The Legend of Scott’s Mum

SET in Ringwood Station, Scott (one of my bosses) tells me a story of his 70-year-old mother who had an altercation with a pack of youths and still lives to tell the tale.

SCOTT and HIS MUM get off the train at Ringwood Station and head towards the bus stop.  As they head toward the station exit a group of boys approach them, with one of them going nose to nose with HIS MUM.

BOY: Hey!  Grandma! Give me your fucking ticket

(There’s a pause.  SCOTT is frozen scared. HIS MOTHER stands still and does not cower to BOY)

HIS MOTHER: No.

BOY: What?

HIS MOTHER: I said no.  You can get your own ‘fucking ticket’.

SCOTT: Mum, just give him the ticket, you’re not using it anymore.

HIS MOTHER: No.

SCOTT: (to BOY) Here, you can have my ticket.

BOY: Nah, I don’t want to carry a full fare, I want a concession.  Her concession.

SCOTT: What difference does it make?

BOY: Who gives a shit about difference?  I want her ticket.

HIS MOTHER: Well you’re not getting it, you can pay for your own ticket like everyone else.

BOY: Fuck that.  Why would I do that when I can use yours? Your not on the train anymore, you’re not using it.

HIS MOTHER: Doesn’t matter that I’m not using it, you can’t have it.

BOY: Well, what else are you going to do with it then?

HIS MOTHER takes her ticket and tears it in half if front of BOY’s eyes.

THE END.

Simon Says

SIMON: A repulsive man

SAM: A woman repulsed by Simon.

(SIMON and SAM are sitting on a bench.  SAM is reading a book and SIMON is flicking through the paper, The Herald Sun to be exact.)

SIMON: What are you reading?

SAM: A novel.

SIMON: Probably some romance novel no doubt?

SAM: What do you care?

SIMON: (pause) I’m actually very interested in the literary arts and crafts.

SAM: Crafts?

SIMON: Have you not heard of that word before?

SAM: Is there something you want to say to me or can I continue reading my book?

SIMON: (smug) No.  Just engaging in some conversation, but if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine.  Go on and read your book then.  Fill your mind with drivel.

(SAM fights the urge to answer back)

SIMON: (after a pause) I choose to spend my time reading the paper.  Keeping abreast of current affairs.

(SAM still refuses to answer)

SIMON: You probably didn’t think I kept up to date with the news, did you?

SAM: You’d be surprised at how much I don’t think about you at all.

(SIMON goes back to reading the paper, his pride a little hurt.  He scans over a page and begins to chuckle, which then turns into a loud laugh.  SAM does not respond)

SIMON: You’d be interested in this.

SAM: I don’t think so.

SIMON: There’s an article here that says that women aren’t as smart as they think they are.

(SAM peers over SIMON’s shoulder)

SAM: That’s the editorial section, Simon.  You’re reading a letter not an article.  Oh look, there’s the guys name and details down the bottom, maybe you can track him down, meet up and beat each other off in chauvinist pride being the wankers that you are.

(SIMON is taken aback)

SAM: What, nothing to say?  Shame.  We were having such a lovely conversation.

SIMON: Bloody lesbian

SAM: (as she leaves) With you around, who wouldn’t be.

THE END

In the World that you live.

CAST:

ME: A twenty something year old working hard for the money in a cafe.

MRS. LAVISH: A women in her late 60s

BRIT: ME’s co worker in the cafe.

SET in the cafe where ME works.

ME is working behind the counter packing everything up at the end of the day. MRS. LAVISH enters and heads towards the pie cabinet.  She looks through the choices is thinking hard.

ME: Hi, can I help you there with anything.

MRS. LAVISH:  You know dear, I’m just wondering what I’d be better off with having.  How much is a little individual pie.

ME: $2.75

MRS. LAVISH: Ah ha, and how much is a family pie?

ME: $7.60.

MRS. LAVISH: Hmm, I just don’t know which one I’d be better off with?

ME: Well, how many people will you be serving?

MRS. LAVISH: Oh it’s not a matter of how many people, it  a matter of value for money.

ME is slightly bemused with this response, but before she can say anything MRS. LAVISH makes her choice and ME goes to pack it up.  As ME makes her way to the register MRS. LAVISH is looking through her bag for her purse.

MRS. LAVISH: You know, I just came back from the council, and unfortunately they’re allowing the two story building.

ME: <not knowing what she’s talking about> Oh. Right.

MRS. LAVISH: My neighbours aren’t going to be happy.  We were all so hoping just for one.

ME: That’s $7.60 thank you.

MRS. LAVISH:< Hands over a ten dollar note> Here you go love.  You know we were fighting just for the one storey, but apparently there’s nothing we can do about it.

ME: Here’s your change, can I get you a carry bag?

MRS. LAVISH: That would be lovely dear, thank you.  Next thing you know we’ll have Sri Lankans.

ME: I beg your pardon?

MRS. LAVISH: I mean, first we’ve had Cambodians, then the Chinese, I suppose the Sri Lankans will be next.

ME: Here’s your bag.

MRS. LAVISH: We’re just being over run aren’t we? Just makes you wonder what this world is coming to.  I suppose we’re all going to the dogs.

MRS. LAVISH leaves and ME is fuming, BRIT comes from the back.

BRIT: What was that all about.

ME: Oh just some fucken dittery old racist.

BRIT: It’s always the old people isn’t it?

ME: You know what? I hope that when I reach her age, I’m nowhere near as stupid.  Fucking moron.

BRIT: What was she saying?

ME: I’ve got no fucking clue.  All I did was sell her a pie and she’s going on about some Sri Lankan invasion.

BRIT: Oh.

ME: Then going on about how the country is going to the dogs.

BRIT: What nationality was she?

ME: I don’t know, Australian I guess, but it’s hard to tell.  It sounded like she was putting on an English accent.

BRIT: Oh, and I wonder where her family came from.

ME: She probably doesn’t think about that.  She’s so deluded she probably thinks she was born with the deed to the country in her hand.

BRIT: Her ancestors were probably convicts.

ME: That came on a scurvy ridden boat.

BRIT and ME chuckle.

THE END.

A friend in need…

A conversation between ME and “SMITH”.   SMITH is a friend of ME, around late twenties, rather friendly and has slept with ME’s sister.  SMITH still to this day doesn’t realise the ME knows.

Conversation takes place at Ding Dong’s, where many a heart to heart have taken place.

SMITH: Shit man, it’s been a while, how have you been?

ME: Oh yeah, can’t complain, been pretty busy.

SMITH: You’re always busy.

ME: Well, that’s what happens when you go back to uni, you get busy.

SMITH: Oh well, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I’m just saying that you’re always busy.  It’s pretty good.  I like being busy.  It gives me something to do, it makes the day go faster.  Otherwise, I have nothing to do and I’m sitting there wondering: “Well, what am I doing?”

ME: Hmm.

SMITH: Stops me from thinking.

ME: Hmm.

SMITH: Yes.

ME: Indeed.

SMITH: Hmm, yes, indeedy.

ME: Right.

SMITH: Don’t get me started, I could do this all night.

ME: I’ll take your word for it.

SMITH: That’s amongst the other things I can do all night.

ME: UGH, really?

SMITH: What?

ME: You’re really going to go down that road?

SMITH: What?  Why not?

ME: Smith, why is it that I can’t ever have a normal conversation with you?  Why does every discussion we have suddenly become filled with sexual innuendo?

SMITH: No it doesn’t.

ME: Yes it does!  If it’s not “i can go all night”, it’s about someone’s boobs, or ass, or you leering at someone and asking why you don’t get laid.  It’s bloody pathetic.

SMITH: What?  Give me a break, it’s been a couple of months!

NB: SMITH’s last sexual conquest was ME’s sister.

ME: Oh really?  Months?  MONTHS?  Cry me a river with your fucking ‘couple of months.’

SMITH: Why?  How long has it been for you?

ME: Try years.

SMITH: Years!  Shit!  <pause>  I can give you a hand with that you know?

ME: Ew.  Gross.  No.

SMITH: Oh, so shut a man down like that.

ME: What man?  I’m shutting you down.

SMITH: Yeah, well, you don’t shut someone down like that.  You don’t say ‘Ew.’

ME: Really?  And what do I say?

SMITH: You say, no thank-you, and that you might take a rain check.

ME leaves.

THE END.