Dennis Thompson Goes On Strike (Play)

Scene: Dennis’s Apartment.

DENNIS
(addressing audience): Oh, I know you’re out there, and I know what you’re doing, and I’m getting pretty sick of it. How would you like to be the pawn of forces greater than you and put on display for anyone to see? I don’t think you’d care for it any more than I do. To have your moves written out and not be able to look face to face with the guy writing your life out. (paces) That does it. I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to mess you up. Check this out. Dennis Thompson, age 21, brown hair, blue eyes, five eleven and three quarters, one sixty, born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, 53209. Currently living alone in a rather shabby apartment on the East Side, nothing as fashionable as West Allis, but for a guy with a high school education and a job in a mail room for Northwestern Mutual, it’s all I could get. There, you moron. That’s exposition, and you’re not allowed to do that. It felt good to muck up your story like that. (thinks) It felt so good, in fact, that I think I’m going to do more. As of right now, I am on strike. Do you hear me? You might as well put the pen down, sport, ’cause I’m done being your pawn. And the rest of you might as well put the book down ’cause it’s going to get even more droll from this point on then it has been for the last hundred or thousand pages. (sits for a few minutes) How do you like not having anyone to push around? Not very much fun, eh? (sits for another moment) Well, If I’m on strike, I guess I should not go to work today, eh? (he goes to the phone and dials) Mr. Rosenthal? It’s Dennis. I don’t feel very well today. I think I’m going to have to stay home. No, nothing too bad. I’ll try. See you, then. (hangs up) Well, that was easy. Maybe too easy…. (sits back down and thinks for a while–then a knock at the door) And who might that be? Did you send my mother over her to tell me that I have to behave? Maybe a representative from the Fictional Characters’ Local 301? (knock again) It’s open!

ENTER LISA

LISA
Hi, my name is Lisa. Can I use your phone?

DENNIS
(stands and shrugs) It’s right there.

LISA
Thanks. They haven’t hooked mine up yet. I just moved in across the hall. We’re neighbors (begins dialing).

DENNIS
(addressing Stage Right) Oh, sure, I get it. This is the love interest thing. She’s a blonde, alright, but the eyes not blue, and it doesn’t fall in a loose wave about her shoulders. Good looking, but not perfect. It adds a touch of realism to the story.

LISA
Okay, I’ll be home then. (hangs up) Moving is sure a pain in the butt. I have to wait around for the phone man, wait around for the Sears refrigerator, sit at home and wait for just about everything. Good thing I’m a pack rat and have about a billion boxes to unpack or I’d go crazy. What’s your name?

DENNIS
Dennis Thompson, age 21, six foot, one sixty. Brown hair, blue eyes.

LISA
That’s sounds like a police description.

DENNIS
On the other side of the law more likely. It’s an expository act.

LISA
(nodding) So do you live here alone?

DENNIS
Just me and my imaginary friends.

LISA
Do you talk to them much?

DENNIS
No, they mostly ignore me and go about their lives. I didn’t say they were good imaginary friends.

LISA
I see. This is my first time moving out by myself. That’s kind of strange, I know, moving out for the first time at twenty-four. I lived with a roommate through college and after I graduated I lived with my boyfriend for a while. I always wondered what it would be like, you know?

DENNIS
The wonder should wear off in about six or seven years.

LISA
How long have you lived here?

DENNIS
Two years.

LISA
(looking behind Dennis): Wow, a lot of books. You go to UWM?

DENNIS
Nope. No college, just barely high school.

LISA
Oh. I went to Parkside got a degree in business.

DENNIS
I’m sorry.

LISA
(nodding) Me too. It seems like everyone else got one, too. Well, I have to be going. The phone company representative should be coming at about ten o’clock.

DENNIS
Hope you don’t have any plans for the afternoon.

LISA
(smiling) No, just unpacking. And, since I have a lot of it, I’d best get back to it. See you later.

DENNIS
See you.

EXIT LISA

DENNIS
(addressing stage right) Pretty good. You managed to have her slip in that she was alone and that she and her boyfriend have just broken up. She is free and available this afternoon. And I am supposed to jump at this. Maybe I could have asked to help her unpack and then go out for a bite to eat. She was rather nice, and I’ll bet we could have hit it off. I know the old adage “Never look a gift horse in the mouth”, but given where the saying comes from, it should probably be “always look the gift horse in the mouth” or something along those lines. Not that Lisa is a horse. Quite far from it. But I am looking at the gift in the mouth and saying, no, you slime, you probably would have me give her the waddles and run away for your sadistic kicks or have her break my heart or something. In any case, it would be you directing me again, and I’m on strike for that very reason. (sits back down) How long have I been sitting here? I think I just sat down, but how can I be sure? My memory is strange. It’s not a continuous series of days, but just highlights. Did you forget to put in everything else? I know I was in Mrs. Walters’s second grade class, but I can’t remember where I sat. No, wait. I sat next to a kid named Tyrone, in the fourth row and by the coat closet. Bad example. I think I remember waking up this morning and having a cold Pop-Tart for breakfast. (gets up and looks in trash can) The foil is there, but….There’s no way to be sure. Anything I remember could just be thrown in by you right then with the appropriate supporting details. (SITS AGAIN AND THINKS UNTIL THERE IS A KNOCK ON THE DOOR) If that’s Lisa again, I’m going to scream. (THREE KNOCKS) Time to go. (THREE MORE KNOCKS) Time to go. (FOUR KNOCKS–DENNIS SHOUTS) Come in.

ENTER CHRIS

DENNIS
(SCREAMS–THEN ADDRESSES AUDIENCE) If you thought you could stop me from screaming just because you put Chris on the other side of the door, you’re wrong.

CHRIS
(SCREAMS TOO) And I’m glad to see you, too. What’s up, Dennis?

DENNIS
Not much.

CHRIS
Hey–you’ve been thinking again. I see it in your face. You better cut that out. You know that thinking kills good brain cells.

DENNIS
You’re so frivolous and superficial.

CHRIS
And supercilious and artificial, but that’s why you like me. And you’re jealous because I can have a good time without wrecking it by picking it apart.

DENNIS
You wouldn’t know how to pick anything apart.

CHRIS
And it keeps me happy. Come on, I’m heading down to the beach. You want to come and catch some rays? Maybe scope the bees before you head into the office?

DENNIS
Not today, thanks.

CHRIS
So what have you been thinking about now that’s got you all peeved?

DENNIS
You want to see something?

CHRIS
What?

DENNIS
(TAKING A QUARTER FROM HIS POCKET AND FLIPPING IT) What did it come up?

CHRIS
Tails.

DENNIS
I thought so–(TAKES ANOTHER COIN AND FLIPS IT) and this one?

CHRIS
Tails.

DENNIS
(TAKES ANOTHER COIN AND FLIPS IT): Tails again. And again. And again ad infinitum.

CHRIS
Nope, that one was heads.

DENNIS
What? (EXAMINES COIN) How did that happen?

CHRIS
What were you going to show me?

DENNIS
How easily amused you were. Watching me flip coins like that. What did you expect to see? Some secret of the universe?

CHRIS
Oh, I see, one of those moods. Okay. Like I said, I’m going to the lakefront. If you want to come, I’ll be in our usual spot See you later.

EXIT CHRIS

DENNIS
(ADDRESSING AUDIENCE) He sounded awfully sure, didn’t he? Maybe going to the beach today is a turning point in the action, eh? Too bad I won’t be there to support the plot. Just what you’d like–for me to go and romp on Bradford beach among the girls in bikinis so that I would forget my resolution. A little frisbee, a little volleyball, and I would be blithely back in line on your page. I think not. (THINKS) All I want is control of my own plot. Freedom, I guess you’d call it. I want to be able to run and jump and frolic without it being a side effect of the clack of a typewriter. I don’t want to be chained to your stupid literary pretensions. I wouldn’t mind even if it were a good action story, with me rescuing ladies from dragons or gangsters, but it had to be one of these droll modernist things where nothing happens, where the entire point is bemoaning how futile life is and how unbelievably dull and lonely it is to be a modern person. I’d like a nice bit of flow, thank you, a building to a climax or series of climaxes in which the entire purpose is made clear. I want a point, damn it. (GOES TO WINDOW) Sure is a nice day for the beach, though. (OPENS WINDOW) A nice southerly breeze. I could just leap out of the window and end your book right now. Kill the series character. Kill your chance at selling action figures. Even then I wouldn’t be free. I’d be trapped somewhere in the after-life. If there is such of thing, and, of course, if they let fictional characters into it. Besides, your book might turn out to be just a short story tragedy piece. Wouldn’t be a very good piece, especially since that sort of thing happens in the world very day. Even with a bit of irony thrown in–the Publisher’s Clearinghouse van showing up with cameras and a ten million dollar check for me just in time to catch me trying to cannonball the pavement. It’d make one of those reality shows, but not the commercials. Now for a little reality check, I’m only on the second floor, so I’d probably only end up looking stupid and breaking a leg. Never mind. (CLOSES WINDOW AND BEGINS TO PACE, BUT STOPS BEFORE THE BOOKCASE.) Oh, Ayn, what would you have me do? Go to work and do something manual. No thanks. How about you, Larry? It wouldn’t really matter what I did. You’d just take a big rock and ram it into the planet and start a major upheaval. Or you, Phil? It wouldn’t matter. Everyone would be against me and reality itself would be a fabrication, and that’s hard to stomach. Oh, Fyodor, what would you have me do? Pace about in a little cell and go slowly insane. (LOOKS ABOUT AND ADDRESSES AUDIENCE) Well, you’re not even that good. What’s your racket, bub? (WAITS IN SILENCE FOR A FEW MOMENTS) What, no word from you? No thundering voice from heaven that tells me to get on the stick and get on with the action? (PHONE RINGS) A-ha! A thundering voice from heaven via Wisconsin Bell. (PHONE RINGS AGAIN–DENNIS ANSWERS) Yeah, boss? Who are you? What is the meaning of this call? No, no, what do you really want? Are you the guy writing this or not? Hello? (HANGS UP–DENNIS ADDRESSES STAGE RIGHT) You wanted to sell me storm windows? You know I don’t live in my own home, you moron! (PAUSES) What if you don’t exist, then? What if I am standing here ranting to myself? (LOOKS ABOUT) Well, even if I am, at least there’s no one to hear me. I’d hate to think how silly I’d look wandering around my apartment talking foolish. (CLUNKING FROM STAGE LEFT–DENNIS THINKS) I wonder if he’s given up on me. I don’t feel him pulling any strings. Maybe it worked–maybe he gave me the equivalent of my fictional character walking papers. I didn’t here or feel any twang of him letting go, but I don’t suppose that I would. (PACES) Come to think of it, I have been doing pretty much anything I wanted to after I said I was going on strike. (RAISES ARM) I wanted to do that, and I don’t think it would serve any purpose in the plot of a novel for me to do that. (RAISES OTHER ARM AND FLAPS THEM) Well, I’m not flying, so I guess the laws of reality apply. (DANCES A RATHER UNCOORDINATED JIG) Full motor control, well, as well as can be expected. We’ll have to try some major plot revisions. First thing will be to learn to dance. (KNOCKING ON DOOR–DENNIS GOES TO THE DOOR) Who is it?

LISA
(FROM WITHOUT) Your new neighbor.

DENNIS
(ASIDE) Now for some major plot revisions. (OPENS DOOR)

ENTER LISA.

LISA
Can you believe it? The phone man, the cable man, and the Sears people all came at the same time.

DENNIS
On the day they said they would?

LISA
No, actually the cable man was supposed to come tomorrow.

DENNIS
No way.

LISA
Way.

DENNIS
What are the odds of that happening? It must be your day. Did you buy a lottery ticket today?

LISA
(NODDING) No, but I probably should. Anyway, I’ve come to ask a favor. With the cable guy trying to sell me pay channels and the phone man asking me where I wanted the second jack, I managed to have the Sears guys put the refrigerator in the wrong place. They put it where the dishwasher is supposed to go, so I was wondering if you could help me scoot it over about three feet.

DENNIS
Well, my afternoon happens to be free.

LISA
It shouldn’t take that long.

DENNIS
Oh, I know, but I hoped that maybe afterwards you would reward me by accompanying me to lunch. I know this charming little sidewalk cafe where we can grab a bite and then while away the afternoon drinking sodas and watching the people go by.

LISA
A sidewalk cafe?

DENNIS
Okay, it’s really a fast-food joint with plastic tables outside. Or we could go down to the lakefront. I know this really nice spot down on the beach, with a commanding view of Lake Michigan and the snack bar. What do you say?

LISA
Is the sidewalk cafe a McDonald’s?

DENNIS
Indeed, McDonald’s it tis, me bonnie lass. Let us move your refrigerator. (ASIDE) Rescuing maidens from misplaced refrigerators is a start, and a lot safer.

LISA
I didn’t mean to interrupt a phone call.

DENNIS
What do you mean?

LISA
I heard you talking. Were you on the phone?

DENNIS
Er, no, I was just reciting a dramatic soliloquy from a play.

LISA
What play?

DENNIS
Oh, a little thing. You’ve probably never heard of it.

EXUENT.

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