Return to Frog House
A play by Matt Mason. Comments and critiques are boisterously encouraged
Characters:
Herb Verde.......................a temp worker in Omaha
Lena..................................a pregnant waitress
Squeegee...........................Herb's friend
Jennifer.............................Herb's squeeze
Joe.....................................Herb's co-worker
[Act 1]
[Scene: a coffee shop. Herb sits at a table, Lena stands]
Herb:
I mean, I don't think I'm yearning to live in the Utah desert or anything, but I close
my eyes and there it is:
twenty, seventy miles west of Salt Lake--it doesn't really matter, it's all exactly the
same--but I see everything, I see out the windshield of my car, the sun reflecting off
the salt fields, the blue sky with barely a trace of clouds in it, I can hear the radio
playing some patchy country station, I'm heading west.
Lena:
How do you know it's west?
Herb:
Um... I'm going away from Salt Lake.
And I know the sculpture will come up on my right.
Lena:
Sculpture?
Herb:
Yah, it's, well, I don't know who put it there. I pulled onto the side of the interstate
to get a closer look once, but there's nothing there to tell anybody anything. It's like
this thirty foot tall stone version of the scrawny Charlie Brown Christmas tree with a
couple ornaments or whatever lying under it.
You drive through a hundred miles of monotony, see that, get confused, and have
something to think about for the next hundred miles of monotony.
Lena:
Well, that's pretty wild all right. Now, do you dream this?
Herb:
Not really. I mean, I just see it when I close my eyes. And it, well, it feels great.
It's like I'm more alert, even though I hate that drive. I hate the Salt Flats. The whole
thing is dull, endless, I-80 cutting through Utah-nothing right before the four hundred
miles of Nevada-nothing you have to look forward to.
It's that kind of week, I guess: even my visions suck.
Lena:
Well, don't stress over it. It's probably just one of those things like a deja vouse where
you get this big important sense that you've been somewhere before, heard something
before, lived this exact scene before, so you feel prepared for something extraordinary to
happen at any moment. Then it ends up being one of the least-noteworthy moments in
your life.
Nothing happens.
Less than nothing, if that's possible.
Herb:
Yah, you're probably right. I mean, I don't plan on running off to Utah anytime soon to
see a fricking tree-thing.
I can't afford it, anyway.
Ah well,
I suppose I'll just have to rely on more coffee.
Lena:
Well, drink enough and people've been known to have visions of sorts, too.
[Exit Lena. Enter Squeegee moments afterward]
Squeegee:
Herbert, good to see you my son, and how are you on this fine, fine, overcast evening?
Herb:
Not bad, Squeegee, pull up a chair.
Squeegee:
Certainly, my good man. And what have you done today? I stopped believing in God a
week ago. Since then, I've felt good, great even, none of my sheep have started leaking
black gunk from every orifice and died-
Herb:
Praise be Allah. I'd hoped to write a bit while I sat here, but I haven't done much with
my day besides space off and talk to Lena.
Squeegee:
I mean, I finally won a game from that racquetball guy who's been kicking my ass every
Wednesday. Monotheistic me was 0 and 50 and my new heathen self may have lost the
first 4 games today, but I won one! Plus I got a thirty-cent raise at work and Thelma, who
turned me down for a date two months ago, called and asked if I still wanted to go out
sometime. Atheism rules, man.
Herb:
Really?
Squeegee:
Yah!
Herb:
Her name is Thelma? The only Thelma I've ever known is the one with the orange
sweater on Scooby Doo.
Squeegee:
Different Thelma, bub, that Thelma must be in her fifties now.
Herb:
Yah, do you think that's her on Murder She Wrote? Though the Murder one looks a
lot more three dimensional.
Squeegee:
Age can do that to a person.
Herb:
We can only hope.
Squeegee:
Lena? Lena? And just who is that; another new interest, does Jessica know? Would
your mother and I approve of your catting around? Hmm?
Herb:
Oh, please. And my girlfriend's name is Jennifer.
But I suppose Lena is kinda the perfect woman--smart, fun, cute, we could talk for
days on end-
of course, she's also pregnant.
Squeegee:
Whoa! Does Angelica know THIS? Have you been withholding from us all, Herbert?
Are congratulations in order?
Herb:
Um, no. You know my policy on breeding. And she lives with her boyfriend just up the
street.
I met him once.
He's nice.
Squeegee:
Hmm, I see. Condolences then, my friend, but buck up: someday you'll find that
special someone and then have all kinds of new problems to wade through.
Herb:
Golly, thanks.
Uh, Squeej?
Squeegee:
Mmm?
Herb:
What are you doing?
Squeegee:
I am eating.
Herb:
This is a coffee shop, you're supposed to, say, buy food here, not bring it in and eat it.
Squeegee:
Please.
I am not bound by your common laws, I am diabetic, I can pull food out and claim
immunity from societal norms and enjoy a graham cracker for reasons of personal health
and safety.
Herb:
Graham crackers? Don't those have sugar? Aren't you supposed to avoid that?
Squeegee:
Nonsense! That's just misinformation cooked up by the UN and the sugar-free foods
syndicate. And if you're an employee here, are YOU going to question a diabetic
customer's health-decisions?
[Enter Lena]
Herb:
Umm, you need to buy something to be a customer-
Lena:
Refill, Herb? And can I get you anything?
Squeegee:
I'd like a diet of your cola du jour, please.
[Herb shakes his head, mostly at Lena]
Lena:
Ok, anything with that?
Squeegee:
No. That will suffice.
Lena:
Okee.
[Exit Lena]
Squeegee:
Well, I'll back up your notions about her face, but her talkative nature seems to be
escaping me.
[Herb continues shaking his head]
Okay, okay, so what's up? You look down. Geneva's left you, right?
Herb:
Jennifer. And no.
I think I'm just stuck in that in-between phase where the newness of being back here
in town's worn off, but I haven't found any real direction yet. I'm jonesing for a goal,
some stability, some sense of what I'm doing here.
It's just odd. I even find myself feeling hungry a lot late at night, and I get out of bed
and go to the fridge, open the door, and just stare inside trying to figure out what I
need to eat.
But nothing there looks like "it" so I go through the cupboards and nothing there is
"it" either.
Squeegee:
Ya know? the way you're talking, you remind me of the main characters in about
every play turned in by this bad intro to play writing class I took in college.
Herb:
Yah? so how'd they end up? Did the main character get rich, win the girl, triumph
over his smart-ass buddy, and find what he was looking for?
Squeegee:
No, usually he died. The author would get right about to the ten page requirement
after some convoluted hijinks, then get confused about how to end it and kill them with
a disease or a blimp or something.
Herb:
Hmm, hope my personal scriptwriter has more imagination than that. In the short-run,
at least. The long-run never gives us much chance. Except, of course, when you
involve Higher Powered writers, which, I guess, you don't believe in any more.
[Enter Lena with diet cola]
Squeegee:
No, no, there's Stephen King still. So what've you been up to, now, besides standing
naked in a refrigerator's spotlight?
Herb:
Well, for clarification's sake, I don't sleep naked, I wear boxer shorts to bed.
Lena:
Thanks for the tidbit, sport, don't worry about tipping me now, that there's worth way
more than fifteen percent.
[Exit Lena]
Squeegee:
Though she is growing on me. You were saying?
Herb:
Uh, well,
oh, I registered to vote yesterday. I decided on Republican this time.
Squeegee:
What! What! Are you senile already? You realize that this is the point in our
friendship where I pull out the gun and kill you for your own good, you hate them!
Herb:
Well, I don't hate them. I don't tend to agree with them, and they do strike me as
white-collar terrorists sometimes, but I figure I need to explore all my options. I've
registered Green, Democrat, and Patriot so far. I needed a change.
Squeegee:
You're a sick man, Herb Verde, a sick man.
So do you think they might have the answers?
Herb:
Nope.
Squeegee:
Yah.
Any idea who might have the answers?
Herb:
I dunno.
Maybe Krishna.
Squeegee:
Hmm. Deep. So anyway, when do I get to meet this new woman in your life, this
jewel on the banks of the Missouri, this... Genevieve?
Herb:
Well, she shoulda been here twenty minutes ago which means she'll be here in
about ten minutes. And just in case it should be on a test someday, her name is
Jennifer.
Squeegee:
Jennifer, Jennifer, thank you sahib. Saved me one of those embarrassing little faux
pas.
Herb:
Think nothing of it, all in a day's labor. By the way-
Squeegee:
Jah, mon?
Herb:
Have you ever been to Utah?
Squeegee:
Why? Who wants to know? Why are you bringing this up NOW? What, why are
you asking me this?
Herb:
Huh? What's up? I was just curious, honest.
Squeegee:
Well,
oh,
sorry. Look,
I went through there once and it just weirded me out. I was always afraid to stop for
gas or anything cuz I thought I'd end up being abducted and the next thing I know: I
have four fiancees; a white shirt; a thin, dark tie; and me and my buddy are pedaling
through some small town in Iowa trying to talk insecure housewives into converting to
Our Faith.
Herb:
Uh, Squeej?
Squeegee:
Yah?
Herb:
Sometimes I honestly wonder what the world you see through your eyes looks like,
as it's clearly off from what I'm experiencing over here. You do realize how unstable
your most recent comments are, don't you?
Squeegee:
Hey, man, you asked me a question, I answered, now accept me for who I am and
love me, isn't that what you Christians are supposed to do.
Herb:
Only in principle. I believe some offshoots still allow us to burn your type. Oh, but
don't mind all that, does somebody need a hug?
[Enter Jennifer]
Squeegee:
Golly-gosh, ya big lug-
Herb:
Jennifer! How's it going? This is Squeegee: Squeej, Jennifer.
Squeegee:
Nice to meet you.
Jennifer:
Nice to meet you, too; Herb's told me a lot about you.
Squeegee:
Well, only believe half of all that.
Herb:
Can I get you something to drink?
Squeegee:
Less than half, probably.
Jennifer:
Umm, maybe just some Earl Grey. Actually, I can't stay long, Herb, I'm sorry. We'll
have to see the movie some other night; it was just a nasty day at work and I really have
to get some stuff done.
Herb:
Uh, shoot. That's too bad.
Squeegee:
Actually, speaking of such things, I better ditch out. It was nice to meet you; I'll catch
you later, man.
Herb:
Okay. Take it easy. Don't drive too near cars with Utah plates.
Squeegee:
Don't start with me, young man!
[Exit Squeegee]
Herb:
So. What all do you need to do tonight?
Jennifer:
Well, stuff,
you know. I've mainly been totally obsessed with having to press my drapes before
my mom visits.
[Enter Lena]
Herb:
Uh huh. Drapes, eh? Is it this weekend she's coming?
Jennifer:
Oh, no, she won't be here for another couple of weeks. Uh, hi.
Lena:
Hi there. Can I get you anything?
Jennifer:
Yah, can I just get a cup of Earl Grey tea. With sugar.
Herb:
And a refill on mine, please, Lena.
Lena:
Sure thing.
[Exit Lena]
Jennifer:
It's just that I can't stop thinking about it, ya know? They're just there. Wrinkled
drapes right in my face once I wake up, wrinkled drapes when I go to bed, I just can't
get away from them and I have to do something before my mom comes, you know
how that is?
This is weird, isn't it.
Herb:
W-well, now I prefer the maxim: "Diagnose not lest ye be diagnosed;"
however-
Jennifer:
I know. But I can't help it. How was work today?
Herb:
Oooh, scintillating. Things were slow this morning, so I played with a staple
remover. You don't realize how well designed those things are until you really take
the time to admire the engineering. Those Chinese, lemme tell ya, they know how
to make stuff. Then, this afternoon, I used a rubber stamp to stamp 1,350 copies of
Jonathan P. Witzger's signature onto forms. Scads o' fun.
Jennifer:
Huh. Well. Well, today Alice just got thoroughly on my nerves.
Herb:
Yah?
[Enter Lena]
Jennifer:
Yah!
Herb:
[to Lena] Aah, thank you oh-so very much. That's the nicest thing anyone's done for
me all day.
Lena:
If that's true, then you either need to wake up earlier in the day or read Dianetics.
Herb:
Well, I'm sure I'll get around to that eventually.
Lena:
Yah, you probably will. Anything else I can get you folks?
Jennifer:
Nope.
Lena:
Ok, enjoy; grab me if you need anything.
Herb:
Will do.
[Exit Lena]
Say, have you ever driven through Utah?
Jennifer:
No. So we were supposed to put the test unit up into the cow. And Alice keeps
asking me if I'd sterilized it. She must've asked me four times and I keep politely
saying, "Yes," but if she would've kept asking, I'd have strangled her. I do not
understand her.
Herb:
Well, I suppose the cow might be glad to get reassured so often that everything
was sanitary.
God knows I would be.
Jennifer:
I guess. Though I suppose I've flown over Utah once or twice, though.
Herb:
Oh, okay.
Jennifer:
Yah, I guess so. This water is not very hot. Why do you always hang out here?
You should at least hang out somewhere where they make your drinks decently.
Herb:
Oh, I like this place. And if I really drank coffee for the taste and all,
I don't think I'd drink coffee.
Jennifer:
I wonder. So what would you drink, then?
Herb:
Oh,
I dunno.
The milk of human kindness served in a fluted crystal chalice with a sprig of mint,
a dollop of honey, and a dash of cinnamon.
Most places don't have that on tap, though, so probably just Coke.
Jennifer:
Huh. I could probably handle a good spiced tea.
Well, I should get going. The drapes are going to take forever and I have to go in
early again tomorrow.
Herb:
Well, happy pressing, then.
[They stand and exchange a tepid hug and kiss]
Jennifer:
Have you ever drunk champagne from a woman's slipper?
Herb:
Well, I can't say that I have. That just not only sounds unappealing, it sounds like
the fast path to athlete's tongue.
Jennifer:
I know. How did that ever get to be a romantic gesture?
Herb:
No clue. Maybe it hearkens back to a time of less hygienic prejudices and a
grander sense of fetishism.
Jennifer:
Maybe. Anyway, bye.
Herb:
Take it easy.
[Exit Jennifer]
I remember when I was in high school I used to wish and wish that I'd have a girlfriend,
if I had a girlfriend, then everything else
would be all right, things would all either fall into place or just not matter anymore.
So I'd stay up late, feeling more and more miserable as the hours dropped, blaming
every mood swing and confidence lag on my lack of a tangible romantic life.
It's just weird now
to be back in this town.
So many things from now and then seem closer than they probably are as that was
me the last time I lived in this town,
like my life is a long paper folded so that the top and the bottom get pressed together.
I guess that now
it's not such a manic urge to use dating to boost my self-image;
though that's there.
I want to date, I want to be in love just as much as I did then,
but first, I guess, I want to be stable, I want to be comfortable, rational, balanced,
start a relationship already feeling okay with my life, and see what happens from there.
It all seemed so much easier on Love Boat.
[Enter Lena]
Lena:
So that's her.
Herb:
Yep. What's your analysis, doctor?
Lena:
Oh, it's impossible to get all those little nuances about a person from just saying,
"Hi" and setting down some tea.
She's pretty. She dresses well.
She's not what I expected, though.
Herb:
So you expected a homely woman dressed in rags?
Lena:
No, not like that. I'm not sure what I expected.
Something else.
Herb:
Vague. Yet uninformative.
Lena:
Well, what do you think? Could you, say, see yourself marrying her?
Herb:
Jennifer? No. I can't see that.
Lena:
Why not? Who would you marry? What kind of woman can you see yourself with?
Herb:
Uh. Oh, I don't know.
That Something Else gal you mentioned earlier sounds pretty hot. You'll have to
introduce us someday.
Lena:
Yah, yah. Refill?
Herb:
Nope. Oh, and I'm just going to visit the little customer's room, so don't clear my
stuff. Coffee and the kidneys, you know the drill.
Lena:
Oh yah. I'm not too thrilled about it now that I have a bit more crowding in that region.
Herb:
Come now, make peace with your bladder, embrace your bladder. A bladder is a
beautiful piece of work; why, if it weren't for mine, I might never get out of bed in the
morning.
Lena:
That's touching. Go pee.
[Act 2]
[Scene: same place, Herb seated. It is 1 week later]
[Enter Joe]
Joe:
Hey there, Herb, what're you doing?
Herb:
Oh,
just writing.
Joe:
Writing what?
Herb:
Oh, I dunno, I haven't really started yet.
Joe:
Ah hah; so how did your last day feel?
Herb:
Oh, you know, the thrill of taking files in alphabetic order and moving them to numeric
order is one I'll cherish.
I dunno.
It was an okay job, but not the type of thing I'll miss.
Joe:
Not till payday, at least. Oh well, now I need to find another lunch buddy.
Herb:
Look at it positively, this could be your opportunity to get to know Merna better.
Joe:
No, no thanks.
Herb:
Just think of it though, Joe, she could fill you full of tips for faster filing.
Joe:
No, I'll pass. So, now, is it expensive to move to Utah?
Herb:
Well, I'm not really moving there. I'm coming back. I just need to go there.
Joe:
So you quit your job to sightsee?
Herb:
No.
Well.
Have you ever been through Utah?
Joe:
Oh, yah, me and my brother drove through there about five summers back. It rocked,
mile after mile of canyons, gorges, landscapes shooting up like monster packs of
Crayolas, rivers and oceans of impossible rock bridged by a little highway. It's the most
beautiful place I've ever seen,
one of those places that, as you're falling asleep in your tent at night, you can't believe
was actually that cool, that you must've just woken up extra happy that morning and
seen everything better somehow; but then you get up the next day, explore more, and go
down a road that kicks the last road's ass.
It's the kind of place where maybe you can forgive God for things like Bosnia, VD, the
Bubonic Plague, where you can kneel down before something you're actually burning to
worship.
The south, that is.
The northwest sucks. Nothing'll make you want to die like crossing the Salt Flats. I
hate it.
So where in Utah are you headed?
Herb:
Oh, just around, just gonna drive around and see stuff.
Joe:
Well, it's a good place to do that.
So you sure you don't want to catch a beer with me and Max?
Herb:
Yah. I really should finish up packing soon.
Joe:
Okay. Well, have fun. Stop by when you get back; who knows, maybe they'll still
need temps.
Herb:
Oh boy.
Joe:
Hey, it pays the rent, take it easy.
Herb:
See ya, Joe.
[Exit Joe]
Herb:
What I need is the kind of job where they pay you a lot of money to just eat
cheeseburgers for a few months of the year, then fly you around the world to eat
cheeseburgers in different places. I could do well there, work myself up to be VP in
charge of cheeseburger-eating; and after a few years when I'm looking for a change, I
could transfer to the Donut department, then retire soon after at a young age and do
nothing but wander the world's beaches, collecting driftwood and making sculptures
from it.
I dunno,
after nine hours of temping, I don't want to write or read anything, I just want to drop
into a fat chair and stare at a wall until it's time to go to bed.
[Enter Elena]
Elena:
So there you are. I wondered if you were gonna drop by, your friend Squeegee
came through looking for you last night,
saying you were running off to Utah tomorrow.
Herb:
Yep.
Elena:
Wow; what gives,
you still seeing that vision?
Herb:
Yah. I still see it. I close my eyes and I'm in that desert, hot, driving, feeling
spectacular.
Especially when I'm at work or when I'm in bed.
Elena:
Huh. So you figure you have to go there now?
Herb:
Yep, I guess it makes sense.
Elena:
So what do you do when you get there, when you're driving through the desert
and all that?
Herb:
I don't know.
Elena:
Huh. And you have to go there? Things can't get figured out here in Omaha or
maybe over in Council Bluffs?
Herb:
What could you figure out in Council Bluffs? No, I don't know, I really don't know
but Utah seems to make the most sense.
Elena:
Sense?
Herb:
To me, at least.
Elena:
Okay.
[Enter Squeegee]
So will you be coming back?
Herb:
Oh, yah, soon, I-
Squeegee:
So there you are! I've looked everywhere. You see, it's so weird, every time I close
my eyes I see a big stack of blueberry pancakes with little purple pigs waltzing on top
as they hum "Flight of the Valkyries." So, well, I've decided to quit my job and search
for a new life and wisdom at Perkins. I figure I should try there first. If what I seek
eludes me, there's always Denny's. And IHOP.
Elena:
I found him.
Squeegee:
Why so you did, my good woman, I owe you.
Elena:
I'll remember that. I better get changed for my shift, I'll check in on y'all later. Don't
leave without saying goodbye.
Herb:
Yes, dear.
[Exit Elena]
Squeegee:
So where've you been? I get this message on my machine saying you quit your job
and are driving to Utah and'll be back in a week or two? What gives?
Herb:
That sums it up.
You don't have a machine. I left that message with your roommate.
Squeegee:
Same difference.
Now don't go changing the subject on me, which reminds me, I put Jennifer into my
Psychic Spell-Check last night.
Herb:
You did what to her?
Squeegee:
The Psychic Spell-Check; my computer's spell-check dictionary doesn't have names
in it, so I run names through to see what it suggests their name is a misspelling of, in a
sense it finds their correct inner essence. Sometimes it doesn't work, like it just
assumes that you are a vegetative growth and so doesn't notice you. But then you put
in someone like my girlfriend Stacee--with two "e"s--and it suggested some things
which've proved intriguing, true, and quite invigorating if I do say so myself.
Herb:
I see.
Squeegee:
No you don't, Herr Herb, or you'd realize you cannot date this woman any longer. The
Psychic Spell-Checker says she is a "Gonophore" and a "Guanophore."
Herb:
Gee. I now see the error of my ways and will break things off immediately.
Squeegee:
Let me finish, you fickle, faithless fool; I then pulled out my Webster's to discover that
a "gonophore" is some part of a flower which deals with asexual reproduction. Now call
me a bean-head, but that's not something I'd prize in a significant other.
Herb:
I see.
Squeegee:
Yes? Well it doesn't get better in the all-seeing temple of my sacred spell-check, for
do you know what the second option, "guanophore," means?
Herb:
Can't say that I do, bean-head.
Squeegee:
Well, you see, it comes from the word "guano" which is Peruvian sea bird dung, and
the Greek word for "to bear" or "carry"-
Herb:
Okay, laughing boy, I get your gist.
Squeegee:
So you comprehend the wisdom of the cosmos and understand that she just ain't the
right gal for ya?
Herb:
Yah. I know that, but I've known that for a while and for better reasons than your little
electric oracle.
Squeegee:
Do not mock its powers, mortal!
Herb:
Yah, yah, it's not that she's an asexual or digs Peruvian seagull droppings, though for
all I know she might. She's cool. A good conversationalist and all, she's just
a little odd in ways which don't mess with my oddnesses well.
It's a kind of relationship where I feel we could really become great friends once we
break up.
Squeegee:
You are strange. Why don't you date like normal folk?
Herb:
Normal? Like you who only sticks with someone approved by his word processing
program?
Squeegee:
Well-
Herb:
So what DID it bring up for "Stacee?"
Squeegee:
Um, I'm sorry, that's classified, sir. All I can tell you is that if you ever run across a
Stacee with two "e"s and you don't court her immediately, then you are a fool.
Marital status and if I'm dating her notwithstanding, some restrictions do apply, the
surgeon general warns that certain elements of dating can lead to pregnancy.
So. Anyway.
Utah?
Herb:
Yep.
Squeegee:
With no money?
Herb:
I have enough. Just enough. And a paycheck'll be waiting for me when I get back,
helping to tide me over until I find another job.
Squeegee:
You know, the only job you'll get that fast is either telemarketing, another temp job, or
a career in the field of pizza transport engineering.
Herb:
I know. I'll probably just temp again, though at a different agency as this one's a little
miffed with me now.
Telemarketing makes me nervous, I'm sure it causes cancer in laboratory teenagers.
As for pizza, call me a snob, but something about having a Master's degree in turn-of-
the-century American poetry and driving around with a Pizza Hut beacon on top of my
car just sounds wrong.
Squeegee:
And temping doesn't?
Herb:
Until something better comes along.
Realistically, though, there aren't a lot of jobs where anyone's going to be desperately
in need of having an Edwin Arlington Robinson poem explicated.
Squeegee:
You never know. So what do figure is different out there besides more salt, sand, and
sunburn?
Herb:
I don't know. I just think I need to do it, to go. When I see it in my head, it feels good.
But right here, right now, I just feel like one of those little fish in the Central Park Mall,
fifty of 'em crashing and colliding and climbing over each other for a speck of stale
Wonderbread, all for the amusement of some little brat.
Squeegee:
Well, patience helps, bub. I've seen old men down at the water with whole loaves to
scatter, you just need to sit tight for a bit, grasshopper. You don't need to go to Utah.
Herb:
I know. But I do.
[Silence]
Squeegee:
So who's gonna massage my feet when the maharishi comes?
Herb:
Hey, I'm as likely to touch those from Utah as I am from right here.
Squeegee:
You scornful, scornful bitch.
Herb:
On that note, I think I'll go finish packing. Will you be okay without me, honey?
Squeegee:
Christ, I managed all the other times you left me, and for years on end, you whore.
I'll manage. Somehow.
Herb:
I'm sure you will.
Squeegee:
Yah, well, find something good. If not, I'll make fun of you.
Herb:
Ooh, big surprise.
[They hug]
Well, I better find Elena before I scoot.
Squeegee:
Yah, or she'll kick your butt.
[Exit Herb]
What I want
is for Herb to return and find the place taken over and populated by talking Mormons
so that he doesn't know what planet he's on. Then after some wacky adventures, he
can see the Woodman Tower on its side and realize he never left Omaha after all. This
is, perhaps, too much to hope for. And if he did, I'd probably have to pay royalties to the
guy who wrote Planet of the Apes.
[Enter Elena]
Hey, did Herb find you?
Elena:
Yep.
Squeegee:
Did you talk him out of leaving?
Elena:
Oh no. I just told him to keep his eyes and his mind open.
Squeegee:
Open? Empty is more like it. Do you think he's a big loon?
Elena:
Oh, not overtly. Herb's mentioned some adventures you've had-
Squeegee:
Lies.
Elena:
The two nuns and a cheesecake truck in Dublin?
Squeegee:
Lies.
And that's "lorry," not "truck."
Elena:
A two-hundred mile drive to Vancouver at 3am to see if Canadians make donuts?
Squeegee:
Ah, to be young and non-diabetic again.
Ok, ok, point taken. But what's he gonna find except inflated problems when he gets
back?
Elena:
Well, there's freedom, ideally. That's what I think this is all about, though I agree that
his visions seem more about self than setting.
Squeegee:
Freedom? So he's a little Braveheart, is he?
Elena:
Well, he sees himself as wildly free and alive in the middle of a wasteland. That's
freedom, ultimate well-being in the middle of nowhere.
Squeegee:
Yah, but it seems to me that Omaha's a big enough wasteland, he could be just as
free here.
Herb:
Maybe. I think this is all stuff that Herb must realize but doesn't entirely understand,
ya know? Freedom's being able to feel free wherever you end up, and if you absolutely
can't, you need to figure out what changes need making.
Squeegee:
Like flee to Utah?
Elena:
Probably not. Maybe change jobs, avoid unsatisfying relationships. Take charge of
what he can take charge of and get pointed in the right direction.
Squeegee:
Inspiring, oh wise one; it seems like you should have a dozen more arms, 5 more
heads, and a more metallic wardrobe, maybe even your own daytime talk show.
But did you tell Herb all this? You just let him go, our little boy into that cruel, cruel
world. He'll get out there, feel all tingly, and then what?
He'll have to come back here and be more of a slave just to get some crappy job and
pay his bills.
Elena:
Well, I don't think it's that easy, I take visions like that seriously.
You need to figure out your own dreams or they don't become entirely yours. So it
may help some to tell him, but it doesn't look like he listened to you. He has to change
himself, from himself.
Squeegee:
You really need to write a book: Men Are From Utah, Women Are From Nevada. I
think it'd sell.
Elena:
Oh ha ha, but I'm serious. Not everything is a fire walk, but a lot of times there just
isn't an easy path.
Squeegee:
Thank you, Miss Metaphor. So what about Herb, what do we do when he doesn't
figure this all out and is calling collect, asking me to wire him money as he thinks his
answers now lie in Butte, Montana?
Elena:
I don't know. Just because I'm pregnant doesn't mean I have heightened senses and
can see the future. We just need to wait. Speaking of waiting, can I get you anything?
Squeegee:
Naw, I'll just sit and ponder.
Elena:
Well, don't strain too hard.
[Exit Elena]
Squeegee:
I hate waiting. I hate waiting in lines for food. I hate waiting for red lights to turn
green. I hate waiting for commercial breaks to end so I can find out if Mulder And Scully
get eaten by alien tater tots or not. I hated reading Waiting For Godot. I hate waiting for
stupid friends to wise up and become as smart as me. Well, not AS smart, but I at least
hate waiting for them to listen to me and tell me how right I am. I hate waiting.
[The End]
Last Update: May 8, 2003
Matt Mason /