Scene: A half-filled Gritty McDuff’s, Portland, ME. A cartoonist stands alone at his usually spot, stage left. A loud group of young sales people enters from the right.
Cartoonist rolls eyes.
Salesman from Hell #1:
“Everyone sit here with my friend from New York City! That’s right, New York City! He can teach you a thing or two, because he lives in New York City. How about we have drinks like they have in New York City, on account of my friend. He’s from New York City.”
The entire bar rolls their eyes. Including two small children having dinner with parents, stage right.
Salesman #1, 2 and 3 crowd cartoonist at bar, even though there’s plenty of space everywhere else.
Salesman from Hell #1 (louder than a Harley in a high school gym, to Salesman from Hell #2):
“… And then I said, sure you have these markets, but are they million dollar markets? Don’t come to me with $200,000 pieces of shit, I’m only serious about the big guns. I’m 45 and I’m fucking a 22 year old in the back of a $68,000 Hummer. You don’t get there in a $200, 000 market.”
Cartoonist turns away, again rolling eyes. He gulps his beer. The pretty young bartender, also Cartoonist’s friend, stops to check on Cartoonist’s beer.
Salesman form Hell#1 (glaring at bartender’s chest):
“That’s how I like the tits, right there. Wrapped up just enough for easy access. You’re a beautiful piece of pie, sweetheart!”
Cartoonist slumps over bar, with head in hands, wishing for a localized Armageddon at his side of the bar. Bartender looks at cartoonist, eyes wide and walks to other end of bar.
Salesman from Hell #3 moves to within 2 inches of cartoonist’s face. Cartoonist tries not to notice.
Salesman from Hell#3 (drunk, loud and spitting):
“What do you do?”
Cartoonist (unenthused, with beer raised to his mouth):
“I’m a cartoonist and comedy writer.”
Salesman from Hell#3:
“Awesome. Family Guy rocks. So fuckin’ funny. Do you draw that guy? And that dog… What the fuck’s his… Brian! Hey guys, this guy does the Family Guy show!”
Cartoonist gulps beer. His eyes widen.
Cartoonist:
“I actually don’t have anything to do with that show. I write and draw for print, like Mad Magazine.”
Salesman from Hell#1:
“Mad Magazine. What’s the guy’s name? Newman…”
Salesman from Hell#3:
“Randy Newman… George Newman?”
Salesman#1 and 3 improvise every known “Newman”, except correct one.
Cartoonist:
“Alfred E. Newman.”
Salesman from Hell#3:
“Right… with the tooth… Hey! Just like your tooth! Is that how you got into Mad? Because of your tooth?”
Cartoonist winces and shifts uncomfortably, wishing for the power to smote at will.
Salesman from Hell#3:
My girlfriend and I were at the sex shop down the street and we were reading those “Mad Libs” books. You know those? “Mad Libs”? Funny as all hell. Do they let you write those?
Cartoonist freezes and stares blankly at Salesman from Hell#3
Cartoonist:
“Excuse me…”
Cartoonist exits stage left for restroom where he contemplates slitting his wrists as a result of a complete loss of faith in Society.
More Salesmen from Hell usurp Cartoonist’s place at the bar, pushing his beer onto the floor.
Cartoonist returns, discovers his seat is taken and observes his beer on the floor with an angry glare.
Salesman from Hell#3:
“Oh… sorry, dude. Let me buy you another. Hey, what’s your name?”
Cartoonist:
“Corey.”
Salesman from Hell#3:
“No SHIT! that’s my name. We’re twins!”
Cartoonist:
“Do you spell yours “K-o-r-i” and dot the “i” with a heart?”
Salesman from Hell#3 (confused):
“Uh… no…”
Cartoonist grabs hand of salesman from Hell#3 and strokes his forearm
Cartoonist(soft tone, smirking lovingly):
“That’s too bad.”
Salesman from Hell#3 pulls back arm in disgust, hands cartoonist a beer and rushes to his girlfriends side. Cartoonist smiles with satisfaction and finds an empty seat at opposite end of the bar.
Lights fade to black.
Curtain.
