, I’ll be back shortly with your orders.

     (Guy and Girl nod to Waitress as she exits)

Girl:  So your profile said you were into recreational activities.

Guy:  Ohh boy am I?!  I am a member of the Society for Creative Anachronisms.

Girl:  I’m sorry, what is that?

Guy:  Well, it’s a group of people that get together and recreate the arts and skills of pre-17th century Europe.

Girl:  So what do you do there?

Guy:  Well I just so happen to be a champion in the Armored Combat category.  We dress up in garments from the Middle Ages and the Renaissance and participate in jousting tournaments and then feast afterwards.

Girl:  That sounds… ummm… great.

Guy:  It most certainly is!  You know… I just realized that it’s about time for me to go drop the kids off at the pool. 

Girl:  I’m sorry?

Guy:  You know, take the Browns to the Superbowl?  Make a deposit at the porcelain bank?  Pinch one off?  Visit the throne room…

Girl:  (interrupts) Ok, ok… I got it now.

Guy:  I’ll be right back.

     (Guy exits, waitress walks up)

Waitress:  Your food will be out soon.  Is there anything I can do for you?

Girl:  Any tips on surviving a horrible date?

Waitress:  (chuckles) No, I’m afraid that’s not on the menu.  I don’t have a lot of luck dating either.  Most guys think it’s ridiculous that I’m a member of the Society for Creative Anachronisms.

Girl:  I can’t imagine why.  Thanks anyway.

Waitress:  No problem.  (Exits)

     (Girl is sitting with her face in her hands when Guy returns)

Guy:  Whoo!  I feel sorry for the next guy who goes in there!

     (notices that Girl looks stressed)

Guy:  Are you ok?  I’m blowing it, aren’t I?

Girl:  No, no, I just have a headache.

Guy:  No, you’re just being nice.  You hate me don’t you?

Girl:  What?  No, of course I…

Guy:  No you do.  I can tell.  I’m blowing it.  You know, I was really hoping that we would hit it off better than this.  I really like you and I know that if you really got to know me you would like me too.  I think that if we had children they would be perfect.  My brains and your good looks would make a great combination.

Girl:  Look… maybe…

     (Waitress enters with food)

Guy:  Ahhh! Finally, the food is here!

Waitress:  Here we are.  I hope you enjoy and just let me know if there’s anything else you need.

Guy:  Absolutely, looks great.

Girl:  Thanks.

     (Waitress exits)

Guy:  Look, just tell me what to do.  I really want to turn this thing around.

Girl:  Let’s just eat dinner, and maybe we can start over afterwards.

Guy:  Sounds great.  Here, try some of this seasoning.  It is specially made at this resturaunt only.  It’s amazing, trust me.  (Grabs large shaker and shakes it over Girl’s plate)

Girl:  Sure, I guess I will.
    (Guy and Girl begin to eat dinner.  After a minute or so, Girl starts to sweat and turn pale)

Girl:  Geeze, is it hot in here?

Guy:  No, it’s pretty comfortable actually…

    (Girl begins to cough, and falls out of chair)

Guy:  Ohh my goodness, what’s going on?!

    (Waitress comes over quickly)

Waitress:  Is everything ok here?!

Guy:  I don’t know what’s happening!

Waitress:  She is having an allergic reaction.  I’ve seen this before.  My brother is allergic to ant bites.  Is she allergic to anything?

Guy:  I don’t know, this is our first date.

Waitress:  I’m going to go call 911.  Just stay here with her. (exits)

    (Guy leans over girl, Girl reaches up with both hands to choke Guy.  Guy takes Girl’s hands affectionately)

Guy:  Now you just relax, I’m right here.  The waitress is going to call for help so you just hang in there.

    (Waitress returns)

Waitress:  Help is on the way.  How is she doing?

Guy:  She’s having a hard time breathing and she wanted me to hold her hands.  (whispers to waitress) I think she just wanted me to comfort her.

Waitress:  Awww, you’re very sweet.

Guy:  Well, I’ve been told that I’m a great guy.

    (paramedics arrive, lean over Girl and begin to treat her)

Guy:  Is she going to be alright?

Paramedic:  This woman has had a severe allergic reaction to some red pepper.  I just can’t imagine why she would order something that she must have known she was allergic to.

Guy:  (shrugs and shakes head)  Women.  (scoffs)

    (paramedics take Girl out of restaurant and leave Guy and Waitress at table)

Guy:  Well, If I could just have the check…

Waitress:  Sure. (hands Guy check)

    (Guy opens wallet and drops Society for Creative Anachronisms membership card.  Waitress picks it up and notices it.)

Waitress:  Ohh my God!  Are you a member of the SCA?

Guy:  Not just that, but a champion of the joust!

Waitress:  Wow, I’m a member too!  What a small world huh?

Guy:  So it seems.  So there’s a Spring Hunt & Novelty Shoot this weekend.  Are you free?

          -Curtain-

Static - from The 911 Diaries

     I told my mother I would be just fine as she and my step-father pulled out of the driveway.   I remember that.  She looked worried about me, but I was sure I’d be fine.  After all, I had my meds and plenty to keep me occupied.  She had this strange look on her face, and never took her eyes off of me the whole way down the driveway.  I remember that.

     After they left, I went inside to relax.  It was my first day in my new apartment.  I was excited about it, and that may have been a problem.  It was a small, one bedroom apartment.  The living room and the kitchen shared a wall and there was an open doorway connecting them.  The bedroom was on the other side of the living room, opposite the kitchen.  I went over and sat on the couch to watch television.  I turned it on and surfed through the channels until I found something interesting – COPS.  When I joined the program, the police were chasing a man down the street and through peoples’ yards.  It was exciting, and that may have been a problem.  I looked over at the clock and it said 2:46 p.m.  Not yet time for meds.  I remember that.

     I got up and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water, which was all I had in my apartment.  I looked out the window that is over the sink and saw a satellite dish, I remember that, but I didn’t have satellite T.V.  I walked back to the living room and sat down on the couch when the phone rang.  I answered it and a man was breathing heavily on the other end.

     “Hello?” I said.
There was no reply, just heavy breathing and then a loud static noise.  The static was so loud that it hurt my head, so I said “You’ve got the wrong number” and hung up quickly.

     I had just turned back toward the television when I heard a loud crash in the kitchen.  I looked over towards the kitchen and I saw a beer bottle roll in front of the doorway.  It was the same kind of beer that my father used to drink.  Just before I could get up to see what happened, my father rounded the corner from the kitchen, holding the belt with the big buckle on it shaped like Texas.  I knew this belt from my childhood.  He made a habit of getting drunk and beating me with it when mom was at work.  

     “When are you gonna grow up and be a man?” he asked.

     “I am a man now dad.  I have my own apartment and everything!”

     “You are still a disappointment to me and your mother, and you always will be.  You got a job yet?”

     “You know I can’t work with my condition.”

     “Are you back-talking me?!”

     Before I could say anything, he lunged forward towards the couch where I was sitting with my head down and my eyes on my shoes.  He grabbed me by the arm and started hitting me.  Over and over and over.  “Mom!” I yelled, forgetting that I was in my apartment and she had left.  I thrashed to try to get free, but every time I almost got away he grabbed another part of me.  During the struggle I knocked over my lamp and the broken glass made a small cut on my palm.  I was face down on the floor and he just kept hitting me.  I managed to roll over on my back and when I looked up, he was gone.

     I got off the floor and noticed that the lamp was back where it was and that the bulb wasn’t broken, I remember that.  I looked at the clock and it said 2:51.  It still wasn’t time for meds, but I decided to take them anyway.  I swallowed them with the glass of water I got from the kitchen, and walked over to the television and turned it off.  Maybe watching T.V. made me just a little too excited.  

     I sat back on the couch and decided I would listen to the radio instead.  It was an old radio – one with the rough wheel you turn to find the station, I remember that.  I turned the wheel through a country station, a hard rock station, a classical station, and a lot of static that sounded like the static I heard on the phone.  I couldn’t seem to find a station that was playing good music, and I didn’t want to hear that static again, so I settled on a talk show on the public radio station.  

     As the man went on about the stock market and how it was recovering slowly, his voice began to distort.  As his words became longer and lower pitched, the static came back.  It was getting louder and louder, and pretty soon drowned out the man talking all together.  I tried to turn off the radio, but no matter what I did, it wouldn’t stop.  I was just about to unplug it when I heard a loud thud in my bedroom.  

     I walked to the door and opened it slowly.  When I peered in there was a man and a woman.  The man was on top of the woman, using one hand to hold her arms and the other to tear at her clothes.  She struggled, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t get up.  Her clothes were torn and much of her mid-section was visible.  

     The static grew louder as I watched.

     I decided to call the police because I was afraid of the man and didn’t want to go in the room.  I grabbed the phone and tried to dial the number, but all I heard in the receiver was that static.  That static!  It was driving me crazy!  I grabbed the radio and threw it hard against the floor.  It shattered into pieces.  
I picked the phone up again and noticed that the noise in the bedroom had stopped.  I cracked open the door slowly to find that the man and woman were gone.  When I turned around and looked at the floor, the radio wasn’t there; instead it was right back on the end table.  

     I looked down at the phone and decided that I should call the police anyway, so I dialed 911.

911 OPERATOR:  911.  What is your emergency?

CALLER:  I need the FBI sent to my house.

911 OPERATOR:  I’m sorry, did you say the FBI?

CALLER:  Yes.  There are illegal satellite and radio waves coming through my house and into my brain showing me images of my father beating me and women getting raped and I can’t deal with this right now – I don’t need this in my life because my father used to beat me and I just can’t handle this.

The Night My Father Died

     A few years ago I was sitting on a park bench overlooking a pond when my wife (whom I was only courting at the time) asked me about my father’s death.  Before, when I would talk about him, although I mostly talked about my grandmother and how he spent much of his life hurting her, I talked about the few good things he ever did.  There were never any stories of my father and me.  “How did he die?” she asks.  I hesitantly begin to speak and she listens very sympathetically and attentively.
     My father was a drinker.  He loved nothing more than a good party.  Eventually, as it often times does, the drinking led to drugs.  My mother, being the partygoer she was, liked to party with him.  Being a September baby, I have a pretty good idea how they spent the previous New Years Eve. The night I was born was an interesting night, because it was the last night my father would be seen alive.  
     As he returned home from a friend’s house to borrow some money for more beer, my grandmother was in a panic.  “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get ‘hold of you for an hour!  Linda is in the hospital in labor!”  My father, angry at his mother for that same judgmental look on her face he sees so often, yells “What was I supposed to do!  I told you I was going to John’s! You should have called there!”  Rather than try to explain to him that he had been drinking all night, and that he never told anyone where he was going, she simply replied with “You should get going.  I’ll be up there as soon as I can”.
     As father pulls out of the driveway, he passes a friend’s car on the highway.  Without a moment’s hesitation, he turns around in the nearest yard and follows behind the car.  When he reaches the vehicle, now stopped at a convenience store, he gets out and approaches the passenger window.
     “Where the hell are ya’ll going!” he says in the middle of a laugh.
     “Holy shit, look who it is! What’s going on man?” asks the friend.
     “I’m on the way to the hospital man, I got a kid on the way!”
     “No shit!  Gonna be a dad, huh? That sucks!”
     “You’re telling me!”
     “Well, before you go, we were gonna ride over the bridge and pick some shit up from Donnie’s if you need something to take the edge off.”
     “Hell yeah man, that’s EXACTLY what I need.”
     Once my father arrives at Donnie’s house after a 45 minute drive and 3 bottles of beer, he exits the car and goes into the house.  Everyone is sitting in a circle around a coffee table that is covered in half-smoked marijuana cigarettes, ash trays, and pill and beer bottles.  They pass around some pot, and my father looks over the table and notices an open pill bottle. 
     “What are those you got there?”
     Donnie replies, “I don’t know if you can handle those after the night you’ve had.”
     “What do you know about the night I’ve had?  How much?”
     “Twenty a pill, man.  One will be enough.”
     “Make it two” he says as he stands to walk out.  He pauses to wash the pills down with the remainder of his beer and tells everyone bye.  He gets in the car and heads over to John’s house.
     After two more hours of drinking and cutting up with friends, he decides he has had enough for one night and stands to leave.  As he stands, he stumbles over and falls through a wooden end table beside the couch, completely destroying it.
     “You sure you’re okay to drive man?” John asks.
     “Fuck you, I’m a grown man!”
     As he drives down the road, the white line in the middle of the road seems to weave left and right as his eyes dart uncontrollably from side to side.  The street lights are brighter than ever, almost blinding him each time he passes one.  His eyes are heavy and his head begins to nod on its own.  
     He pulls into the driveway at home, and doesn’t notice, at first, his mother’s car is gone.  Once inside, he is walking by the telephone on his way to the bedroom when it rings.  He stumbles over to answer it and sees the number 14 blinking on the answering machine.  He lifts the phone, drops it, picks it back up and clears his throat into the receiver before answering with “Yeah what?”  His mother is on the other end.
     “Linda has had the baby.  It’s a boy.” 
He pauses for a moment before he says, “I got a flat tire, but it’s fixed now.  I’m on the way.”
     After he hangs the phone up, he scrambles around to find the keys that he dropped in the doorway and didn’t bother to pick up.  Once he finds them, he jumps in the car, forgetting his wallet.  He speeds out of the driveway and barrels down the road in an attempt to make up for lost time.  His vision is still blurry, and the street lights are still blinding, but he is wide awake from the sobering news.  He weaves in and out of traffic, laying on the horn as often as possible.  Much to his surprise, there is a police car sitting at the next intersection.  As my father blazes past, the police officer hits his lights and siren.  My father immediately panics.    Showing no intention of pulling over, my father speeds up.  The policeman must have called ahead to a few other officers, because at the next intersection the traffic was blocked off and they had laid out spikes across the road.  My father didn’t notice the strip of nails lying across the road and drove straight through them.  The loud boom from the tires sent him spinning out of control as the combination of the ringing in his ears and his already blurred vision rendered him helpless.  The car slammed into the guard rail and over into the other lane, smashing into an oncoming car.  
     I look over the pond for a moment, trying to regain my posture.  “That is a terrible way to die,” my future-wife tells me.  “My uncle died in a car accident too.”  
     “That’s sad to hear, but my father didn’t die in the car accident,” I reply.
     “Did he die in the hospital?”
     “No.  He died in jail that night, and has done so every day since.”
     “I don’t understand.”
     “Before he had time to recover,” I begin, “there were several police officers standing around the car with their guns drawn.  He tried to explain to the police that he was rushing to see his newborn son, but that paled to the fact that he was under the influence of drugs and alcohol, and the fact that he knowingly attempted to elude the police.  When they checked on the driver of the other car and found him lifeless, they immediately placed him under arrest.  He killed the man in the other car he hit, and has been in jail since.  My father has been dead to me since the night he chose to take a life, instead of celebrating one.  You asked me to tell you about my father’s death, and he died that night.”