"the play's the thing" hamlet: ii, ii

Here's a catalog of some of the interactions I've had in the last couple of days. They will appear, in an homage to my favorite person, V., in the form of short plays.

1. The Watchtower

Scene: The Kennedy Plaza outdoor bus terminal. Monday morning; commuters are starting to line up at their various boarding areas. A thirtyish woman dressed in chef's pants and a tshirt, Nicky, stands slightly apart from the other waiting people in her boarding area. She is on her cell phone to her mother, speaking quietly about something that seems important and emotional. Her words cannot be heard by those around her, but she is clearly on the phone.

An older woman, Serena, approaches. She is carrying leaflets and magazines.

SERENA (to Nicky): Would you like a copy of The Watchtower, dear?
NICKY (into her phone): Excuse me just a sec, Mom. (To Serena) I'm sorry, not now, I'm on the phone.

Nicky returns to her call. Serena's face, which has until now been a mask of pleasantness, twists into an ugly grimace.

SERENA (brandishing the magazine, agressively): Take it!!
NICKY (just as agressively): No, I don't want it!
SERENA (shaking the magazine at Nicky so that it hits her hand): TAKE IT!!
NICKY: NO! Not now! (moving away from Serena, who wanders off down the street, her face rearranged back to the pleasant expression) JESUS fucking CHRIST!! Fucking Jehovahs!!

BLACKOUT

2. Once You Pop ...

Scene: The bus into downtown Providence. Nicky, a thirtyish woman wearing chef's pants and a tshirt, sits along a rear bench seat. She has a few grocery bags with her; she's picked up a few things for supper after her long day at work, as well as a snack of potato chips.

The bus stops. A young man, Jeffrey, boards the bus and sits on the opposite side of the bench Nicky is on. He sprawls out and stretches his arm across the back of the seat; he is not, strictly speaking, encroaching on Nicky's personal space, but he's treading a fine line, considering he is a perfect stranger to her.

Nicky reaches into her shopping bag and pulls out her partially consumed potato chips, and pops a few into her mouth.

Jeffrey reaches over and taps Nicky on the shoulder; it's easy for him to do so since his hand is already up on her seat back.

JEFFREY (to Nicky): Yo, could I get some of those?
NICKY (taken aback): I-I'm sorry??
JEFFREY: Could I get some of those? (indicates the chips)
NICKY: Wwellll, there's not very much left .... (she trails off at this point, meaning to indicate that since there is not very much left, she doesn't intend to share any of it with seemingly well-nourished boys.)
JEFFREY: Oh, that's aiight; I'll just take the rest.
NICKY: (taken even more aback): I'm sorry??
JEFFREY: I'll just take the rest.
NICKY: (near spluttering in disbelief): Well, actually, no, I don't think you'll just take the rest because this is my snack and I'm hungry and I'm going to eat the rest!!

Mercifully, the bus pulls up to the stop at this point. The passengers all stand and begin to de-bus, Nicky among them, although she is still one stop away from her destination. She exits the bus, not looking behind her once.

BLACKOUT


3. Strangers in the Night

SCENE: The Mall. Friday night; the place is loaded with adolescents. They're loud, boistrous, obnoxious -- all the things that make a childless 30-year-old-woman sigh a breath of relief.

A thirtyish woman, Nicky, wearing a tank top and jeans, approaches the escalator. It can be admitted that she looks cute, but no cuter than usual. She just threw this outfit on quickly before leaving the house for a brief errand or two, which included the decidedly unglamorous tasks of buying running shorts and toilet paper.

As Nicky boards the escalator, a young man, Chris, probably no more than 20, boards behind her. They ride in silence for a moment.

CHRIS: (quietly) How YOU doin'?

He speaks so quietly, in fact, that Nicky assumes she is not the one being spoken to, and continues staring ahead.

CHRIS: (a little louder) I like your glasses, those are nice.

Nicky knows now that it is her he is speaking to, as she is wearing a pair of glasses that she regularly gets complimented on. However, she thinks it best not to encourage this young man, and continues to ignore him.

CHIRS: (definitely louder now) And your butt. I like that, too.

Enough is enough. Nicky turns to face Chris.

NICKY: (incredulously) Are you talking to ME??
CHIRS: (grinning sheepishly) Yeah!
NICKY: (even more incredulously) Do I KNOW you???
CHRIS: Yeah!
NICKY: No. You don't. You don't know me. That's not an appropriate way to speak to someone you don't know.
CHRIS: (backpedalling, in a slightly regretful tone) I'm sorry. I'm just trying to make friends.
NICKY: ...?....
CHRIS: ......
NICKY: Yeah, I don't think that's what you're trying to do.

Nicky turns back around and walks the rest of the way down the escalator, shaking her head in extreme disbelief.

BLACKOUT

"by'r lady, thirty years." romeo and juliet: i, v

Well I'll be damned if it isn't my 30th birthday in about an hour and a half.


What a strange (and usually wonderful) ride it's been so far.



....
Not, as you can see, a lot of blogging went on over the summer. It hasn't been a particularly interesting summer. There have been a few things I've wanted to write about but haven't yet ... I may yet still do so. School starts up in a couple weeks and no doubt I will want to procrastinate.

Tonight I was riding the bus with V. and there was a lady passed out drunk across from us. She was rather rotund and very well endowed in the chest, so that as she fell forward with the motion of the bus her face was flopping down right into her cleavage. HOT. I was seriously concerned that she was going to suffocate in her own boobs.

Last night I guess the kids were all back in town for college starting up, so there was all manner of nonsense going on downtown here. The nightclub next door was hopping with all the little striped-button-down-American-Eagle-shirt-and-frayed-bluejeans-wearing frat boys lining up, checking out the girls, who, at this point, are simply not putting on pants -- I can only assume for ease-of-access. I wish I was exaggerating, but I swear to you that I am not joking at all when I say I saw more than one girl wearing one of those stupid-looking tunic-style tank tops with no pants, just boy-short-style underwear, and wedge shoes. My soul shrunk a little.

So apparently I'm thirty and a cranky old person now. That's cool, at least I have an excuse for being cranky now.