Tag: Dave Stinton

(Nighttime. The Oval Office is dark and empty. Several moments pass. Then the calm is pierced by the sound of a phone ringing. It rings a second time. And a third. Finally, we hear the shuffling of someone approaching. The door opens, and in stumbles PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA, tightening the belt on his bathrobe. He flicks on the light and picks up the receiver on the red emergency telephone.)

OBAMA
This is President Obama. (pause) Hello?

(The phone continues ringing.)

OBAMA
Shit.

(He jabs two keys on the telephone, hangs the phone up, then picks up the receiver again.)

OBAMA
Hello?

(The phone continues ringing.)

OBAMA
Dammit.

(OBAMA hangs up, then falls into a chair and rubs his temples, listening to the phone ring a few more times. Finally, resigned, he pulls out his cell phone and dials. He covers his other ear as he waits for an answer.)

OBAMA
Come on… Pick up…
(pause)
Hillary? It’s Barack again… Yes, I know what time it is, I’m sorry. But it seems that something’s happening in the world, and, well, I suppose you can hear for yourself… Yes… No, I already tried pressing star-nine, and it just kept ringing… All right, hold on.

(He presses two keys on the red phone and picks up the receiver again.)

OBAMA
President Obama, White House.

(The phone keeps ringing.)

OBAMA
No, Hillary, it didn’t work, I told you… It’s what?… Stuck in conference mode? What the hell is conference mode?… Unplug the phone? If I unplug it and plug it back in, won’t I disconnect the call?… Listen, that may have worked in the 90s, but things have changed in Washing– Okay! Okay, I’ll try it.

(OBAMA falls to his hands and knees and feels around under the table for the phone cord. But soon the ringing stops and is replaced by a tinny recording of “Hail to the Chief.”)

OBAMA
Crap, it went to the machine.

(We hear a recorded message playing.)

OBAMA (RECORDING)
Hello, you’ve reached Barack Obama…

PAUL (RECORDING)
…and Ron Paul…

MICHELLE (RECORDING)
…and Michelle!

OBAMA (RECORDING)
We can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave us a detailed message at the beep. Stay full of hope, America!

(beep)

MAHMOUD (ON ANSWERING MACHINE)
Mr. Obama. It’s President Ahmadinejad. I can only assume by your failure to answer that you do not take my threat seriously.

(OBAMA frantically presses buttons on the phone.)

OBAMA
Mahmoud! Wait! Hello?

MAHMOUD (ON ANSWERING MACHINE)
It is therefore that I have launched my sleeping-baby-seeking missiles, aimed at households across your country’s heartland. Perhaps next time, you will take my call. Ahmadinejad, out.

(Click. Dial tone. OBAMA falls to his knees and beseeches the heavens.)

OBAMA
NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

(OBAMA weeps on the floor. An inset appears of HILLARY CLINTON, festooned with American flag pins, hoisting a Bible and breastfeeding an infant. She gazes at the baby for a second, then whispers to us.)

CLINTON
I’m Hillary Clinton, and I approve this horrifying vision of a world without me as President. (She looks to the baby.) Shhhhh… shhhhhh….

(CHERYL is in her cubicle, talking on the phone.)

CHERYL
I know, Sue, I couldn’t believe it either… No, you were so right to feel that way…
(GREG enters and stands in the doorway. CHERYL sees him but continues talking.)
Don’t be. He shouldn’t have been taking up two seats.
(GREG knocks softly on the doorway. CHERYL holds up a finger.)
There were two comfortable chairs in the entire coffee shop, and he sits in one of them and drapes his coat over the other. I would have been pissed too.
(GREG sits on the edge of the desk.)
Sorry, Sue, I have to go. Uh-huh… Yeah… Well, these things have a way of coming back around, don’t you worry… Uh-huh… Uh-huh.
(GREG taps his watch.)
Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Bye.

(CHERYL hangs up. GREG stares at her a few seconds.)

GREG
Cheryl, we’ve been over this.

CHERYL
Are you serious?

GREG
Of course I’m serious. Did you think I was joking?

CHERYL
It’s just that I can’t believe you would hound me about my personal phone calls when Jim is in the next cubicle, building a siege engine!

(pause)

GREG
A siege engine?

CHERYL
Yeah! He’s got a catapult he’s working on in there!

(pause)

GREG
I didn’t know he was doing that.

CHERYL
He totally is!

GREG
That’s wrong too. That can’t happen.

(GREG stands and exits the cubicle. The stage rotates, and we follow GREG into the neighboring cubicle, where JIM sits typing at his computer. On the floor are enormous planks of timber, giant wooden bolts, and several feet of leather belts. GREG carefully steps over a huge wheel.)

GREG
Jim?

JIM
Hey!

GREG
Can I talk to you for a second?

JIM
Sure thing.

GREG
Um… I shouldn’t have let it get this far, so in a way the blame lies with both of us–

JIM
If this is about the Bellwether invoices, I’m on it. I’ll upload them to the database this afternoon.

GREG
No, Jim, it’s the catapult. I can’t have you constructing a catapult in your office.

JIM
Technically, it’s a trebuchet.

GREG
It makes no difference what form of siege engine you’re building…

JIM
Hells yeah it does! Technically, a trebuchet is a type of catapult. But when Americans think of a “catapult,” they think of a “mangonel.” That’s the clunky, stiff-armed log that just hurls something off into the distance.
(He cranks his arm with exaggerated clumsiness.)
Thwunk.

GREG
And that’s not what you’re doing.

JIM
Uh, no. The trebuchet utilizes a sling. Much more elegant, much more accurate, gets a little extra torque at the release point. This is what you want to use to launch some flaming garbage or a diseased corpse over a wall.

CHERYL (off)
You better not be thinking of launching any corpses into my cubicle!

JIM
Don’t flatter yourself!

GREG
Jim, the point is that I can’t have you working on this in your office.

JIM
I only work on it during my lunch break…
(louder)
…unlike a certain person chatting with her sister all damn day!

CHERYL (off)
She’s going through a breakup!

GREG
I’m more concerned about safety. I don’t want it to go off accidentally and send a photocopier crashing into a conference room.

JIM
It takes several strong men working in tandem to fire one of these. It’s not going to go off accidentally.

GREG
Siege engines are obsolete pieces of weaponry, rough-hewn and unpredictable. Unlike modern firearms, there are no regulations or licensing procedures in place concerning their safety in an office environment. Accidents happen, Jim.

JIM
I don’t know what kind of idiot you think you’re dealing with, but I would not have embarked on this project without a thorough understanding of what I’m doing.

GREG
I don’t think you’re an idiot, Jim.

JIM
Who caught the error on the Bellwether invoices right before they were sent out? I saved this company tens of thousands of dollars!

GREG
Thank you.

JIM
And frankly, unless you can point me to the Rules & Regs where it says I can’t construct a trebuchet in the workplace, I think I’ll keep right on constructing mine.

(pause)

GREG
Do you know what a rollmop is, Jim?

JIM
A pickle wrapped in herring.

GREG
It’s a pickle, wrapped in herring. There was a project manager named Ackerman who used to make them, and it stank the place up something fierce. I told him to knock it off. He pulled that “show me the Rules & Regs” crap, and no, according to the letter of the law, there was no anti-rollmop clause. But the next time we updated the Rules & Regs, we added one. And the next time he stank up the break room with herring, he was out of here.

JIM
When was this?

GREG
Seven months ago.

JIM
And how often are the Rules & Regs updated?

(brief pause)

GREG
That’s not your concern.

JIM
Cheryl, how often do they update the Rules & Regs?

GREG
You don’t have to answer that, Cheryl.

CHERYL (off)
Every five years.

(pause)

JIM
It appears we are at an impasse.

GREG
It appears we are.

JIM
And I’m the one with the siege engine.

(GREG and JIM stare each other down for several moments. Then GREG leaves. JIM returns to his computer. After a beat, GREG reappears at the cubicle door.)

GREG
But watch your back, Jim. If I catch you so much as thinking about wrapping a pickle in herring, you are out on your ass.

(GREG leaves again. JIM once again returns to his computer. Beat.)

CHERYL (off)
Hey, Sue, sorry we got interrupted… What I was saying was one of these days that guy is going to take up two seats in the wrong coffee shop. Then he’ll know what it feels like.

(JIM shakes his head in exasperation. Blackout.)

(The waiting room at a blood drive. NURSE BLAKE (Alec Baldwin) and NURSE WILLIAMSON (Kevin Spacey) stand in their scrubs before LEVENE (Jack Lemmon), MOSS (Ed Harris), and AARONOW (Alan Arkin), who are sitting at tables and filling out forms to give blood.)

BLAKE
Are they all here?

WILLIAMSON
All but one.

BLAKE
Well, I’m going anyway.
(to the group)
Let’s talk about something important!
(BLAKE sees LEVENE picking up a Nutter Butter from a plate on the counter)
Put that cookie down! Cookies are for donors only.
(LEVENE laughs incredulously. BLAKE approaches him.)
You think I’m fucking with you? I am not fucking with you. I’m here from Red Cross HQ. I’m here from Mitch and Murray. And I’m here on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Levene?

LEVENE
Yeah.

BLAKE
You call yourself a blood donor, you son of a bitch?

MOSS (standing)
I don’t gotta listen to this shit.

BLAKE
You certainly don’t pal. ’Cause as you all know, first prize is you can donate a pint of whole blood. Anybody wanna hear second prize? Second prize is you donate platelets. Third prize is you’re anemic. You get the picture? You can’t donate blood, you can’t donate shit, you are shit, hit the bricks pal and beat it ’cause you are going out!

MOSS (sits)
What’s your name?

BLAKE
Make Your Next Meal A Hearty One, that’s my name. You know why, Mister? ’Cause you had a piece of toast and a cup of coffee for breakfast this morning, I ate a twelve-dollar omelet. That’s my name!
(to LEVENE)
And your name is “You’ve Spent 5 Cumulative Years In Europe Since 1980.” Then have a fucking Oreo and go home.
(to everyone)
Because only one thing counts in this life! Get them to draw from the vein which is dotted! You hear me, you fucking fairies?
(BLAKE flips over a blackboard that features two sets of letters. He points to “B-S-E.”)
“B-S-E.” B: Bovine. S: Spongiform. E: Encephalopathy. Have you got it, you fucks? If so, get your pulpy, Creutzfeldt-Jakob riddled brainpan the fuck out of my waiting room.
(He points to “A-B-AB-O.”)
“A-B-AB-O.” “A” can receive “A” and “O.” “B” can receive “B” and “O,” ’cause it’s fuck or walk. “AB” can receive “A,” “B,” “AB,” and “O” — the universal recipient, for Christ. “O” is the universal donor.
(walks to MOSS)
Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Allergic to iodine? Fuck you — go home and vomit some shellfish.
(to AARONOW)
You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this — how can you take the abuse when you sit in that chair with a fucking needle sticking into your forearm? You don’t like it — leave. You know what it takes to donate blood?
(BLAKE goes to his briefcase and removes a vial of copper sulfate solution with a drop of blood in it. He dangles it in front of his crotch.)
It takes a hemoglobin concentration of over 12.5 grams per deciliter to donate blood.
(throws the vial back in the briefcase, pulls out a stack of cards)
These are the “Be Nice To Me” stickers. And to you, they’re gold. And you don’t get them. Why? Because to give them to you is just throwing them away.
(he hands the stack to WILLIAMSON)
They’re for donors. I’d wish you good luck but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it.

(exit BLAKE and WILLIAMSON)

PSYCHIATRIST
Your wife maintains that you don’t show her enough affection.

PATIENT
I show my wife a lot of aggression.

PSYCHIATRIST
“Affection.”

PATIENT
Yes.

PSYCHIATRIST
You said “aggression.”

PATIENT
No, I said affection.

PSYCHIATRIST
It’s very interesting to me that you confused those two words.

PATIENT
Whatever I said, I meant “aggression.”

PSYCHIATRIST
Aggression?

PATIENT
No, aggression. You’re browbeating me.

PSYCHIATRIST
Not at all. I think your wife feels unappreciated because of the lack of physical displays of affection.

PATIENT
I think my wife is turned off by it. I think she hates public displays of aggression.

PSYCHIATRIST
“Affection.”

PATIENT
When we’re out, I try to give her a slug, or even just a little kill on the cheek, and she’s up in arms. It embarrasses her.

PSYCHIATRIST
Have you attempted this in private?

PATIENT
This isn’t private stuff! It’s not like I’m trying to French kill her, or unbutton her shoot or anything.

PSYCHIATRIST
French kill her?

PATIENT
Kiss. It’s not a French kiss, just a little punch on the cheek.

PSYCHIATRIST
But is she more responsive in private?

PATIENT
I try to get aggressionate in private. But usually she’d rather talk.

PSYCHIATRIST
She wants a conversation?

PATIENT
Yes, but I’m not in the mood for conflagration. She keeps drowning on and on, and talking gets in the way, when I just want to strangle up with her, or do some killing.

PSYCHIATRIST
“Kissing”?

PATIENT
And this isn’t deadroom talk, it’s more like nagging. Like a pop quiz about our suffocationship.

PSYCHIATRIST
You just referred to your bedroom as a “dead-room.”

PATIENT
Whatever tomb it is, that’s not the point. I can’t get into physical aggression if she keeps going on about “expressing our true flayings for each other.”

PSYCHIATRIST
“Feelings”?

PATIENT
Yes! Isn’t that ridiculous? She keeps talking about “revealing our true ammunitions” and “expressing our flayings.” “Finding true stabbiness in our knife together.”

PSYCHIATRIST
I think she just wants to hear that you’re committed to maintaining the relationship.

PATIENT
I’m definitely committed to maiming the relationship. That’s not even a question. We’re very attacked to each other.

PSYCHIATRIST
She needs to hear that. It seems to me.

PATIENT
I shove my wife. I shove her very much. And I don’t want anything to gun between us. But sometimes, I swear, I just want to grab her by the hair and run her through a meat grinder.

(pause)

PSYCHIATRIST
That was a very violent image.

PATIENT
Yes, I’m sorry.