CHARACTERS

Jon: Protagonist. Friday/Saturday bounce

Michael: Secondary protagonist and bouncer at the bar

Screwball: Manager of the bar

Plum: Main antagonist

Red: Untamed red-bearded roommate of Plum. Second antagonist.

Lee: Tertiary security

Champ: A friend of Lee who’s always recording something.

NOTES FOR THE DESIGNER

The exterior of the bar front is open from the north and west. A black metal gate three feet tall juts out from the northwest corner six feet to the west. At a right angle, the gate extends another six feet before the entryway. Three feet are exposed before the gate continues south along the avenue sidewalk, when, at another right angle and six feet, connects with the exposed brick of the bar’s southwestern exterior. Four malleable iron tables are set up. Three to the south of the entryway and one is north of our protagonist, Big Bad Jon. Jon is standing in the gate’s entryway. The secondary protagonist, Michael, is standing near the bar’s main double door, which is directly six feet behind and the same width as the black metal gate’s entryway. The left door is permanently locked and is emblazoned with a vinyl sticker resembling the famous blue ribbon. The main door is open wide and propped by a silver metal stanchion. Extras and the audience can only see the white silhouette of the blue-ribbon sticker from behind the glass. A street lamppost, a bus signpost, and black metal hemispherical bike racks adorn the westernmost sidewalk before the street. 

Add greenery to your liking, but not too much.

It is spring and cool. Warm once and will be again, but not tonight. A concert is playing across the street. The bar is at capacity. A line is forming from the northernmost entryway post with extras single file from the north. Jon is wearing a bright red canvas jacket and black jeans with red shoes. He is a large man over two meters tall. Michael is of slightly less-than-average height with a bushy beard, wearing a black zip-up hoodie and a black, flat-brimmed baseball cap.

PROLOGUE

[A woman walks up to a gate, shorter than most wearing a gray sweatshirt with tired eyes set in a youthful, round face. The hour approaches midnight.]

Jon [indifferently]: ID please.

Plum: Let me find it … here.

[Jon notices three key differences in the ID from Plum. The face in the ID is slender with a sharp jawline. Height is four or five inches taller than Plum. Eye color is brighter on Plum than the woman on ID.]

Jon: What is your birthday?

[Plum responds with the correct answer. Then starts reading off address.]

Jon: Hold up. I didn’t ask for the address. How do you spell your last name?

Plum [confused]: P. I. L. Y. M …

Jon: Try that one more time.

Plum: P. I.

Jon: Nope. One more.

Plum: P. I.

Jon: Wrong.

[Memorizing the last name on the ID, Jon moves the ID into his inside jacket pocket and asks Plum to stand to the left of the gated entryway. She does so.]

Plum: What are you doing? Give me that back.

Jon: It’s not you. Why would I give it back to you?

Plum: It is me. Give it back. I live right upstairs I wouldn’t come to this bar if I used a fake.

Jon [annoyed]: You’re too short. Your face doesn’t match and your eyes are too bright. Plus, you can’t spell your last name.

Plum: Well I’m a little drunk. Can you spell your last name?

Jon: RZEPECKI

Plum: But … you’re not drunk.

Jon: Correct. So why don’t you try your name one last time?

Plum [confidently]: P. I.

Jon: Nope. Wrong again. Go away.

Plum: But … it’s me. Why can’t you just give me it back?

[Michael asks for the ID and looks it over. He notes that the face and height do not match. He and Plum start going back and forth while Jon pays more attention to the line and future or past customers.]

[The lights dim.]

ACT ONE

[15 minutes pass and Plum is still waiting outside. Lee has seen the ID and confirms suspicions. An entirely new crowd of people has entered the bar when a man walks up to the gate and asks what the problem is with Plum’s holdup. The man is the woman’s roommate.]

Red: What’s the problem?

Jon: She was using a fake. Well, not really. She gave me a card that wasn’t hers. She couldn't spell the last name.

Red: So, you took her ID. It’s a real ID. You can’t just take it.

Jon [confident, yet still annoyed]: Her height doesn’t match. Her face doesn’t match. And it took her 10 minutes to spell the last name right, and she only said it right after looking at Facebook.

Plum [screaming]: I was texting my boyfriend!

Red [in Plum’s direction]: Stop talking, I’ll handle this!

Jon: Sir, there’s nothing to handle. You all need to leave.

Red: I’ve been to a bar before. Do you think I’m an idiot? Do you think I’m a dumbass? Is there a manager in your bar? Is there a manager in the bar right now?

Jon: He trusts me explicitly.

Red: Then bring him here so I can have a conversation with him.

Jon: No, I’m not wasting his tome on this. Trust me, it’s not going to work.

Red: So, you’re not doing your job. Your job is customer service.

Jon: My job is to take care of the bar.

Red: OK, so how many times have you had to kick an asshole out of the bar that you let in beforehand?

Jon: A few. But I’m glad they’re not underage.

Red: So you didn’t do your job any of those times? You didn’t do your job any of those times you were letting those assholes in. Can I talk to your manager? Can I talk to your manager? Do you not understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?
[Red’s chest puffs out a bit as he tries to move through the gate’s entryway.]

Jon: I do. I also told her to leave a half hour ago.

Red: And I told you that I would like to talk to your manager.
[Red proceeds to spell M-A-N-A-G-E-R}

Jon: You can talk to him tomorrow. Call him tomorrow. We open at noon.

Red: Is he here? Is he not here?

Jon: He’s here. Probably here. Might be here. I’m not entirely sure. He might also be right behind me.

Red: Wow. A customer service agent who doesn’t even know if his manager is here. [Red points at Jon, and turns to the crowd] He’s not doing his job. [Red turns to Michael] Can I get into the bar?

Michael: No, you cannot.

Red: Why? I’m 21.

Michael: I don’t care. You’re not listening.

Red: So, you’re sitting here and telling me I can’t come into the bar so that I can talk to the manager and tell him that there are two bouncers who are giving me terrible customer service. That’s all I’m trying to do. I’m trying to 100 percent sober have a conversation with them. I want to see the manager. That is a 100 percent legal right that I have as a sober patron of your bar.

[Objects begin to fall from the sky. Liquid rains down from a window., followed by a now empty Gatorade bottle. A tube of lip gloss and chap stick follow.]

Red: I’m not trying to get into your bar. Not trying to drink. I am 21 years old. I am 24 years old. Soon to be 25 years old.

Plum: We will never be here ever again. I promise you.

Red: Just let me go in and talk to your manager. That’s literally all I want to do. You’re sitting here and telling me no.

Plum: Like, seriously.

Red: If you really think they’re not 21, or she’s not 21 … I don’t even know. [Red raises his hands to the heavens]

Jon: I don’t care how old she is. She brought an ID that was not her.

Red: I don’t even give a shit about it. I want to talk to your manager. Is that OK with you?

[More objects begin to fall from a higher vantage point. Balled up bread, unknown from loaf or roll is wadded up and thrown to the area below. Bread hits several customers, a busser, Michael and a barback. One customer mentions she felt like she was spat on. The cops have been called unbeknownst to Red and Plum.]

Jon [to Michael]: Get Screwball because things are starting to hit people in line.

Plum [arms folded and lips pursed]: It sounds like you have bigger problems.

Jon [confidence, once indifference, turns to anger and frustration]: We do. But, so do you because you’re still not getting this ID back. Anyway, we called the cops.

Red: What are the cops going to do? They won’t even be here until like an hour and a half.

Michael: Just call the non-emergency line for the ID.

Red: We don’t have all night just give her back the fucking ID.

Michael: The cops will be here any minute. Just ask them and get the whole thing settled in twenty minutes, tops.

Red: Yeah, right. The cops aren’t coming anywhere near this place for hours.

[Five minutes later the police arrive and the officer shines a light up the fourth and fifth-floor middle windows as Lee stands by the cruiser and Champ takes video of the perpetrators. After a few shines the bread heaves stop. The spotlight now coming down to level also shines more light on the ground, now covered in balls of torn and smashed muesli in and around the gate.

[Screwball appears, with knowledge of the situation but not acknowledging Red and Plum at first.]

Screwball: Well, that should make them stop. I’ve got the non-emergency line right on my phone.

[Red sees Screwball and starts talking to him about the ID.]

Red: Can we please talk about how your customer service agent here stole this woman’s ID for no reason?

Screwball [mood changes from apathetic to assertive]: Listen, you can either call the police or get fucked.

[The lights dim.]

CURTAIN

EPILOGUE

[We approach twilight and the bar is in its nightly decline. Still plenty full but not as busy as when Red and Plum staged their resistance when the concrete was pelted by angered fists of wheat and rye, yeast and flour. A man walks up to the gate’s entryway with a Styrofoam cup of ice in hand, breathing heavily after his journey from across the street.]

Lee: Look, Jon. Look at this dude.

Jon: Hello. Can I see your ID?

Man: Yeah … but ... where can I set this down?

[Without waiting for a reply, he sets the cup on the gatepost ledge. Jon hands the man back the ID to the man and then takes the cup and throws it in the trash behind him. The man is in disbelief.]

Man [excitedly aggrieved, he falls to both knees, a single arm outstretched, yearning for something he has now lost] One more cube!

THE END