A New Normal

Copyright 2010, by Samuel M. Post.
Note: If you’d like to produce this play, on stage or in a class — please email me and ask permission. It will be granted, but I’d really like to know about it.

Characters:
Nick — middle aged
Jill — a little younger
Kyle — middle aged
Guy and Girl — younger couple
Passed-out Guy

Setting: A bar.

Time: Night. December 31, 2008.

NICK and KYLE sit at the bar, drinking beer, talking to JILL, the bartender.

Beside them, a GUY and a GIRL are necking — going at it pretty steady. This continues throughout the play, with perhaps a few breaks for whispering or staring into each other’s eyes.

On the other side of them, a GUY sits at the bar, passed-out, with his head on the bar.

NICK: What’re you gonna do?

JILL: Fill-out applications, I guess.

KYLE: Nobody’s hiring.

NICK: She’s the best in town.

KYLE: Doesn’t matter. Nobody’s hiring.

NICK: Somebody will hire her.

JILL: Right, like you’re gonna give me a recommendation.

NICK: I could. Might help.

JILL: Fuck you. Then I’ll never get a job.

KYLE: How the hell is she gonna find another job when every business in town is closing or laying off?

NICK: She’s good.

JILL: The only reason you think I’m good is because I’ve served you about a thousand beers and I know your order. My cat thinks I’m good too, ‘cause I feed it.

NICK: Seriously, a reference wouldn’t hurt.

KYLE: They want a reference from her employer — not a customer. Damn — a thousand beers. I wonder…

JILL: You could buy a boat with the money you’ve spent in here. Let’s see. (She gets a calculator and starts figuring.) Let’s say twenty bucks a night. Conservative. Let’s say 200 nights a year. Conservative. I’ve been here fourteen years. That’s fifty-six thousand dollars. How much does a fucking boat cost?

KYLE: You can pay about whatever you want for one.

NICK: I don’t want a boat.

KYLE: You could probably buy a damn plane.

NICK: I don’t want a plane.

KYLE: Makes you think, though. Could have had a boat or a plane. Maybe both.

NICK: I’d rather have the beer.

KYLE: The beer’s gone. Nothing to show for it.

NICK: Planes and boats don’t last either. (to Jill) Makes me wonder why this place is going out of business.

KYLE: The fucking economy.

NICK: People drink more in a bad economy.

JILL: Not here. New Year’s Eve, we should be packed. In case you didn’t notice, you’re the only people in here.

NICK: (indicating the couple and the other, passed out patron)  They’re here. He’s here.

JILL: You’re the only people in here paying.

KYLE: The economy sucks.

NICK: It’ll come back.

JILL: Not in time to pay the rent.

KYLE: Never seen it this bad before.

NICK: Why are you complaining? You’ve still got a job!

KYLE: Barely. My hours cut in half!

NICK: Try being self-employed. That can cut your hours to zero.

JILL: Boo fucking hoo. I’ve got two little ones at home.

NICK: I’ve got kids.

KYLE: So do I.

JILL: They’re grown-ups!

NICK: They’re sill my kids.

JILL: You moron.

KYLE: He’s not a moron. He just likes to argue.

NICK: I don’t like to argue.

KYLE: Just my opinion.

NICK: I like discussion.

JILL: Heard anything from Heather?

KYLE: She’s doing fine. Perfect.

JILL: Still married?

KYLE: Last I heard. We don’t hear a lot. She’s real busy.

NICK: She’s got it made.

KYLE: They’re out west skiing now. At least I think they’re still there.

NICK: Rory’s the one who needs the rich husband.

KYLE: Oh shit.

She brings him another beer.

NICK: You hear anything?

KYLE: No.

NICK: Won’t even talk to you?

KYLE: She never would talk to us. She shouts and argues. She popped out of the womb shouting and has been shouting ever since.

NICK: Shouting for money.

KYLE: And who’s got any? I’m expecting her to move back anytime.

JILL: Of course. She’ll need a babysitter. Don’t expect her to give up her lifestyle.

KYLE: What lifestyle?

JILL: Oh — she’s got a lifestyle.

NICK: When’s she due?

KYLE: March.

NICK: She’ll move in next month.

KYLE: No more life for me.

NICK: What kind of fucking life do you have now?

KYLE: One that suits me.

JILL: I predict she’ll stay awhile this time.

KYLE: Wish she’d trying moving in with her sister one time. Give us a break.

NICK: She wouldn’t let her in the front door.

KYLE: True. She’d tell the guard not to let her through the gate. She won’t even ask us. She’ll just show up.

JILL: (to Nick) You ever hear anything from Carl?

NICK: No.

KYLE: Nothing?

NICK: Still in Arizona, we think.

KYLE: Won’t even pick up the phone on Christmas?

NICK: Won’t answer.

JILL: Carl was the best musician ever played here. Well, maybe not the best — but the most entertaining.

KYLE: The boy had some talent.

JILL: A goddamn ton of talent!

NICK: Not just music.

JILL: What else, math? He wasn’t much of a talker.

KYLE: Anything. You should see the damn sculpture he’s got in his living room. What was he — fifteen years old, when he made that?

NICK: Sixteen.

KYLE: It’s incredible. Like something from Europe. And he was straight A’s all the way in school…

NICK: Yep.

KYLE: Weird how a kid with that much talent can just quit everything.

JILL: Happens a lot. Some of the most wasted bums on skid row are the most talented people in the world.

NICK: He’s not on skid row. I’m sure he’s doing fine.

KYLE: Sure he is.

JILL: Oh yeah — he’s probably fine. Going through a stage.

NICK: He’s twenty-six.

JILL: People have stages when they’re twenty-six. Hey — it was really, really good to see Alex last week. He looked good.

NICK: He’s doing fine.

KYLE: Now that’s a good boy. You should be proud. I would be.

NICK: I am.

KYLE: Burning the candle both ends, though.

NICK: He’s got no choice.

KYLE: It’s that wife!

NICK: She’s okay.

KYLE: No she’s not!

NICK: She’s okay. She’s got those kids. It wouldn’t be normal if she weren’t wound a little tight. That’s work taking care of those kids.

JILL: Tell me about it. If mine are still up when I get home, they’ll…wish they weren’t.

NICK: It’s New Years.

JILL: I don’t care if it’s the next millennium. It’s late and I’m tired.

NICK: I cannot believe this is the last time I’ll have a beer in here.

JILL: You’ll adjust.

NICK: I’m not sure I will.

KYLE: I’m not so sure he will either.

JILL: You might like the next place better.

NICK: I doubt it.

KYLE: I’m sure as hell gonna try.

NICK: Too bad we can’t take up a collection and keep the place open.

JILL: No way.

KYLE: Remember when you broke your toe?

(indicating the next stool over)

NICK: Please.

KYLE: Right there. That’s the spot.

NICK: My last night here. I don’t want to talk about that.

JILL: How could I forget that! I spent more time with you in the ER that night than I ever have with my own kids.

NICK: Yeah.

JILL: Christ, you were a baby.

NICK: I know.

JILL: That was not easy.

NICK: I know. I know.

JILL: I’ll remember that night ‘til the day I die.

NICK: Me too. (He finishes his beer.) I’m goin’.

Nick gets up to leave.

KYLE: Right behind you.

Nick puts on his coat and drains his beer. He taps the Passed-out Guy. The guy raises his head.

NICK: You need a ride?

PASSED-OUT GUY: Yeah.

NICK: C’mon. I’m going now.

PASSED-OUT GUY: Nick. Nick. Thank you for the ride, Nick. It’s cold out there. Thank you, man.

NICK: No problem. (as they exit)  Happy New Year.

KYLE: See you on the other side. Happy fucking New Year.

Nick and Passed-out Guy exit. Kyle gets up and puts on his coat.

KYLE: Need some help with these two?

JILL: You leave me in here alone and I’ll break your arm.

Kyle approaches the couple from behind and puts his arms around them. They stop necking and look up.

KYLE: What’s the plan, guys?

They get up and leave quickly, walking side by side, holding each other close.

Jill pours Kyle half a beer and puts it on the bar. He sits back down.

She busies herself getting ready to go: putting her tips into her pocketbook, dealing with the register, perhaps gathering coat and scarf…

JILL: Give me three minutes.

KYLE: No hurry.

end of play