Flying Below Radar
AKA: THE GREAT ENORMO RACE (REST STOP 7B)
Written in “script” style but at the heart is a short story about twenty-somethings figuring out what to do with their lives. The time frame is 2002. South Jersey.
Part 1: Morning
Opening shot of a high sun early morning day. It’s autumn; the neighborhood is one of lower middle class. Old Honda Civic pulls up into a rundown mall parking lot. Car circles the upscale side of the mall and parks next to a dumpster near a back exit. The mall entrance is unadorned with any kinds of sign. Small tinted door with a hand written sign “Entrance” on it. A man (Monk) gets out of the car and walks the length of the empty parking lot towards the mall, but goes down an alleyway next to the mall. He is a tall, gangly guy, somewhat hunched over, the weight of his frame beginning to wear him down. His expression, posture, is sullen. He is dressed as if he did all of his shopping via ESPN. A Nike ball cap, a football jersey, jeans, basketball sneakers. He is in his mid-twenties.
The area is deserted; he reaches a street beyond the alley and heads towards a small mom & pop convenience store across the street. Fade to him leaving, balancing a bag of chips, some junk food and a large soda. As he crosses the street he reaches the other side as a car slowly begins following him. He looks over his should and notices it but keeps walking. The car follows him for several feet then pulls next to him. Three guys are in the car. Two of them are in berets but do not look military. All appear to be from their early twenties or mid-thirties. The third guy, in the back seat, sits stoic with the window rolled up. It pulls along side him and the passenger yells out the window to the man.
Passenger: Hey boss, how’s it hanging?
Monk glances over annoyed, but he does not answer.
Hey boss, you know where I can find the mall?
Monk: (Looks up to the large Mall sign several feet ahead). Looks like it found you, (sarcastic) boss.
Passenger: Hey, what’d ya know? (To Monk) How you doing today?
Monk: F**k off.
Walks faster as he approaches the alleyway, moves to the building side of the sidewalk.
Passenger: Well, we’ll see ya later, boss.
The car slows down, Monk keeps walking and the car begins to do a U-turn. In the other direction two motorcycles head down the narrow alleyway. A few steps later Monk approaches and begins walking the narrow alley’s 100 feet back to the mall. After a few feet he hears car sounds behind him. He looks behind him, and it’s the same car, having popped the curve it is now careening recklessly into the alley.
Monk: Aw, s**t.
He walks faster, but the car has accelerated. He runs. Drops his soda and food, the car smashes over the spilled drink. The alley is too narrow to hide. Two-thirds of the way in, Monk realizes he won’t make it out and he reaches up to grab on a pipe on the side wall. He lifts up his legs. (Sight gag: He’s maybe a foot off the ground, he’s a tall, thick guy and his attempt at escape is visually humorous.) The roar of the approaching car is not. The car barrels down on him and as he braces himself races off beyond him and out of the alley into the Mall’s back parking lot. Monk is still on the wall and hears some pops.
Monk un-braces, hops down and looks towards the car, at the other end of the lot it is obviously chasing the cyclists. It clips one of the bikes then screeches to a halt, the biker starts to run, but is hurt. When the passenger in the car reaches him, he offers no resistance and helps them put his cycle in their car. The four of them are prepping to ride off, when Monk decides to slip into the Mall.
We follow him to the door, then the image goes back down the alley, around the corner shows the feet (female black boots) of someone entering the alleyway. Camera scans up and it’s a woman, mid 20-ish. Dressed for warmer weather, high skirt, and low neckline. Petite, but shapely, she is dressed somewhere between business casual and adult-punk. She walks through the alleyway without incident, avoiding his spilt soda in the process. She shows disgust, scattered in the alley way are beer bottles, full trashcans, and the like. The scene is quiet and no sign of the car or cyclists from before. She walks into the same Mall entrance that Monk had.
The glare dissipates once inside and she walks a short distance to a small kiosk in the middle of the hallway. It’s a coffee and pretzel stand and she begins cleaning up. She leans on the counter, nobody is around.
(Sense of time lapse)
A man is at the counter buying coffee. He walks away and over to one of only two stores that can be seen at this end of the hallway. It has a hand painted sign “Repo Records” overtop of it, and obscure band posters are visible and disheveled. A lighted sign says “Haunts Arcade” over the small arcade next to her kiosk. The place is open but only a few people are wandering around. The sounds of arcade noises emanate, but are broken by the sound of a bang and an expletive. This gets her attention and she looks towards the arcade. Monk comes walking out, shaking off an injury to his hand, he is muttering and pissed. He sees Casey and smiles and absently waves at her she smiles back. He walks over to Casey
Casey: Coffee?
Monk: Nah, you got any pretzels yet?
Casey: I nuked the ones from yesterday.
A guy walks up to the pretzel kiosk from the record store. He is dressed in a brown outfit that is vaguely military. He has a bright yellow beret with fluorescent stripes on his head. He walks up to the counter and Monk and Casey stop talking. He scans the menu and smiles awkwardly at both Casey and Monk. A few bemused glances are exchanged between Monk and Casey.
Beret Guy: How ya’s doin’?
Casey: Good. What can I get for you?
Beret Guy: Pretzel. And a large coffee. Black. With a lid.
Casey: Coming right up.
The guy nods smiles at Casey. He turns to Monk and smiles and nods at him. Monk smiles back.
Monk: Nice hat
Beret Guy: Thanks. It’s a beret.
Monk: Yea, I know. You a Marine or something?
Beret Guy: (Smiles, good natured) No
Monk: A uniform?
Beret Guy: Kinda
Monk; Or maybe you just like the hat? You know, a nice hat, don’t need a reason to wear it. I got socks that I wear…
Casey: (Interrupts) Here you are. $1.75 please.
Beret Guy: Nice (sips coffee but barely touches his lips) Great coffee. You make a good cup. You been doing this for a while?
Casey: The machine does all the work. I just pour it.
Beret Guy: Excellent. So, what’s your story? You working all day?
Casey: Pretty much.
Beret Guy: Well if your not doing anything tonight, I’m having a party.
Monk: Damn, that must be great coffee.
Casey looks over to him, tries to shoo him away but Monk doesn’t budge,
Casey: (To Beret Guy) Thanks.
Monk: Maybe you wanna try the pretzel first before you put a ring on it. Rumor has it they’re stale.
Beret Guy: (To Monk) Hey, big guy, you can come too.
Monk: Thanks; the wicked stepsisters don’t let me out much. But we’ll keep it in mind. Or, do we have to wear hats?
Beret Guy: Whatever you like.
Casey: Thanks for the offer. I gotta let you know, though, the whole military thing with the Elton John beret. I dunno, I think I’ll have to take a pass. (Leans in) Monk. On the other hand loves that look.
Beret Guy: Hey, just a thought. If you want, here’s the address.
Casey: (Takes the paper) Thanks. See you if I see you.
Beret Guy: (Gathers things to leave turns to Monk) Remember, you’re invited too.
Guy leaves and walks out.
Monk: Well Casey, you’re animal magnetism strikes again. You know, I used to slip Spanish fly into my dates coffee in high school, but all it made them do was s**t.
Casey: I assume that wasn’t the reaction you were seeking?
Monk: No, finally I figured out that I was wasting my time trying to find them an aphrodisiac when all I really needed was a good tranquilizer.
Casey: With resourcefulness like that in high school I’m surprised you ended up working here. (Holds up the slip of paper with mock sincerity) You want the address for the party, Monk?
Monk: No thanks. Something about all that kid, aside from his obvious fashion faux pas is telling me that that is one event I would be wise to avoid.
Casey: Well, Monk, my question would be who invites people to a party but doesn’t bother to tell you their name? Unfortunately, he isn’t the first weirdo to come up to me in the past few days and invite me to some vague party. (Looks at Monk) and with your overall appearance today, I’m surprised you got an invite, too. What’s your problem today?
Monk: Well you know, I’m ordinarily a good-natured guy, but damn if today don’t suck. I nearly got mowed down in the alleyway coming in this morning. Frigging kids, playing tag with cars or something. And, I dropped a change machine in there. Like a black cloud following me around.
Casey: Unlike that rainbow you usually drag around.
Monk: I bring the sunshine into this place everyday. My daily dose is the only thing that brings light into your sorry excuse of a job.
Casey: My paycheck is the only thing that brings any light into this job. And Sid won’t be coming by with his bi-monthly incentive until tomorrow.
Monk: To each their own. (Taps himself on the chest) I drag my scraggly rainbow into this dump each day because, well let’s face it, I could find this hole blindfolded. You, on the other hand, have no reason. I’m thinking that coffee you make could make itself, the sodas are prepackaged, and even the pretzels are frozen.
Casey: Aside from ridicule, what’s your point?
Monk: Well, if you ain’t coming here for the company, than you got some serious issues.
Casey: Monk, the company is fine. You are amusing and I’d rather have that than not have it. But, I gotta tell you, unlike you’re disheveled self, I’ve actually worked in a professional environment before, and you, though witty, are somewhere in every office in America.
Monk: Are you questioning the unique perspective I put on the day’s events?
Casey: Listen, if you had taken a class past eleventh grade, you would know that your “unique spin” is a little something they call.... irony! And unique? Hardly. Dave Letterman’s been doing it since you were stealing training wheels off your classmate’s bikes. You provide distended irony. A removal of one’s self from their current setting to allow them to poke fun at its absurdity. And yea, in every office, coffee shop, warehouse and toll booth across this great land there’s a Monk sitting there going off on how it sucks to grow up. Think you came up with that angle, Will Rogers?
Monk: (Walks closer to her, hushed) Yea, but have you ever worked with a guy who can...
Whispers in her ear
Casey: As a matter of fact, yes. And I watched (she pauses for effect) her do it, too!
Monk backs off, humored but a bit dejected.
Casey: (Sympathetic) Monk, you provide the necessary ingredient of social commentary. And it is unique in the fact that most of the things you say you have never heard before. And I’m sure that when the whole Anthrax thing hit, those jokes you were telling were being told by every wiseass in the country at a water cooler somewhere. But... I had never heard them before, and you thought you were making them up, so in that case, yes it does fulfill what I am seeking in an irony-spewing coworker.
Monk: Damn, if I was working with a chick that talented, I don’t think I’d leave that job.
Casey: No, that was the one where they fired me. After that I started quitting them.
Monk: Moving up the ladder?
Casey: Actually, off the ladder. A move I do not think I fully accomplished until I landed here.
Looks around at the vast emptiness of their environment
Casey: All those jobs, the business world, eventually I would find out that no matter how noble the cause, I was just screwing somebody over. Somebody, somewhere, was getting screwed. If it wasn’t the consumer, it was the environment, or it was a competitor. Damn, I should be in church every morning serving penance just for what I did to Apple.
Monk: But that’s the way the world works. It’s competition; somewhere one’s gain is another’s loss.
Casey: Not here (points to her kiosk) Here, I make coffee and people drink coffee. No harm, no damage, no animals blinded by some mascara experiment gone afoul.
Silence for a moment, Monk is thinking
Monk: Yea, but every cup of coffee you give out is filled with coffee beans, and somebody in, like, south of here, is dying for those beans. And how about this, every cup you serve is one less that Starbucks is giving out?
Casey: I seriously doubt if our clientele is foregoing a trip to Starbucks to drink my swill. And, if I am costing them sales, then that’s just a happy coincidence of doing some good in the world without really trying. As for the coffee beans...(pauses) you find Columbia on a map sometime and maybe then we’ll have this discussion.
Monk: You know what I don’t get?
Casey: Finally some of that unique social perspective I have been longing for all morning.
Monk: I don’t get why we went to high school, anyway?
Casey: Education didn’t cross your path?
Monk: No, look at me, there’s a world of interesting s**t out there that people are doing every day. You used to work with a drug company, and before that you were doing research for an engineer. Wasn’t it your sister that was an oceanographer? I mean, think about that s**t, that’s amazing s**t going on out there. I would love to be involved in something that requires research and sitting around, with graphs and test tubes and s**t, making things happen. But no, I’m here breaking a dollar into four quarters. Tell me, Casey, when did that happen?
Casey: Didn’t you drop out of high school?
Monk: (Dismissively) Nah, but it was before that. In school I used to like to take things apart. I would read all the science books, I loved that stuff, I really did. Watched Discover Channel. I just love seeing how that stuff works, but then I ended up here.
Casey: I was out there. What you’re doing now, it’s OK. It’s honest. People ask for something you do it. No hidden games, no dirty strings.
Monk: It’s lifeless. Why am I right now not an oceanographer?
Casey: Because... (Starts then stops) I don’t know your life story, Monk. I don’t know what got you here.
Monk: Your family ain’t rich?
Casey: (shakes head) We grew up in Camden.
Monk: S**t, I was in the plush nowhere of Medford. Advantage me, I guess. But your sister, man was that all she did, like study, all the time?
Casey: No, she was in the orchestra, she was on a few sports teams, she was pretty good at tennis, made Regional, she even was in a rock band, she sang, played bass.
Monk: See! (Bangs hands to his head) Augh! That’s it, man. I could see if she was holed up in a library 24-7, but she was out there. I mean, I liked to party, drinking, yet I couldn’t f**king make it out of high school. (Laughs) Ain’t that a f**king sorry joke?
Casey: Well, I don’t know Monk. She just stuck to it.
Monk: See. See. That’s it, man. I never stick to anything. And this is what happens.
Casey: And she just moved along. When she got her chance....
Monk: See, that’s it, too. Nobody gave me a chance. I showed ‘em that I could count to four. “Four quarters for a dollar” and that landed me a change boy job on the boardwalk back when I was 16. Good money, good friends, great parties. Next thing you know I’m a twenty-two year old change boy. Then, the boardwalk shuts down during the winter, so do I get a good winter job, no I become a winter-time change boy in this dead-end arcade. You know they don’t even list this mall on the maps anymore, just an empty blotch with a generic “Shopping Center” tag attached. I’ve ridden its wave to the shore, now it’s nothing but seaweed and sand crabs. Do you know that I’ve been here four years now?
Casey: Wow. Of all the words of song and pen the saddest are…that s**t you just said.
Monk: Guess we are what we do after awhile, huh. (Casey nods) Now I gotta figure out why the pinball machines keep breaking down when there aren’t ever any people in here playing them.
Casey: Let me take a guess. Because pinball machines are by definition old, and mechanical, and subject to rough play, and if they’re in this arcade they’re probably one step from the garbage can?
Monk: I’ll accept that.
Casey: What I’d like to know, if I care to give it any thought, is why we’re even manning stores in a part of the mall that doesn’t see more than three people in a day?
Monk: I got the Joey coming out some time today to fix three of the pinball machines.
Casey: I thought you only had three?
Monk: Nah, we got the three up front but we also have some of the classics in the back. Fireball, Top Speed...
Casey: (Mocking) ah, classics...
Monk: Seriously. I remember when I worked down Wildwood, man. Videos were big, but pinball still meant something. Great games, I remember this time....
Casey: Monk, Monk? Not another boardwalk story, ‘OK?
Monk: Nah, you’ll like this one. I had popped Draw Poker twice and I was collecting triple B and I was only like a couple bumpers from rolling it. High score. And the ball gets jammed, stuck on top of one of the hazards. So I’m stuck. Can’t tilt it, that thing used to take your free games. So I had my brother go and get the mechanic. Eddie. He comes, opens up the top gets the ball out. And you know what that a**hole did? He drained my ball. Cost me the rest of the game. He said he didn’t know what he was doin.’
Casey: Drained your ball? Cute...
Monk: (Laments) Never did roll that machine.
Casey: Well that was another totally useless anecdote. My God, I wish you had actually been shot up or something, the s**t you have that passes for fond memories...
Monk: Summers on the beach, boardwalk, Wildwood. Can’t beat that. Maybe someday I’ll tell you the good stories....
Casey: Maybe someday I’ll realized I’ve probably already heard all your good stories.
Monk: (Switching gears) All right, trivia contest. Winner has to leave.
Casey: Subject?
Monk: Your pick.
Casey: Cartoons
Monk: Fair enough (pause) Ok, what was the name of Speedy Gonzales’ cousin?
Casey: (Scoffs at the ease of the question) Slow Poke Rodriguez!
Monk: Damn you’re good, girl. I’ll leave.
Monk walks back over to the arcade, and Casey leans against the arcade. From the front entrance, two guys enter in matching brown dress shirts. They see Casey, but walk purposely- avoiding eye contact with her. They enter the record store, a few seconds later a guy walks out of the record store, he’s wearing a wrinkled polo shirt, he looks to be in his mid-thirties. (Bubba) Small build with gray streaks in a thinning hairline. He moves a lot, shifting weight from foot to foot, even when he is standing talking.
Bubba: (To Casey) Hey baby, hey baby!
Casey: Bubba, when did you sneak in here?
Bubba: My job babe, I’m always here.
Casey: You here to throw down some deep insights with Monk today? He’s in the arcade.
Bubba: Nah, I’m in a hurry today, Delivery business is taking off. But I’ll be back later on.
Casey: Well, you enjoy.
She goes back to work, cleaning the counter, but Bubba pauses on the way past her, considers for a moment and then re-approaches her.
Bubba: Hey, you give any thought to meeting my friend?
Casey: I don’t do blind dates, but thanks for thinking about me.
Bubba: You sure, he’s free tonight, I could set something up,
Casey: Nah, thanks, maybe some other time.
Bubba: But tonight would be perfect.
Casey: Not for me it wouldn’t.
(Pause) He smiles, and heads out the door, in a hurry)
She begins to prepare the area around the counter. She notices over at the CD Store (Repo) that a guy walks out from inside, presumably unlocking the door, and places a small “Open” sign on the front of the store. He looks at her, no expression and scans the mall. The emptiness of the place is apparent.
There is a hallway that leads from the Mall Entrance to the Pretzel Kiosk and the arcade is next to the kiosk. Repo is another twenty feet down the hallway. Right after Repo is what looks like it used to be an entrance to a department store, but the door are locked, and appear to be permanently so. There are a couple empty storefronts around them, but mostly this end of the mall only ever had the arcade, the record store and the pretzel stand. Now landlocked and cut off, this end of the mall receives no walk through traffic and just sporadic faces. As time progresses during these scenes, visitors will be seen entering the CD shop, and occasionally a couple kids (with skateboards) will be seen entering the arcade, playing a game or two, maybe buying a soda or pretzel and then leaving.
Casey looks over towards Monk, he is in the arcade walking aimlessly through, checking the coin returns for any spare change lying around. Her revelry is broken as someone enters the Mall. Though the area is not small, the silence makes every new face noticeable upon entry.
A woman, mid-thirties, dressed professionally enters the mall. She pauses once inside the door to get her bearings and stops and looks around for a specific store. A frown forms. She walks in to the mall and towards the kiosk. About ten feet from Casey, the woman stops and surveys the area from a few feet away. Casey makes eye contact the woman looks at her, smiles, and returns to her scan of the hallway. She walks around the kiosk and towards the record store. Haltingly, scanning for any storefronts. Casey watches her discretely, but is averted when another person enters the mall.
A kid enters the mall. He is dressed in a dark red bicycle suit. He has a bike with him, which he drags into the mall with him. He seems comfortable in the place, knowingly, he heads towards the kiosk.
He approaches, and Casey turns her attention towards him. He reaches into his bike suit and pulls out a couple wadded up dollar bills. He begins to peel them apart.
BikeKid: Hey there. How’s it going today?
Casey: Fine as ever. What can I get you?
BikeKid: Been dying for one of your pretzels. Let’s go for one with salt and a bottled water.
Casey: That’s $1.70
BikeKid:(Hands a couple bills) Here keep the change; I got nowhere to put it.
Casey: (Takes bills) Whatever...
BikeKid: Oh, no wait. Lemme have the quarter. I can go play a game (motions over towards the arcade, she hands him back a quarter) (after pause to get everything). So how you doing?
Casey: Same as when you asked me before, sport. Fine.
BikeKid: Yea, fine. (He chuckles, and pause) You working all day?
Casey: Yea, we’ll be open until 7:30.
BikeKid: You here ‘til then?
Casey: (Suspicious/evasive) If I’m here, I’m here. If not, I’m not.
Bikekid: Haha, ain’t that the truth. (Gets serious).Nah, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying anything. Just see you in here a lot. Wondering if you ever do anything for fun.
Casey: Thanks for your concern. I manage to get by.
Bikekid:Yea, there’s this party they have down the street. You know, a band. You like to listen to music?
Casey: (Bored) Yea.
BikeKid: Cool. Like ska or hip-hop. Or rap, that kind of thing.
Casey: I’ll leave Eminem on if he comes on. Otherwise, I like alternative stuff. Guitars, lyrics.
Bikekid: Like Creed. They’re pretty cool.
BikeKid: Nah, like Soundgarden, that sort of thing (notices a couple people enter the Mall. There is a guy by himself and a young couple.)
Bikekid: Grunge, right? My older bro was into that s**t. Some intense stuff.
(She loses out of the conversation following with her eyes the guy working his way through the Mall. He’s dressed in jeans, young, tall, attractive.)
Casey: (Distracted) Yea, intense.
Bikekid: So maybe you could stop by sometime. You know tonight, we’re... (Notices she is not paying attention) We’re... (Looks to see that she is following the guy through the Mall, he leans in closer to her) I know that dude.
Casey:(Acts dumb) What?
Bikekid: That dude, over there (points) Real s**tbag. Guy was like up on criminal charges. Beat his girlfriend or something. Total loser.
Casey: Well, that’s really more than anybody would need to know.
Bikekid: Well, I’m just....
Casey: Just spreading gossip, is what you’re doing.
Bikekid: I’m just trying to help out. You know, he’s bad news.
Casey: Yea, maybe he should meet his accuser face to face. I can call him over?
Bikekid: Jesus, whatever. Just trying to help you out. You wanna mess with him, well, f**k me, it’s your funeral.
Casey: Wow you really know how to sweet-talk a girl. Enjoy your party.
(Woman from before that was wandering comes over to the counter. Tall guy wanders into the arcade)
Woman: (To Casey) Excuse me, miss Yes?
Woman: No, I don't want to buy anything. (Looks disparagingly at the kiosk). I was wondering if you could tell me where the Zales is?
Casey: Zales?
Woman: Yes, Zales, the jewelry store. I was told it’s in this Mall. But... (She looks around her, waves hands expressively)
Casey: Yea, Zales. Umm, these are the only stores in this Mall.
(The couple wanders past the counter. The girl looks disinterested but the guy is staring at Casey and towards the arcade)
(To girl, whispered) I think this is it.
Woman: (To the guy) You know where Zales is?
C/Guy: (Startled, didn’t know he had been heard) Excuse me?
Woman: I thought you said you knew where Zales was?
C/Guy: No
Couple/Girl: (To woman) Oh, I do. It’s next store. You used to be able to get there through Macy’s (she points to the closed department store down the end of the hall) but you gotta go on the other side of the building now. Nothing is over here anymore.
Woman: Oh thank you, very much. Nice somebody knows.
Casey shrugs.
Couple/Girl: It’s really nice over there, almost can’t believe it’s the same building.
Woman: Don’t know why anybody would come in this side.
CGirl: Oh, it was his idea (points to boyfriend)
Woman: Yea, a record store and an arcade will do it.
CGirl gives a slight, nervous laugh. The woman leaves.
Cguy he’s looking around looks in the arcade, directs his girlfriend to look in there using his eyes. She looks at him, quizzical at first, and then looks in the arcade. They see Monk; he’s busying himself in the arcade by aimlessly shooting foul shots. She looks back at her boyfriend and eyes wide laughs, they both try to suppress any outward emotion, but Casey notices what’s happening. Looking to Monk and back at the two of them.
Casey: Something I can help you with?
Cguy: No, nothing, thanks. Hey, you work here?
Casey: You mean here? Where I’m working? Yea.
Cguy: No...ummm...(leans in, confidentially) you’re the pretzel girl. (Stated matter-of-factly)
With this, the Bikekid, who had been looking back towards the arcade for the Tallguy, shoots his head back over at the couple.
Bikekid: (Interrupts, to Cguy) You’re pretty clever.
Cguy: (Hadn’t noticed Bikekid, looks over at him, nervous) Yea, well I was just.
Bikekid: You was just what? (Menacing) You and you’re little friend there looking to buy something in here or were you looking for something else?
Cgirl: Hey, lighten up; he just wanted to stop in. Probably looking for the same thing you are.
Bikekid: You’re in a little over your heads, kids. Momma might be calling you to dinner soon.
Cguy: We weren’t trying to start anything. Just wanted to...like she said, same thing you are...
Bikekid: (Menacing goes right over to Cguy) Listen, how thick headed can you be? Look at me; you think I’m just a tourist? Do you?! Do you, really?!
Casey: (Diplomatic) Come on, no need for us to get out of control...
Bikekid: (Dismissive, back to Cguy, Cgirl, condescendingly) You saw what you needed, now go home, and stay off your little AOL message boards, hmmm?
Cguy: Fine.
Cgirl: (Light bulb) S**t, (whispers) you’re Enormo.
Bikekid: (Raises hands in air) Aw, Jesus F**k....
Bikekid turns, disgusted, and shakes head. Cguy grabs Cgirl’s arm, they both begin a hasty retreat out of the Mall. Bikekid watches them as they leave. Tallguy leaves the arcade, sees Bikekid, averts eyes and begins to walk towards the record store. Casey is watching the couple exit and Bikekid, to the side gets Tallguys attention. Tallguy looks at him from about 10 feet away, Casey is still looking out the Mall.
Bikekid: (To Tallguy derisively) Tourists (he motions towards the leaving couple)
Tallguy continues walking shakes head slightly. Casey hears the word, but looks to Bikekid)
Casey: What is that all about?
Bikekid: They’re just snots caught on the wrong side of the tracks.
Casey: And you made that distinction on the spot?
Bikekid: S**t, anybody knows where Zales is, shouldn’t be walking in here. (Shifts) Noticed it didn’t throw you, any. You a girl of little means.
Casey: And you got a nice calling card. Tell me how do you get a name like Enormo?
Bikekid: (Taken aback) Not my name.
Casey: Looks like that’s what that little lady thought. (She props herself up slightly on the counter and peers down at him) Unless you’re sportin’ down there...Sport.
Bikekid: (Passes on the innuendo) Best if anyone asks, you forget Enormo, OK?
Casey: So what do I call you then?
Bikekid: Hey, pretzel girl is loosening up. Maybe you wanna stop by tonight after all?
Casey: Oh yea, I forgot. Ask a guy his name and the next thing you know he considers it an invite to carnal activities.
Bikekid: Hey, you’re the one doing the inspection.
Casey: Just seeing where you got the name.
Bikekid: Forget the name.... (Door opens at the record store, a guy (not Tallguy) peeks his head out. They both notice this) (Under breath) aw, s**t.
Casey: You seem to know everybody round here.
Bikekid: Let me give you an address, maybe you’d wanna stop by. Or I could pick you up tonight.
Casey: Be out there when I leave tonight and be prepared to get maced. Leave an address and I might have my dad drop me off in his patrol car.
Bikekid: (Chuckles, uncertain if it is true or not. Monk approaches) Here. You never know, from small things…
Casey: Yea, thanks, Enormo.
Bikekid looks back to see Tallguy walking into the record store. He averts his eyes from him and hastily exits from the mall, nearly knocking a lady over on the way. Casey waves Monk over to the kiosk. Monk is already there.
Casey: Now, if things weren’t weird before, get this....
Monk: (Waves off her topic) doesn’t matter I can do you one better.
Casey: Yea, but...
Monk: (Stops her) No, let me tell you. Did you see those skater kids in the arcade? Casey shakes her head). They’re gone now. Anyway, I’m in the back trying to get the pinball working and they’re over by the Grand Prix. And they’re talking trash, saying weird s**t, like I’m gonna beat you, and this race ain’t over yet, and race this race that. And I peek over and they ain’t even playing the game! Just standing there in front of it. And they were talking about some other race. So then they look out and this tall dude starts walking in, and they shut the f**k up, like don’t let Dogal hear us talking bout Enormo...
Casey: Enormo?
Monk: Yea, Enormo...
Casey: (Excitedly) Enormo was in here. It was that kid that just left.
Monk: No. I don’t think Enormo’s a man. This dude Dogal come in and they treat him like a God. All deferential. Then get this, he makes em leave, they do, and then he starts talking to me. Guy asks me out. A pickup. Ain’t that something?
Casey: Why, Monk, you’re positively glowing.
Monk: It’s my first non-chick pick up.
Casey: That you know of. You’ve seemed to take a shine to it.
Monk: I don’t know. Attracting females, it’s very “been there, done that” for me. But when another dude thinks you got it going on, that’s like a re-affirmation.
Casey: Hate to burst your man-love bubble, but that dude, the tall guy, asked me out yesterday.
Monk: Get the f**k. Jealous woman!
Casey: No s**t. Came in here. I recognized him. I’ll admit at this point it’s tough for me to keep track of all of them, but I remember him. And, yea, his name was Dogal too.
Monk: (Disappointed) Well, that hurts. But you know, it’s still an affirmation. You know, to have a guy digging your stuff.
Casey: I shot him down, when are you two hooking up?
Monk: (Laughs) My interest was purely to have an ego boost. I’ll leave the gents to the ladies. And we thank you for not further diluting that pool.
They hear a loud bang back by the record store, and it gets both of their attention. A few moments later the door opens and out comes a large dog. The dog takes one turn and heads straight for the kiosk. Monk sees it approaching and dives onto the counter and behind it with Casey. The dog doesn’t pause but keeps running towards the entrance. But it stops at the arcade suddenly walks up to the front and pees on the front wall to the arcade.
Monk: Oh for the love of God.
The dog turns to him, growls and Monk drops back below the pretzel counter. Two men, dressed as Cowboys get out of the record store and start chasing the dog. They try whistling it but the dog waits right by the front door. They run past the pretzel booth and get the dog. Together they all walk out of the Mall.
Monk gets up from behind the counter, mutters some obscenities as Casey suppresses a laugh. He goes over to clean up the mess.
Fade scene.
Early Evening:
Back in the Mall, Shot from the outside shows it’s dusk, shot changes to the inside where the Mall has a few people in it. Casey is talking to a man at the counter, a guy dressed in a Tuxedo. No sound on the conversation but at one point he leans in and she backs up. Throws up her hands and waves him off dismissively. He looks to plead for a moment and then leaves. She shakes her head as he walks away. After a few moments she waves Monk over to the kiosk.
Casey: Am I sending out some kind of scent?
Monk: What, you mean do you smell?
Casey: That was just another guy hitting on me. I’m like Pam Lee, I got a whole stream of them sniffing around.
Monk: Winona Ryder would probably be a better example.
Casey: Please. Winona is purely the lost kitten look preying on second-rate alt-rock heroes. She was a step up for those guys; I mean Matt Damon wasn’t getting Julia Roberts. Pam on the other hand is pure sex. She went after harder guys, pure animal. Winona, nah, she’s second rate.
Monk: Well, first of all I’ll assume you are not speaking to their acting abilities; I’ll refer you to VIP versus Heathers. And secondly, since when is the dude from Poison a ‘hard’ guy. I’ll back Johnny Depp in a fight with him any day.
Casey: And you’d back a loser, just like Winona.
Monk: Hey, wait; it ain’t like I’d kick Pam out of bed....
Casey: No cause you wouldn’t get her in there in the first place. Can we get back to me reeking of sex appeal?
Monk: Your call. I’m not really picking up a whiff of your scent.
Casey: So you have no attraction to me?
Monk: Wow, where were you when I was in high school? I waited years to hear a girl say that to me.
Casey: Not too picky?
Monk: More likely to hear “would you stop dry humping my leg.”
Casey: Ah, so you were a charmer?
Monk: That’s not the way the art teacher saw it.
Casey: I’m not giving you an offer to hook up, I’m just wondering why I’ve suddenly become so much more ...I dunno.... approachable?
Monk: Plunging necklines help. But I’m not looking to score. Not now, not in the couple years we’ve shared the mall.
Casey: Well the feeling is mutual...
Monk: I hope it’s more a work situation than my general appearance. More of a “don’t get your meat where you get your bread” kind of thing.
Casey: Nah, there’s just no there, there. Trust me, I’ve dated worse. But I also regretted it. And I’m trying to limit my regrets.
Monk: Really? I decided back to try and max mine out. Seems you’re not really living if you’re not regretting.
Casey: See that guy over there?
Monk: The Middle Eastern looking guy?
Casey: Weird, huh, he’s been carrying a book bag in and out of here the last couple days. Sometimes it’s empty going in, and full coming out. Sometimes it’s the other way around.
Monk: Did he hook onto your scent?
Casey: Not yet, but if it’s as strong as I think, it’s only a matter of time.
Monk: You know, it’s not like I wouldn’t… (looks her up and down and gestures). It just works into my regrets. I regret we didn’t hook up when you first started here. But we got to talking and knee knocking, eh, doesn’t seem right.
Casey distracted, is staring at the guys coming and going. Monk is rambling
Monk: I mean, I’m sure that, you know, sex would be, well, sex. That your (waves vaguely to her chest) you know, are chest-like, and that your (more vague to mid section) is …-like.
Casey: (Looks back to him, she had not been listening to him, she is about to say something notices his leer) Ewww. Stop that. Stop it now! Look, I think there’s some weird s**t’s going on. We should probably tell somebody.
Monk: The police?
Casey: Yea, or maybe the government.
Monk: (Dramatically) G-men?
Casey: The FBI, CIA. Something like that.
Monk: Homeland Security?
Casey: Whatever, we got some suspicious activity, and I think it’s our duty to notify people of suspicious activity.
Monk: Ok what’s your proof.
Casey: I don’t need to ‘prove suspicious,’ I just need to identify it. See something, say something.
Monk: Well what exactly have you identified?
Casey: I identified a suspicious guy, Middle Eastern origin, carrying stuff into and out of an otherwise deserted, dead-end mall. Why don’t you go over and...(the man approaches them)
Monk: (Mockingly whispered to Casey) Should I jump him?
Casey: No (whispered) Act normal.
Casey and Monk are doing a bad job of acting normal. The man approaches, looks at the menu, smiles and walks away. Casey shoots a worried look to Monk. A brief ray of sun shoots through the hallway as the outside mall door opens. It’s T. T is a guy in his late teens early twenties. He is dressed like an X-games skateboarder. Complete with a bike helmet hanging from his side. He has a strong solid muscular build. Short, and with a hint of Hispanic features. His talk is pure East-Coast USA.
Casey looks around for the suspicious guy, but he’s disappeared. Casey waves down T
Casey: Yo, T. Come here.
T: (Approaches): Monk, how’s it going. (To Casey) Yea, sweetie, what’s going on?
Casey: There’s this guy (she looks around, frustrated at not seeing him) there was this guy here, looked really suspicious.
T: Suspicious how? Thief? Drug dealer?
Monk: Terrorist suspicious.
Casey: Yea, he’s been casing out the joint for a few days....
T: (Mockingly) Casing out the joint?
Casey: He’s been wandering around. And they keep going into the record store.
Monk: Yea, you hang out there, why don’t you see what’s going on in there.
T: You guys have been hanging out in this mall too long, you’re starting to go crazy.
Casey: Whatever. But if I were you I’d watch my step.
T: Let me ask you, what did this suspicious guy look like?
Casey: He was short-ish, dark, weird clothes....
Monk: (whispers mockingly)...A foreigner.
Casey: Yea, well I don’t wanna wait ‘til he’s flying a plane into a building.
T: Where is he now?
Casey: He went...well I dunno, kinda disappeared when you walked in. He may have gone to Repo.
T: Did you talk to him?
Casey: Well that’s the weird part. He came up to the counter but didn’t order anything, kinda just vanished.
T: (Looks around) Well, I think your imagination is running away with you. Not that many people come into this hole, anyway. I guess it makes sense to romanticize the few that do.
Monk: Still, he did look suspicious. Take a look in the record store....
Casey: (To Monk) You could always go in there yourself.
Monk: Not my thing. I feel intimidated by those places. You know, I ask for Guns ‘n Roses and somebody whacks me over the head with a baseball bat because my musical tastes are not sufficiently advanced for their liking.
T: S**t, I like Guns and Roses. Not like everyone in there is buying Alien Ant Farm. But you’re right, prolly best that you stick to Sam Goody.
The door of the record store opens briefly a woman pokes her head out, then the door closes.
T: I’d love to stay and chat but I did come in here for a reason. (To Casey, laughing) Hey, Casey, if I hear anybody scream out ‘death to the infidels’ in there, I’ll let you know.
Walks into the store, gingerly enters after taking a quick look back. Monk turns to Casey
Monk: I don’t know, Casey, I think we’re just turning a boring situation into something more than it is.
Casey: Well, it would strike me that at some point these little things will add up to something bigger. Weird clothing, all these cryptic invitations.... but... (Pauses) eh, who cares? I work, I go home, I stop working. Just getting to the end of the day is my intention.
Monk: Yea, you do manage to keep things in perspective...
Stops; notices something catch his eye at the front of the store. A guy in a pinstripe “30’s gangster” suit pokes his head in the mall. He waves towards the record store, with a distinctive hand gesture. Casey is busy, doesn’t notice. Monk turns toward the record store and notices a guy looking out returning the signal. The guy turns to Monk, shoots him a glare, and disappears back into the store. Monk turns towards the entrance and the pinstripe suit guy has disappeared.
Monk turns to say something to Casey, but she is bent over checking out stock under the counter. Before he says anything, Monk tries to discreetly catch a glance down her top. After a few aborted attempts, she raises back up and he hides his peeking. She pops up, oblivious to his leer and the guy at the door. She notices him looking at her.
Casey: What?
Monk: (looks towards the door and back to her) Nothing.
He turns to go back to the arcade and stops when he hears the door open. He jumps slightly and becomes at ease when he sees Bubba walk in. Bubba sees Casey and Monk and lets out a familiar wave.
Bubba: Hey, how’s the busy world of high commerce treating everyone today?
Casey: Hey, Bubba. I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.
Bubba: I’m having a good week. If I can get everything done early, more power to me, you know.
Monk walks back over to the pretzel stand, where he gives a familiar hand shake with Bubba
Monk: Looks like you figured out the secret to a good day. You see a skip in your step, either the Giants covered or your wife was nice.
Bubba: Let’s just say, a smart man would’ve taken the Giants giving the points. So, Monk any dark thoughts you would like to pass on today for my perusal?
They start to walk over towards the arcade, somewhat aimlessly, and like this is a familiar ritual. During the ensuing conversation, Monk will make the rounds of the arcade, cleaning off games, general maintenance, and Bubba will help out as he goes through, holding the trash can as he empties an ashtray. The whole conversation has a very familiar routine.
Monk: You wanna go over some philosophy today?
Bubba: I got a few minutes to kill. Always like to poke into the mind of the younger kids.
Monk: Well here’s what I’m thinking. People know that smoking is gonna kill em, yet they keep on smoking. Or that being overweight is gonna blow up their heart, but they keep eating the fatty foods. Drugs, alcohol, driving fast... yet the signs are there but they keep doing it. I had an uncle who was a diabetic, he couldn’t eat any junk, yet if he was hungry he’d justify a Big Mac and fries, pull into the drive-thru and down another pill of poison.
Bubba: So far this is less philosophy and more general news reporting.
Monk: Yea I’m getting to that. It just struck me that there is such a strong will to live. They say that if somebody is like pinned in a burning car, they will find this superhuman well of strength to be able to overcome the adversity. And on those moments of impulse, they would do anything in their power (points to add emphasis) even things that exceed their mortal powers, to stay alive.
Bubba: OK there.
Monk: But in the long run, they will do things to kill themselves incrementally, brick by brick, one bit at a time. So...from that I got to thinking. Ah, now for the deep thought.... Well, when I’m bored I play a lot of video games, or pinball, or even solitaire on the computer.
Bubba: Hey, I’m there with you. I as addicted to Free Cell when I had my laptop. If I played one game of that I would be at it for hours. It would keep me up nights, a card game. But I couldn’t stop, had a hold on me.
Monk: Yea, see, that’s a perfect example. Really, its perfect, Free Cell. Now that’s a basic solitaire card game, but you get to see all the cards and then put them in a basic Ace to King order, right?
Bubba: Yea, that’s it.
Monk: And how often would you say you win?
Bubba: I win, I guess about 85 percent of the games I play.
Monk: So you’re good at it, right?
Bubba: Yea.
Monk: Now how many games in a row have you won?
Bubba: Oh, I know that, it’s there every time I play. My record, on my laptop, was 52 straight.
Monk: Impressive. And when you lose, do you re-play the same game until you win?
Bubba: Sure, it’s no challenge if you don’t replay the tough ones.
Monk: And do you eventually beat it?
Bubba: (Grins)100 percent of the time.
Monk: So, the way I see it, every game is winnable. Every game has a solution. And not only that, since you get to see all the cards face up, if you were to take a pen and pad, you could probably win 100 percent of your games. You’d figure it out before you start. It would take longer, but it could be done.
Bubba: (Considers) Yea, I guess you’re right.
Monk: So here’s my thought. Let’s say every morning when you woke up, you would have to play a game of Free Cell. If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. The only thing between you and your mortality is your performance at that game. Now, theoretically, you could live forever. All the cards are dealt face up, all 52 of them. So, you know the cards, you could take as long as you like, and you could win every game.
Bubba: Well, in theory, yes.
Monk: Ah, hah. I assume you’ve reached the same conclusion as I.
Bubba: The conclusion that under those parameters, most people, myself included, would be dead within a year?
Monk: Yes, yes. And do you know why?
Bubba: Lay it on me, Monk.
Monk: Because the pressure of keeping up that kind of game, would multiply, it would become immense. After a few weeks, each game would become greater and greater, and it would consume you, every hour of the day. You would eventually crack, unable to take the life and death pressure. Yet, if that same contest were to hit you by surprise at odd intervals, people would fare better because it would be life and death in the moment. In the short term our desire to exist will overcome the challenge. In the long term, though, we eat the Twinkies, we put off the colon exam, we procrastinate, we die.
Bubba: Well, I agree with you conclusion but I really disagree with your reasoning.
Monk: Well that’s why I take it to you, Bubba. You’re the man that understands this stuff, and can break it down for me.
Bubba: I think eventually most people would lose the game, and lose it rather soon. But not because of our mounting pressure, but rather because of our mounting laziness. Never underestimate the degree of laziness inherent to a human being. You’re example of the long-term death is perfect. In the long term people are too lazy to get a check up from their doctor that could save their life. In the short term, they’ll swerve to avoid an oncoming truck. That’s human nature. That’s why diets work for about a week and then fail. In the short term, humans, s**t we rock! We can’t be stopped. We take that s**t and throw it back down. But long term, I’m afraid to say we’re doomed to one certain outcome and it is our own demise.
Monk: I like it man, Keep talking.
Bubba: So the Free Cell game. We would probably set up a note pad, pre-do all of our moves before the game starts and win. Then we might get a little sloppy down the road, still win, and soon quality begins to slip. Imperceptible at first, but what begins as 100 percent chance of success soon drops to, maybe not too far, maybe down to 98 percent. But 98 percent will catch up to you within two months and then you’re f**ked. Just a little slip, but enough to do you in. In the long term, laziness will rule the day. You’ll wake up some morning and rush through. It’s human nature.
Monk: So it’s not mounting pressure it’s laziness.
Bubba: It’s the air we all breathe.
Monk: I can depend on you Bubba. You clear up this stuff in my head. So, let me ask you. My refusal to leave this dump, to do this day in and day out, that’s not fear, like I surmised, but according to your theory, laziness?
Bubba: Oh, yea, sure. I don’t think you fear working somewhere else. S**t, you’d probably grab a f**king lit firecracker, but no, your problem is laziness. Just too damn lazy to change. But afraid? You? Monk? Nah.
Monk: (Laughs) Good, see I thought it might be fear, but I’m much happier knowing its laziness.
Bubba: Yea, lazy ain’t a taboo no more. It ain’t good. And like I said before, in the long run it’s our demise, but it’s something that can be accepted. Monk:
Monk: So you lazy too?
Bubba: I try, but man with me it’s a whole different set of parameters; I got a wife, kids. I set up a whole different game. My laziness has to come in other areas. Like I forget s**t she tells me all the time, too lazy to remember stuff. But I work my ass off. But I just don’t wanna deal with the s**t that comes with not working.
Monk: Fear or laziness?
Bubba: (Considers) Good point, Monk. I’d like to think I’m too lazy to deal with a home life, so I just deal with it from afar. But do I fear not working? I don’t think so; maybe we need to work in a third category?
Monk: What would that be?
Bubba: Denial. Avoidance. Whatever you want to call it. It’s the impulse that staying out on the road for a day is better than facing what you got at home.
Monk: Trust me, Bubba; you don’t need to have a family for that. I live over some dude’s garage, alone, and I don’t want to go home to face what’s there. Don’t need a lady with a rolling pin to yell at me to take out the trash. Hell, that would be a welcomed distraction. All I got is the s**t that runs through my head.
Bubba: Yea but you also got a soon to be emptied case in the fridge. Try getting drunk with a kid in the room sometime, just doesn’t work, bad logistics.
Monk: Yea, a couple beers makes the voices in my head much friendlier.
Bubba: Fear, dread, laziness. It’s part of what we are, Monk.
Monk: More sunshine, Bubba....
He is cut off by Bubba’s gaze, which has shifted outside the arcade to the mall. A couple guys in cowboy hats are walking from Repo records out of the arcade. Bubba notices them and drops out of the conversation with Monk. Monk notices this, sees the guys exit the mall and turns back to Bubba.
Monk: Little late for Halloween?
Bubba: (Confused) Huh?
Monk: The guys in the cowboy hats. Halloween? (Shrugs)
Bubba: (Distracted) oh, well, enough of the fun stuff, Monk. I gotta get going. You stay safe.
Monk: Stay safe, there’s a thought.
Bubba: (Confidentially) Just, you don’t (stammers) just be careful around here. (Motions towards the pretzel kiosk) and keep an eye on her too.
Monk: This may be a hole to work at, but I think we’re safe.
Bubba: (Leaving) Well, just keep your eyes open. Never too safe, right Monk?
Monk: Yea, lot of weird s**t’s been happening recently.
Bubba: (Stops in his tracks from Monk’s comment.) What do you mean?
Monk: Well, guys dressed in funny clothes, guys acting weird around Casey, I damn near got run over this morning....
Bubba: (Struggling with words) Look Monk, just.... You gotta keep your eyes open. Lot’s of bad guys, you know?
Monk: F**k ‘em man, they give us a problem, I can take care of us.
Bubba: Well don’t start being Dirty Harry, OK? Sometimes there’s honor in turning tail.
Monk: Maybe for an old fart like you, but us young bucks, we’re fierce.
Bubba: (Rolls his eyes) Yea, attitude like that gets you pushing up daisies.
Monk: Nice work for a lazy guy.
Bubba: (Leaving again) Just, keep on guard. Remember not everybody is as nice as me.
Monk: (Yells to him as he’s leaving) Or as old.
Part 2