INT. KITCHEN – MORNING
A highly strung workaholic named ERNIE crumbles a handful of Tums antacids onto a bowl of cereal. Dressed in a suit and tie, he hunches over the kitchen table like a surly Gargoyle. His wife MAUDE, a pleasant and dopey woman, tends to the breakfast being made on the stovetop.
ERNIE: (sardonic) All the colors of the rainbow. Yippie.
MAUDE: Ernie, I made you some of my trademark “Bacombos.” You’re running late, so you can eat in the car if you like.
ERNIE: Again with the bacon and Combos, Maude? My cholesterol is going through the roof and your lousy food experiments are gonna send me to an early grave. And I’m not running late. I don’t punch in at the migraine factory ‘til 9 a.m., so quit rushing me out the door, will ya?
MAUDE: Oh, but it’s already 9:30, sweetie. Today is National Clock Tinkering Day.
Ernie lurches forward and spits his Tums-speckled cereal back into the bowl.
ERNIE: Freakin’ daylight savings time! Curse you, Cronus, you damned Greek god of time. I can never hit your biannual curveball!
He snags his briefcase and rushes for the door. Maude picks up a plastic baby resting on the stove.
MAUDE: Kiss Ernie Junior goodbye.
In his haste, Ernie leans in close to the doll but catches himself.
ERNIE: That’s not a real baby! Dammit, Maude, stop dropping these hints. I’m too busy to juggle a career and a family.
MAUDE: Okay. Maybe we’ll visit you at work later today; you can kiss him then.
Ernie groans in exasperation, turns, and stomps toward the exit. Before crossing the threshold, he berates his watch.
ERNIE: You just had to spring forward this time, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!
EXT. SIDEWALK – MORNING
ROSCO stands behind the counter of a lemonade stand crafted out of wood. A cardboard signs reads: “Round the Corner Lemonade, $.50/ cup.” Like his coworker, Rosco is cranky and unable to cope with stress. He pours a cup of lemonade and disdainfully surveys the long line of customers. Among them is a conspicuous man with a puffy red beard contrasted by blonde hair.
ROSCO: Where the HELL is he?
A FEMALE PATRON is first in line, cradling what looks like a bundled baby. She clears her throat, hinting agitation.
FEMALE PATRON: I’ll thank you not to swear in front of my child, sir.
ROSCO: (sighs) Okay, okay. My mistake, ma’am. Here, this cup is half-off.
A shoebox rests on the counter. Rosco removes the lid and hands her back a quarter.
FEMALE PATRON: I would accept no less.
She walks away as Ernie rushes toward the lemonade stand, swinging his briefcase wildly. He stops suddenly and squints at the woman and her bundled baby.
ROSCO: Hey, there you are. It’s about damn time.
FEMALE PATRON: You’re swearing again.
ROSCO: Full refund!
With that he throws a quarter at the woman. Ernie intercepts it.
ERNIE: Wait!
He swats the plastic baby onto the ground and the other customers gasp in horror.
ERNIE (CONT’D): That’s not a real baby!
He drops the quarter back in the shoebox as the customers exert a collective sigh. Ernie empties his briefcase on the countertop and out come its contents: several lemons, a box of sugar, and a hammer.
ROSCO: I don’t want to hear your bogus excuse for being late until after this ungodly rush is over. We’re low on the sun-juice, so get to hammering.
Ernie smashes fitfully at the lemons. Meanwhile, a MALE PATRON approaches the lemonade stand.
MALE PATRON: Uh, hi. I’d like a cup of lemonade, please.
ROSCO: Well, aren’t you Mr. Originality? One cup of lemonade!
Ernie grabs a sleeve of paper cups and yanks at the one on top. It won’t give; the cup is stuck.
ERNIE: Lousy paper jam!
With a vicious yank, he separates the cup from its sleeve. A wad of gum is stuck to the bottom.
ERNIE: Which one of you hell-raisers stuck a wad of gum in here? I want answers!
ROSCO: To hell with your investigation, Ernie. We’ll file a police report later.
A bullish snort of air escapes from Ernie’s nostrils. He fills a cup of lemonade and hands it to the male patron. The man drops some change into the box and darts away.
A TIMID PATRON approaches, drink in hand.
TIMID PATRON: Yeah, I bought a cup not too long ago and I found a fingernail embedded in a cigarette butt at the bottom of my drink. I’m sure it was an honest mistake, but…I’d like a refund.
ROSCO: Well, goodbye profit-margins!
Furious, he steals the hammer from Ernie and slams it down on a very juicy lemon. Citric acid sprays from the fruit into the Timid Patron’s eyes. The man reels backward and rubs his stinging peepers. Ernie shoves his coworker.
ERNIE: And hello lawsuit. Now there’s a fair trade.
The Timid Patron pinches the bridge of his nose and rests his other hand on the counter.
TIMID PATRON: Guys, just calm down…
ERNIE: (to Rosco) Who’s the cross-eyed Janitard that taught you how to make lemonade? Your technique’s all wrong. LOOK.
Ernie reclaims the hammer. Aiming to crush the lemon properly, he misses by inches and hammers the Timid Patron’s finger. The man howls and nurses his finger.
ROSCO: Bravo, Professor Lemonade. Now we gotta offer him a bribe.
He dumps out the contents of the shoebox and shovels dozens of coins across the counter to the Timid Patron.
ROSCO: Don’t sue us, you rotten bastard!
The conspicuous man in line rips off his fake red beard and reveals his true identity.
DISTRICT MANAGER: All right, I’ve seen enough, gentlemen.
ERNIE: The District Manager?
DISTRICT MANAGER: That’s right, Ernie. I dropped by for a surprise inspection, incognito, and what I’ve seen has been disgraceful. The tardiness, the cuss words, citric acid in the customer’s eyes—and Ernie, what you did to that baby was sickening.
ERNIE: That wasn’t a real baby!
DISTRICT MANAGER: Really? Well, nevertheless, you’re both canned. We’re bringing in some new blood to replace the two of you. (Calls offstage) Timmy! Trisha!
Two adorable children enter the scene and establish themselves behind the counter of the lemonade stand.
ROSCO: What a load of crap. Selling lemonade is a MAN’S job.
ERNIE: Freakin’ scabs!
DISTRICT MANAGER: Settle down, gentlemen. As a key part of your severance package I am offering to drive you to the unemployment office.
ROSCO: (considering) Hmmm. What do you think?
ERNIE: I think gas costs too much to turn down a ride from this scumbag.
With that, the disgruntled workers trail behind the man who fired them, exiting the scene. After a beat, a FAT PATRON steps toward the lemonade stand, indulging the children with a pleasant grin and a melodic tone in his voice.
FAT PATRON: I’ve got two quarters for two special little persons if you’ll kindly pour me a cup of lemonade.
TRISHA: We’re on our break, fat-ass!
The customer recoils, more shocked than offended. He slinks away, forever terrified of the future.
Timmy produces a small rectangular box from his pocket and extracts two candy cigarettes.
TIMMY: Candy cancer stick?
TRISHA: (nods) Fat-ass didn’t even say “please.”
A highly strung workaholic named ERNIE crumbles a handful of Tums antacids onto a bowl of cereal. Dressed in a suit and tie, he hunches over the kitchen table like a surly Gargoyle. His wife MAUDE, a pleasant and dopey woman, tends to the breakfast being made on the stovetop.
ERNIE: (sardonic) All the colors of the rainbow. Yippie.
MAUDE: Ernie, I made you some of my trademark “Bacombos.” You’re running late, so you can eat in the car if you like.
ERNIE: Again with the bacon and Combos, Maude? My cholesterol is going through the roof and your lousy food experiments are gonna send me to an early grave. And I’m not running late. I don’t punch in at the migraine factory ‘til 9 a.m., so quit rushing me out the door, will ya?
MAUDE: Oh, but it’s already 9:30, sweetie. Today is National Clock Tinkering Day.
Ernie lurches forward and spits his Tums-speckled cereal back into the bowl.
ERNIE: Freakin’ daylight savings time! Curse you, Cronus, you damned Greek god of time. I can never hit your biannual curveball!
He snags his briefcase and rushes for the door. Maude picks up a plastic baby resting on the stove.
MAUDE: Kiss Ernie Junior goodbye.
In his haste, Ernie leans in close to the doll but catches himself.
ERNIE: That’s not a real baby! Dammit, Maude, stop dropping these hints. I’m too busy to juggle a career and a family.
MAUDE: Okay. Maybe we’ll visit you at work later today; you can kiss him then.
Ernie groans in exasperation, turns, and stomps toward the exit. Before crossing the threshold, he berates his watch.
ERNIE: You just had to spring forward this time, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!
EXT. SIDEWALK – MORNING
ROSCO stands behind the counter of a lemonade stand crafted out of wood. A cardboard signs reads: “Round the Corner Lemonade, $.50/ cup.” Like his coworker, Rosco is cranky and unable to cope with stress. He pours a cup of lemonade and disdainfully surveys the long line of customers. Among them is a conspicuous man with a puffy red beard contrasted by blonde hair.
ROSCO: Where the HELL is he?
A FEMALE PATRON is first in line, cradling what looks like a bundled baby. She clears her throat, hinting agitation.
FEMALE PATRON: I’ll thank you not to swear in front of my child, sir.
ROSCO: (sighs) Okay, okay. My mistake, ma’am. Here, this cup is half-off.
A shoebox rests on the counter. Rosco removes the lid and hands her back a quarter.
FEMALE PATRON: I would accept no less.
She walks away as Ernie rushes toward the lemonade stand, swinging his briefcase wildly. He stops suddenly and squints at the woman and her bundled baby.
ROSCO: Hey, there you are. It’s about damn time.
FEMALE PATRON: You’re swearing again.
ROSCO: Full refund!
With that he throws a quarter at the woman. Ernie intercepts it.
ERNIE: Wait!
He swats the plastic baby onto the ground and the other customers gasp in horror.
ERNIE (CONT’D): That’s not a real baby!
He drops the quarter back in the shoebox as the customers exert a collective sigh. Ernie empties his briefcase on the countertop and out come its contents: several lemons, a box of sugar, and a hammer.
ROSCO: I don’t want to hear your bogus excuse for being late until after this ungodly rush is over. We’re low on the sun-juice, so get to hammering.
Ernie smashes fitfully at the lemons. Meanwhile, a MALE PATRON approaches the lemonade stand.
MALE PATRON: Uh, hi. I’d like a cup of lemonade, please.
ROSCO: Well, aren’t you Mr. Originality? One cup of lemonade!
Ernie grabs a sleeve of paper cups and yanks at the one on top. It won’t give; the cup is stuck.
ERNIE: Lousy paper jam!
With a vicious yank, he separates the cup from its sleeve. A wad of gum is stuck to the bottom.
ERNIE: Which one of you hell-raisers stuck a wad of gum in here? I want answers!
ROSCO: To hell with your investigation, Ernie. We’ll file a police report later.
A bullish snort of air escapes from Ernie’s nostrils. He fills a cup of lemonade and hands it to the male patron. The man drops some change into the box and darts away.
A TIMID PATRON approaches, drink in hand.
TIMID PATRON: Yeah, I bought a cup not too long ago and I found a fingernail embedded in a cigarette butt at the bottom of my drink. I’m sure it was an honest mistake, but…I’d like a refund.
ROSCO: Well, goodbye profit-margins!
Furious, he steals the hammer from Ernie and slams it down on a very juicy lemon. Citric acid sprays from the fruit into the Timid Patron’s eyes. The man reels backward and rubs his stinging peepers. Ernie shoves his coworker.
ERNIE: And hello lawsuit. Now there’s a fair trade.
The Timid Patron pinches the bridge of his nose and rests his other hand on the counter.
TIMID PATRON: Guys, just calm down…
ERNIE: (to Rosco) Who’s the cross-eyed Janitard that taught you how to make lemonade? Your technique’s all wrong. LOOK.
Ernie reclaims the hammer. Aiming to crush the lemon properly, he misses by inches and hammers the Timid Patron’s finger. The man howls and nurses his finger.
ROSCO: Bravo, Professor Lemonade. Now we gotta offer him a bribe.
He dumps out the contents of the shoebox and shovels dozens of coins across the counter to the Timid Patron.
ROSCO: Don’t sue us, you rotten bastard!
The conspicuous man in line rips off his fake red beard and reveals his true identity.
DISTRICT MANAGER: All right, I’ve seen enough, gentlemen.
ERNIE: The District Manager?
DISTRICT MANAGER: That’s right, Ernie. I dropped by for a surprise inspection, incognito, and what I’ve seen has been disgraceful. The tardiness, the cuss words, citric acid in the customer’s eyes—and Ernie, what you did to that baby was sickening.
ERNIE: That wasn’t a real baby!
DISTRICT MANAGER: Really? Well, nevertheless, you’re both canned. We’re bringing in some new blood to replace the two of you. (Calls offstage) Timmy! Trisha!
Two adorable children enter the scene and establish themselves behind the counter of the lemonade stand.
ROSCO: What a load of crap. Selling lemonade is a MAN’S job.
ERNIE: Freakin’ scabs!
DISTRICT MANAGER: Settle down, gentlemen. As a key part of your severance package I am offering to drive you to the unemployment office.
ROSCO: (considering) Hmmm. What do you think?
ERNIE: I think gas costs too much to turn down a ride from this scumbag.
With that, the disgruntled workers trail behind the man who fired them, exiting the scene. After a beat, a FAT PATRON steps toward the lemonade stand, indulging the children with a pleasant grin and a melodic tone in his voice.
FAT PATRON: I’ve got two quarters for two special little persons if you’ll kindly pour me a cup of lemonade.
TRISHA: We’re on our break, fat-ass!
The customer recoils, more shocked than offended. He slinks away, forever terrified of the future.
Timmy produces a small rectangular box from his pocket and extracts two candy cigarettes.
TIMMY: Candy cancer stick?
TRISHA: (nods) Fat-ass didn’t even say “please.”
1 comment:
Hilarious!
From the get-go with the tums over the cereal and the colors of the rainbow, etc. You kept it going throughout as well. That's what's great about writing short plays, etc. jokes can really stay on top of each other well. I really liked your approach to some of your ideas, too. Sight gags and over-seriousness.
AND YOU TALK ABOUT THE GRAVE STATE OF UNEMPLOYED LEMONADE STAND-ERS. KUDOS!
~eric
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