An Original Thing By: Amy Alls
A woman, Mary, is seated on a bus between a man in a military uniform (any kind will do) and either a police officer or a fireman (doesn’t matter which one, he just has to have the right uniform). She is talking to a gentleman seated across from her wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt, though it is unclear at times to whom she is referring because she occasionally looks around as if she’s talking to everyone on the bus. The staging should be at an angle so the audience cannot see the face of the man Mary is talking to.
Mary-I’m a sucker for a man in uniform. I don’t know what it is exactly that makes me melt every time I spot one in a crowd or accidentally bump into one on the street or—(looks around)—on the bus (looks around and laughs politely). Whatever it is, it drives me crazy. Some would say that such a fetish stems from a deep desire for reliability, responsibility and, most importantly, overall alpha grade masculinity. In fact, society trains us from a very early age to admire persons in uniform for those exact reasons. Not to mention, we’ve spent centuries grooming our males for such admirable professions as police officers, firemen and, of course, members of any branch of the armed services. These professions not only represent reliability, responsibility and masculinity, they are also the most socially acceptable symbols of strength and safety. From a sociological standpoint, this leads the average person, male or female, to trust that a man in uniform will never fail to protect us.
Thing is, nowadays, the perfectly almost natural preoccupation with men in uniform has expanded to the extent of fitting many more professions of all types with uniforms. Stunningly, the idea of the uniform, originating with the military and then civil servicemen, has not lost its profound effect on women, whether it be a firemen’s uniform or that of, say, the milk man.
Each of the men on either side of Mary is beginning to get turned on by her babbling about men in uniform, assuming it's them she's talking about. They each decide to put their arm around her at the same time just as she leans over to flirt with the man across from her. This, of course, causes them to lock arms with eachother instead of around her.
I was noticing the subtle creases in your pant legs and the perfect fold at the edge of your collar. I think it’s a wise choice for you to leave that top button undone—and I’m assuming that little mark (points to a spot of nasty gunk on his shirt) is just one of your many battle scars.
So, what do you say? Feel like making a girl a sandwich today?
Man across from Mary stands up, puts on a cap inscribed with the logo of a sandwich shop, turns to the audience and salutes, then walks offstage. Mary sighs longingly and watches him all the way.
Lights Down.
End.
"Uniform Come-On" IS COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Monday, June 20, 2005
A Smile In Your Voice
An Original Monologue by: Amy Alls
Monologue should be delivered with a huge smile throughout its entirety.
Call Center Representative-I work in the call center for a multi-million dollar corporation. I have a 100% average in overall quality scores for customer service and sales. This, of course, means I have no soul. Call center jobs are the easiest to obtain for young people with slightly above average intelligence and no college degree. What they don’t tell you when they’re smiling, shaking your hand and promising job security with a decent paycheck as soon as you sign on the dotted line is, you are now the official bitch of the American public. After anywhere from 2 weeks to, in some cases, 3 months of mind-numbingly boring and unnecessarily repetitious training, you will join the ranks of the proverbial front line of modern day customer service. I say “modern day” because technology has afforded us all the luxury of never having to leave our homes for any reason whatsoever.
You will learn how to say “Thank you for calling…” every 3 to 5 minutes directly after you hear the sound of a loud beep in your ear, not unlike that of an alarm clock. More importantly, if you are successful, you will give the impression that you actually like it by always having a smile in your voice.
At first, you may feel somewhat empowered in a way because you are making the world a better place by helping people with insignificant problems they shouldn’t have to take the time to leave their home to worry about with everything that’s going on in the world in this day and age. As time goes on, you’ll get used to answering the same questions over and over and over and over again—sometimes from the same people.
Soon, you’re just going through the motions. The upbeat tone in your voice becomes normal to the point that even your closest friends think you’re a happier person because there’s always a big, comforting smile on your face. You answer the phone at your home, “Thank you for calling”—and then let out a nervous laugh when you realize (laughs nervously) “I’m not at work.”
You go into work day after day numbing yourself more and more until you’ve forgotten what it’s like to express your true feelings. You start to remember what it was like to be able to get up and go to the bathroom without having to ask permission to get off the phone. You start to think about the feeling of actually telling your waitress she brought out the wrong order or there was a bug on it. Memories of your high school government teacher flood your mind as you recall the first amendment of the constitution, the necessity of money and big, multi-million dollar corporations sucking the blood and marrow out of the very essence of the American Way.
Work is no longer just a paycheck. It’s a reason to start a full-scale, political and, if needs be, violent revolution to overcome the massive, soulless vampire sweeping through the nation! It won’t be long until that beep every 3 to 5 minutes triggers a Pavlovian response of sheer, unadulterated anarchy pulsing through your over-worked, sleep-deprived, excessively caffeinated veins sending you into a violent frenzy resulting in the necessary smashing of one outdated, overused, annoying, numberless little box (BEEP)—
Thank you for calling customer support! This is Amy. How may I help you today?
Lights Down.
End.
"A SMILE IN YOUR VOICE" IS COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
Monologue should be delivered with a huge smile throughout its entirety.
Call Center Representative-I work in the call center for a multi-million dollar corporation. I have a 100% average in overall quality scores for customer service and sales. This, of course, means I have no soul. Call center jobs are the easiest to obtain for young people with slightly above average intelligence and no college degree. What they don’t tell you when they’re smiling, shaking your hand and promising job security with a decent paycheck as soon as you sign on the dotted line is, you are now the official bitch of the American public. After anywhere from 2 weeks to, in some cases, 3 months of mind-numbingly boring and unnecessarily repetitious training, you will join the ranks of the proverbial front line of modern day customer service. I say “modern day” because technology has afforded us all the luxury of never having to leave our homes for any reason whatsoever.
You will learn how to say “Thank you for calling…” every 3 to 5 minutes directly after you hear the sound of a loud beep in your ear, not unlike that of an alarm clock. More importantly, if you are successful, you will give the impression that you actually like it by always having a smile in your voice.
At first, you may feel somewhat empowered in a way because you are making the world a better place by helping people with insignificant problems they shouldn’t have to take the time to leave their home to worry about with everything that’s going on in the world in this day and age. As time goes on, you’ll get used to answering the same questions over and over and over and over again—sometimes from the same people.
Soon, you’re just going through the motions. The upbeat tone in your voice becomes normal to the point that even your closest friends think you’re a happier person because there’s always a big, comforting smile on your face. You answer the phone at your home, “Thank you for calling”—and then let out a nervous laugh when you realize (laughs nervously) “I’m not at work.”
You go into work day after day numbing yourself more and more until you’ve forgotten what it’s like to express your true feelings. You start to remember what it was like to be able to get up and go to the bathroom without having to ask permission to get off the phone. You start to think about the feeling of actually telling your waitress she brought out the wrong order or there was a bug on it. Memories of your high school government teacher flood your mind as you recall the first amendment of the constitution, the necessity of money and big, multi-million dollar corporations sucking the blood and marrow out of the very essence of the American Way.
Work is no longer just a paycheck. It’s a reason to start a full-scale, political and, if needs be, violent revolution to overcome the massive, soulless vampire sweeping through the nation! It won’t be long until that beep every 3 to 5 minutes triggers a Pavlovian response of sheer, unadulterated anarchy pulsing through your over-worked, sleep-deprived, excessively caffeinated veins sending you into a violent frenzy resulting in the necessary smashing of one outdated, overused, annoying, numberless little box (BEEP)—
Thank you for calling customer support! This is Amy. How may I help you today?
Lights Down.
End.
"A SMILE IN YOUR VOICE" IS COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
Friday, June 17, 2005
How to Answer the Question
"Why Aren't You Married Yet?"
An Original Thing By: Amy Alls
Father: Blue Eyes, I love you very much. You know that, right?
Young Woman: Yes, Daddy.
Father: And I would never try to criticize any of the choices you’ve made in the past because I know that you wouldn’t be the wonderful person you are today without having made those choices.
Young Woman (wondering what the “but” is): Yes, Daddy?
Father: But, it occurs to me that you’re pushing 30 now. 30 years is, well, I wish I was 30 again but that’s beside the point—
Young Woman (beginning to get a little irritated): Yes. Daddy.
Father: Sugar booger, why aren’t you married yet?
Young Woman (lost for words and not amused): I don’t know, Daddy.
Young Woman (to the audience): Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever felt that there was something you should have said instead of what you actually ended up saying? Hi. I’m the most frank (if not a little uncomfortably blunt at times) person on the face of the planet and I’m here to help you with your verbal constipation in sticky situations just like this one. Let’s try that again, shall we?
Father: Blue Eyes, I love you very much. You know that, right?
Young Woman (to the audience): Now, in most conversations, if there is going to be any sort of even subtle criticism about anything whatsoever, you can almost bet that whomever is about to ask you an uncomfortable question will first point out what they like about you. If you’re smart, you can catch it and prevent the discomfort from happening in the first place just by throwing in more words and perhaps even an uncomfortable question of your own. Here’s an example:
Young Woman (to Father): I love you too, Daddy. How did you enjoy your time in jail? Is it true what they say about bending over to pick up the soap in the showers?
Young Woman (to the Audience): See? The question that would have been uncomfortable or maybe just irritating for you was completely avoided just by changing verbal constipation into diarrhea of the mouth. However, if you don’t happen to snap into action right then and there, you get one step closer to slowing the blood flow to your brain and wishing later that you had said something clever. However, the “but” goes on:
Father: But, it occurs to me that you’re pushing 30 now. 30 years is, well, I wish I was 30 again but that’s beside the point—
Young Woman (to Father): Would you really want to go back to when you were 30? Don’t you remember your 3rd wife, Teresa? Isn’t she the one who slept with Uncle Mike and then gave you the clap? You complained about not being able to pee without that burning sensation for almost 6 months.
Young Woman (to Audience): Voila! Question shot down in mid-thought just before the attack of awkward that was about to invade your situation. Still, out of politeness, some of us let that bomb slip through and we’re faced with the inevitability of complete and utter embarrassment. The question sneaks in. It’s your last chance to redeem yourself.
Father: Sugar booger, why aren’t you married yet?
Young Woman (to Audience): You can’t cop out. You have to say exactly what you want to say and it has to make the interrogator shut up.
Young Woman (To Father): I haven’t found the right person yet.
Young Woman (to Audience): No. That’s not it. Try again.
Young Woman (to Father): I’m concentrating on my career.
Young Woman (to Audience): Nuh-uh. Nope. Thank you sir, may I have another?
Young Woman (to Father): I don’t believe in marriage.
Young Woman (to Audience): Do you want to open up a whole other can of worms? C’mon! You can do this!
Father: Sugar booger, why aren’t you married yet?
Young Woman (to Audience): ANSWER THE QUESTION!
Young Woman (to Father): Daddy, you know I love you very much right?
Father: Yes, Blue Eyes.
Young Woman (to Father with a hint of sarcasm): And I would never try to criticize any of the choices you’ve made in the past because I know that you wouldn’t be the wonderful person you are today without having made those choices.
Father: Yes, Blue Eyes?
Young Woman (to Father): But it occurs to me that you are pushing 60 now and I am very glad that, unlike you, I have so much of my life ahead of me to look forward to, but that’s beside the point—
Father: Yes. Blue Eyes.
Young Woman (to Father): Daddy, why aren’t you dead yet?
Young Woman (to Audience): There you have it. With enough practice, patience and embarrassing information about your friends and loved ones who insist on hassling you with uncomfortable and oftentimes rude questions, you too can learn to avoid or answer questions calmly and cleverly.
"How to Answer the Question: 'Why Aren't You Married Yet?'" IS COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
An Original Thing By: Amy Alls
Father: Blue Eyes, I love you very much. You know that, right?
Young Woman: Yes, Daddy.
Father: And I would never try to criticize any of the choices you’ve made in the past because I know that you wouldn’t be the wonderful person you are today without having made those choices.
Young Woman (wondering what the “but” is): Yes, Daddy?
Father: But, it occurs to me that you’re pushing 30 now. 30 years is, well, I wish I was 30 again but that’s beside the point—
Young Woman (beginning to get a little irritated): Yes. Daddy.
Father: Sugar booger, why aren’t you married yet?
Young Woman (lost for words and not amused): I don’t know, Daddy.
Young Woman (to the audience): Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever felt that there was something you should have said instead of what you actually ended up saying? Hi. I’m the most frank (if not a little uncomfortably blunt at times) person on the face of the planet and I’m here to help you with your verbal constipation in sticky situations just like this one. Let’s try that again, shall we?
Father: Blue Eyes, I love you very much. You know that, right?
Young Woman (to the audience): Now, in most conversations, if there is going to be any sort of even subtle criticism about anything whatsoever, you can almost bet that whomever is about to ask you an uncomfortable question will first point out what they like about you. If you’re smart, you can catch it and prevent the discomfort from happening in the first place just by throwing in more words and perhaps even an uncomfortable question of your own. Here’s an example:
Young Woman (to Father): I love you too, Daddy. How did you enjoy your time in jail? Is it true what they say about bending over to pick up the soap in the showers?
Young Woman (to the Audience): See? The question that would have been uncomfortable or maybe just irritating for you was completely avoided just by changing verbal constipation into diarrhea of the mouth. However, if you don’t happen to snap into action right then and there, you get one step closer to slowing the blood flow to your brain and wishing later that you had said something clever. However, the “but” goes on:
Father: But, it occurs to me that you’re pushing 30 now. 30 years is, well, I wish I was 30 again but that’s beside the point—
Young Woman (to Father): Would you really want to go back to when you were 30? Don’t you remember your 3rd wife, Teresa? Isn’t she the one who slept with Uncle Mike and then gave you the clap? You complained about not being able to pee without that burning sensation for almost 6 months.
Young Woman (to Audience): Voila! Question shot down in mid-thought just before the attack of awkward that was about to invade your situation. Still, out of politeness, some of us let that bomb slip through and we’re faced with the inevitability of complete and utter embarrassment. The question sneaks in. It’s your last chance to redeem yourself.
Father: Sugar booger, why aren’t you married yet?
Young Woman (to Audience): You can’t cop out. You have to say exactly what you want to say and it has to make the interrogator shut up.
Young Woman (To Father): I haven’t found the right person yet.
Young Woman (to Audience): No. That’s not it. Try again.
Young Woman (to Father): I’m concentrating on my career.
Young Woman (to Audience): Nuh-uh. Nope. Thank you sir, may I have another?
Young Woman (to Father): I don’t believe in marriage.
Young Woman (to Audience): Do you want to open up a whole other can of worms? C’mon! You can do this!
Father: Sugar booger, why aren’t you married yet?
Young Woman (to Audience): ANSWER THE QUESTION!
Young Woman (to Father): Daddy, you know I love you very much right?
Father: Yes, Blue Eyes.
Young Woman (to Father with a hint of sarcasm): And I would never try to criticize any of the choices you’ve made in the past because I know that you wouldn’t be the wonderful person you are today without having made those choices.
Father: Yes, Blue Eyes?
Young Woman (to Father): But it occurs to me that you are pushing 60 now and I am very glad that, unlike you, I have so much of my life ahead of me to look forward to, but that’s beside the point—
Father: Yes. Blue Eyes.
Young Woman (to Father): Daddy, why aren’t you dead yet?
Young Woman (to Audience): There you have it. With enough practice, patience and embarrassing information about your friends and loved ones who insist on hassling you with uncomfortable and oftentimes rude questions, you too can learn to avoid or answer questions calmly and cleverly.
"How to Answer the Question: 'Why Aren't You Married Yet?'" IS COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
Priority Mail
An Original Monologue By: Amy Alls
Monologue should be performed by woman older than 25. Woman is seated, holding a postal service issued Priority Mail Box in her lap to begin and reacts to it according whatever her mood is throughout the piece.
Woman: Another package came in the mail for you this afternoon. I thought I told you to notify everyone that you weren’t living here anymore. I considered marking it “Return to Sender,” but I don’t feel it’s my responsibility to make sure you get your mail. After all, you haven’t lived here for almost a year now. It doesn’t help that the package was marked, “To the Family of Michael R. Franklin.” Nice, Mike. I realize that you can’t help how a package is addressed, but honestly, you could have taken the TWO minutes to do an official change of address with the post office so I didn’t have to be reminded of the fact that the phrase, “To the Family of” doesn’t apply to us anymore. Just when I start getting close to letting go, everything falls on top of me again. It’s like the explosion of a closet over-stuffed with knick-knacks and old clothes you just can’t get around to dropping off at the goodwill. It’s like the time we thought the landlord was going to do an impromptu inspection of the property, so we spent all night blasting Weezer and making the house at least look like it was clean by hiding all of our excess crap anywhere we could think of, only to find out the inspection was a rumor. Then, all we needed was your stupid plaid pants so you could wear them to the club—and everything fell out all over the place, not unlike the end of a game of Jenga. We dyed your hair that night instead of cleaning up the mess. It didn’t seem so bad then, the mess.
I’d call you, except I didn’t bother to get your number the last time we spoke. I didn’t really want to talk to you then and I want to talk to you even less now. You left us, Mike. You didn’t even look back. You didn’t even bother to call to make sure I was still alive. Now, this package…the second one since I ran into you a month ago after NOTHING for 9 months…You and the postal service seem to think nothing ever happened between us. You and the postal service won’t let me move on with my life. You and the postal service keep opening that closet door and letting all of the shit I have tried so hard to hide come crashing down on top of me over and over again.
Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I should just take the package back to the post office and let them know you don’t live here and I have no idea where you DO live. Maybe I should open that closet and get rid of that shit all by myself. That would require picking up this package and walking away from this house. That would require avoiding being buried under the numerous piles of memories stuffed everywhere around here. That would require opening that door, package in tow, walking through and never coming back. Then again, you already did that and still, your packages are coming here.
"Priority Mail" IS COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
Monologue should be performed by woman older than 25. Woman is seated, holding a postal service issued Priority Mail Box in her lap to begin and reacts to it according whatever her mood is throughout the piece.
Woman: Another package came in the mail for you this afternoon. I thought I told you to notify everyone that you weren’t living here anymore. I considered marking it “Return to Sender,” but I don’t feel it’s my responsibility to make sure you get your mail. After all, you haven’t lived here for almost a year now. It doesn’t help that the package was marked, “To the Family of Michael R. Franklin.” Nice, Mike. I realize that you can’t help how a package is addressed, but honestly, you could have taken the TWO minutes to do an official change of address with the post office so I didn’t have to be reminded of the fact that the phrase, “To the Family of” doesn’t apply to us anymore. Just when I start getting close to letting go, everything falls on top of me again. It’s like the explosion of a closet over-stuffed with knick-knacks and old clothes you just can’t get around to dropping off at the goodwill. It’s like the time we thought the landlord was going to do an impromptu inspection of the property, so we spent all night blasting Weezer and making the house at least look like it was clean by hiding all of our excess crap anywhere we could think of, only to find out the inspection was a rumor. Then, all we needed was your stupid plaid pants so you could wear them to the club—and everything fell out all over the place, not unlike the end of a game of Jenga. We dyed your hair that night instead of cleaning up the mess. It didn’t seem so bad then, the mess.
I’d call you, except I didn’t bother to get your number the last time we spoke. I didn’t really want to talk to you then and I want to talk to you even less now. You left us, Mike. You didn’t even look back. You didn’t even bother to call to make sure I was still alive. Now, this package…the second one since I ran into you a month ago after NOTHING for 9 months…You and the postal service seem to think nothing ever happened between us. You and the postal service won’t let me move on with my life. You and the postal service keep opening that closet door and letting all of the shit I have tried so hard to hide come crashing down on top of me over and over again.
Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I should just take the package back to the post office and let them know you don’t live here and I have no idea where you DO live. Maybe I should open that closet and get rid of that shit all by myself. That would require picking up this package and walking away from this house. That would require avoiding being buried under the numerous piles of memories stuffed everywhere around here. That would require opening that door, package in tow, walking through and never coming back. Then again, you already did that and still, your packages are coming here.
"Priority Mail" IS COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Minimalist Ping-Pong
A Scene in 20 Words By: Amy Alls
Characters: One very eager person (Person 1)
One very unenthusiastic person (Person 2)
Skit can be performed by any two people about any topic imaginable.
1: Hey.
2: Yes?
1: Can I?
2: No.
1: Please?
2: Why?
1: I just—
2: No.
1: Man.
2: Well?
1: What?
2: Ahem.
1: C’mon.
2: Fine.
1: Yay!
2: Done?
1: Yes.
1&2: Goodbye.
**Disclaimer: I used to do these types of scenes as an acting exercise when I was in college. I was also required to write my own as a writing exercise. This is not one of those, but a totally new one. However, there are probably an infinite combination of words that can be used to play this game. In fact, it is very possible that this combination, or at least the bulk of it, has been used by someone else I have never met in some place I have never been ever before. It is not my intention to plagiarize any such combination of words, but only to clarify that these words right here at this time are my words and they are COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR (which is me, thankyouverymuch).
Characters: One very eager person (Person 1)
One very unenthusiastic person (Person 2)
Skit can be performed by any two people about any topic imaginable.
1: Hey.
2: Yes?
1: Can I?
2: No.
1: Please?
2: Why?
1: I just—
2: No.
1: Man.
2: Well?
1: What?
2: Ahem.
1: C’mon.
2: Fine.
1: Yay!
2: Done?
1: Yes.
1&2: Goodbye.
**Disclaimer: I used to do these types of scenes as an acting exercise when I was in college. I was also required to write my own as a writing exercise. This is not one of those, but a totally new one. However, there are probably an infinite combination of words that can be used to play this game. In fact, it is very possible that this combination, or at least the bulk of it, has been used by someone else I have never met in some place I have never been ever before. It is not my intention to plagiarize any such combination of words, but only to clarify that these words right here at this time are my words and they are COPYWRIGHTED MATERIAL AND MAY NOT BE DOWNLOADED, TRANSMITTED, PRINTED OR PERFORMED WITHOUT THE EXPRESSED PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR (which is me, thankyouverymuch).
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