{davewrites}

Note: This was an actual conversation I had with a co-worker and his childhood friend.

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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

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!”

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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

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