This is an excerpt from "By George", a skit written and directed by me for the Young Principles Theater Company. Now we're considering titling the show Laugh Du Jour and putting up the show in the first week of November. Stay tuned for actual dates and location.
By George
In a corporate office, a young, manic businessman, MR. RICHARDS, sits at his desk, punching madly at the keyboard to his computer while looking away. His intercom buzzes.
RICHARDS (pressing intercom): Yes, Naps?
RECEPTIONIST: Mr. Andrews, your 10:30, is here.
RICHARDS: Shoot him over.
Dave straightens himself out, checks his breath and looks at his wristwatch. ENTER MR. GEORGE ANDREWS, a confident young business hopeful.
RICHARDS (all smiles): Ah. Mr. Andrews. Glad to see you’re early.
GEORGE (shaking hands): Well, I make it a virtue, Mr. Richards.
Mr. Richards and Mr. Andrews chuckle.
RICHARDS (motioning to empty chair before desk): Please.
GEORGE: Thank you.
RICHARDS (turning to computer): And please call me Dick.
GEORGE (amused): Sure, Dick.
RICHARDS (smiling): Just looking at the resume you emailed us here and it looks doable. As you know very well, this company’s in dire need of leadership at the ground level. (leaning closer to George) Let’s just say that the streets aren’t holding butter. Catch my drift?
GEORGE: Holding butter?
RICHARDS: But a man of your qualifications shouldn’t have a sandy time. The work is difficult but you’ll be trained a good whipping. (surprised at himself) Well take a goggle at me: I’m preaching to meows here. So, let’s save ourselves some time and get down to business. (turning to computer, punching madly at keyboard) Yes, sir. Time is cheddar, time is cheddar.
GEORGE: I don’t understand a thing you just said.
RICHARDS: Well, you should get out more. (laughs) In this fast-paced market you can’t expect oranges to fly just for you. You sniff? (return to files) Once you’re with Berry Jiggly. (grinning) You’ll be gagging till Denmark, Mr. Andrews.
George smiles and folds his hands over his lap.
GEORGE: Oh… (relaxing) Well, you can call me George.
Richards glares at George and restrains himself. His fingers dig into the edge of the desk.
RICHARDS (forcing himself to speak): Excuse me?
GEORGE (confused): I beg your pardon?
RICHARDS (standing up): What did you just say? To me?
GEORGE (taken back): I said you can call me George.
RICHARDS (fuming): How dare you?
GEORGE (confused, pointing to monitor) My name’s at the top of the resume.
Richards gasps at the screen and covers it with some papers from the desktop. Repulsed, he turns it away, adjusts his tie, and turns to George.
RICHARDS: Is this some sick joke? I’ll have you know my mother’s a saint.
George looks around.
GEORGE: Is this some prank? (smiling) Alright, come on out! You got me!
RICHARDS: The only prank, Mr. Andrews, is Berry Jiggly’s serious consideration of your employment.
GEORGE (stands outraged): I want to speak to Mr. Jiggly immediately.
RICHARDS (stands and reaching for intercom): It’ll be my buffet.
© Frank Reynoso, Oct. 2007, All Rights Reserved
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