CAST:
GARY STRUMPF: an adoring fan and painful oversharer (flat upper midwestern accent)
LAIRD PRITCHENS: a polite British novelist on book tour
SETTING:
A book-signing table at Books, Inc.
LAIRD sits at the table, dutifully signing books with a friendly demeanor. The next customer in line is GARY. He approaches the table with his copy of LAIRD’S novel.
GARY
Wow! Laird Pritchens in the flesh. I can’t tell you what an honor it is to meet you. I’m a huge fan!
LAIRD
Thanks so much, and really the honor’s all mine.
(LAIRD reaches for the book, but GARY is too starstruck to notice.)
Do you want me to sign that for you?
GARY
Oh, gosh-- earth to Gary!-- uh yes!!
(GARY hands LAIRD the book)
I didn’t take three buses and quit my job for you not to sign my book!
LAIRD, assuming GARY is joking, opens the book and readies his pen,.
LAIRD
Three buses? Well, that’s quite a commitment!
GARY
Yep, and I quit my job!
Laird pauses with pen poised above the book.
LAIRD
Wait, did you really quit your job?
(GARY nods eagerly.)
Well, I hope you didn’t do that solely on my account.
GARY
I sure did. I told my boss that Laird Pritchens was giving a reading tonight in the city, and that if he didn’t give me the time off, he could go suck on a smelly horse dingus, ‘cause I quit.
LAIRD
God, I’m sorry. That’s terrible.
GARY
Yeah, it was a great job, too. Nice people, interesting work, covered all my health insurance. Even let me work around my weekly doctor’s appointments.
LAIRD
You don’t say…
GARY
On account of my fibromyalgia.. Yeah, it’s gonna be virtually impossible to find another job like that one. Oh well, guess the medical bills will start piling up. But I suppose I can always file for bankruptcy again.
LAIRD
(Beat) Uh, well, you’re not alone, my friend. It’s a tough world out there. As Schopenhauer said, life is a constant swing of the pendulum between boredom and desire.
GARY
Clearly that guy never had fibromyalgia. ‘Cause my pendulum swings pretty much between pain and crippling pain. I’d kill to be bored every now and then.
LAIRD
Again, I’m terribly sorry. Now, did you want me to write your name in the inscription? It’s ‘Gary,’ right?
GARY
Oh, right! Hello? Get it together, Gary! Here I am yapping away, and meanwhile you’ve got a hundred eager fans waiting to have their book signed.
Laird begins to write.
LAIRD
No, it’s no problem...
GARY
Of course, they probably all have a job they can return to in the morning. And a family that loves them. I mean, I bet they didn’t accidentally burn up their whole family at a goat roast.
Laird stops writing.
LAIRD
A goat roast?
GARY
Yeah, I’ll never forget the smell that wafted over to the softball diamond-- this was back before my fibromyalgia set in. I distinctly remember licking my lips-- I know most people don’t really do that, but I did, that’s how good it smelled-- and I remember thinking, ‘Man, that goat smells good. I’m glad I cranked up the propane before coming over here to rip some line drives.’ Little did I know that fragrance was the charred flesh of the entire Strumpf family-- four generations up in flames. Worst family reunion ever.
LAIRD
Look, Gary… (beat) it sounds like you’ve had a tough life. All I can say is I’m enormously humbled to know you’ve found some bit of solace in my novels.
GARY
Hey, that’s pretty good. Will you put that in your inscription to me?
LAIRD
Uh, sure. If you like…
(Laird resumes writing. He pauses.)
Sorry, it’s been a long day. Do you remember what I just said?
GARY
Yeah. You said, “Gary, you truly are the king of literature. Everything I know about writing I’ve learned from you, you big ole loveable horse dingus!”
LAIRD
Now, Gary, you know that’s not what I said.
GARY
Also, “Sorry I made you quit your job.”
LAIRD
What?! I did not make you quit--
GARY
“Love, Laird.”
LAIRD
I’m not writing that, Gary.
GARY
“P.S. Please send your medical bills to my publisher and they will deduct them from my royalties.”
Blackout.
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