In class.
When the teacher forgets the long-held, quad-burning warrior two on the second side.
Rapid, fleeting eye contact with the other students in the room tells you they noticed this, too.
Channeling all the positive energy in the room, you all make an unspoken pact never to speak this omission aloud.
And breathe a collective sigh of relief when she moves on to the next sequence.
This is one of my favorite Sesame Street segments ever:
Fun story:
The other day, my department chair came into one of my classes; it was her own planning period. She was placing a supply order and wanted to know if I needed anything for my classroom.
“A pencil sharpener,” I told her, because it was true. We have demolished the blades on one electric sharpener and the motor on a second. A third battery powered sharpener mysteriously disappeared on the last day of last semester. At this point, I would like nothing more than a steady, reliable manual sharpener that screws bolts into the wall.
“Is that all? Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” She looked around the room. “File folders? Post-It Notes? Crayons?”
Here, one of my students — politely, but firmly — stopped her. “Miss, do you know how many crayons she has? Look over there. That box and that box” — she indicated two shoe boxes — “are full of crayons. And there’s one more in that cupboard with all the little ends and pieces. When we don’t have a pencil in class, she makes us write our notes in crayon. Do not give her more crayons!”
End note: There are 2 working crayon sharpeners in my classroom.
When you email me about something — link exchanges, reviewing products, guest bloggery of various flavors — and forget to substitute “Anytime Yoga” for “Insert Blog Name Here,” I notice.
Sincerely,
My Name Here
I’m teaching my kids rhetorical appeals as part of a unit on persuasive reading and writing.
As a very introductory example to the idea of pathos, I explained that I always purchase the brand of toilet paper with the picture of a puppy on the package. No, I don’t know the brand name offhand.
I put it to them like this —
I am very drawn to puppies. It makes me happy to purchase something with a picture of a puppy on it and to take that puppy home with me.
What my puppy attraction doesn’t address, though, is whether this particular brand and package of toilet paper has the right number of square feet for my household needs, whether the strength and softness are optimized for our wiping preferences (because, um, yes — wiping preferences are A Thing), or whether it’s the best value for the price.
I point out that by checking my facts, I am potentially sacrificing a lot of practical TP benefits for the emotional satisfaction of puppies.
And they are all like, “But miss, what about the kind with the cartoon bears?!?!?”
Or in stores. Dear God, in the stores.
So, for most of my years in college, I worked part-time at the school’s writing center, which meant my hours ebbed and flowed along with the academic calendar. It was a great job that provided me with awesome experience for teaching — and writing — which made it worth the patchwork of less than stellar jobs I held during summers and holiday breaks.
Like that one time I turned into a penguin. Yes, really.
It was during a Christmas break; I’d secured seasonal work as a character actor in a holiday show. You know, one of those places where parents can take their kids to see the North Pole and Santa’s workshop, sit on Santa’s lap, eat a candy cane and drink some hot chocolate, and buy some overpriced Christmas gifts on the way out. Commercial and cheesy, but for a poor college student, the pay couldn’t be beat.
That pay, however, depended entirely on me turning into a penguin.
My job involved donning a padded, furry mascot costume to become the character of Peter Penguin. Said costume looked something like this, only with a papier-mache head and plush on the wings:
It was awesome: eight hour shifts inside a hot, sweaty, stinky mattress that, by the way, also impeded my field of vision. As in, periphery? What’s that? I had to dance, interact with small children, and be expressive with my body language (we weren’t allowed to talk in costume), none of which come naturally to me.
Okay, really, while all of the above were true, it wasn’t as bad as all that. I mean, at least I wasn’t Santa Claus, so no small children peed on my lap.
But really really, the most annoying part of the job — and the portion relevant to this post — was the background music. The show had pre-recorded Christmas music on something like a 3-hour loop — long enough that no parents or children spending time there would hear the same song twice, but definitely short enough that even employees working a half-day shift would hear at least a few repeats. People working full shifts, on the other hand? Or multiple days in a row?
Bland, inoffensive, tinkly holiday cheer.
Over and over and over.
And over and over.
And fucking over.
With aforementioned heat and humidity and not being able to talk and the occasional smell of underarm odor for me (antiperspirants were not field tested inside penguin costumes) and the also occasional small of urine from a small child who’d experienced a case of Idiopathic Santa Fear.
It’s a wonder that Peter Penguin never flew up to the ceiling to punch out the speakers.
Oh, wait. This is probably why penguins can’t fly. It’s a safety feature.
But every time I hear the same saccharine-sweet, recycled, regurgitated Approved Holiday Tunes on the radio or in a store, my beak starts twitching again. And I get the urge to flap my wings to see if this time, just this once, it will be different.
The sense-making, the hilarious, and the just plain odd:
And just in case anyone is keeping count, “boobs” brings nearly 6 times as many people to my blog as does the title of the blog itself.
When the summons first came, I understood, though I was slightly irritated by the timing. A whole summer with a very flexible schedule, and my civic duty falls during the first few weeks of school? Someone’s universe clearly does not revolve around me. Still, I hadn’t been summoned in a couple of years, and fair is fair, after all.
So I got everything ready for a day off work. Writing a sub plan that was on track with our current coursework, meaningful and engaging to my students, and easy for a stranger — possibly someone with little to no experience as a classroom teacher — to follow. For one 50 minute prep and two 100 minute preps. Prepping my students so they’d know why I was gone, when I’d be back, and what I expected of them in the meantime. Finally, I prepped my room, in part by writing on my boards everything that I’d just told my students and written for the sub — to minimize the possibility of genuine or feigned confusion on the parts of any of the parties involved.
While it may not be evident from my description, please understand that I spent the equivalent of approximately half a work day to put this together. That is, arranging to be gone from my work is in itself a fair bit of work.
Which may explain why I was livid when I checked with the court the night before to find that my service had been postponed half a week, to the following Monday. Really, what this meant was that:
I hope you understand why I spent that evening — and night, and the next morning, during which there was not enough coffee in all the world — cursing your very existence. If you had to rewrite wasted sub plans, believe me, you’d curse you too.
Friday afternoon, after I’d repeated all those steps and they were awesome, I left school and checked the updated juror reporting information once again. Excused.
Excused, yes — but after I’d spent a grand total of eight hours outside of contract time to prepare for serving at the pleasure of the county court.
Jury duty, you fucking bastard.
Friday night, as I was getting sick, I still did not understand your grand plan.
“It’s just a cold,” I thought. “If I take it easy Saturday, I’ll be better enough by Monday.”
So I took it easy Saturday, telling myself that I was recovering and therefore, feeling like shit was to be expected.
I spent Saturday night tossing and turning and feverish — though I don’t know how much of that was internal temperature fever and how much was skewed by the fact that it was a hundred and six degrees outside — and woke Sunday feeling like I’d been hit by the proverbial Mack truck. I started having one of those internal debates with myself.
“I should just stay home tomorrow,” I reasoned. “I’m sick.”
“You’ve gone to school when you were sicker than this,” I countered to myself.
“Because writing sub plans is a royal pain in the ass. I already have sub plans.”
Part of me remained unconvinced. “Those are jury duty sub plans; you’re not going to jury duty. Your kids will be better off with you than they will with a sub.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be better off home and recovering.”
“You don’t think it will seem a little too convenient, like playing hooky?”
“Ah… ah….” I sneezed violently. Chunks of green mucus flew out of various facial orifices and into the crook of my elbow.
“Ew.”
“Ew is right. I don’t care if it is convenient. I’m calling in tomorrow.”
In the end, I suppose I should say thank you, jury duty, for giving me an excuse to take care of myself. Even if I shouldn’t need an excuse to take care of myself. And even if your haphazard “planning” skills may have contributed to wearing myself down and getting sick in the first place.
So — thanks for nothing, jury duty?
Or “lose my faith in humanity.” I hope the former.
Pretend this is your core on pretty colors.
Though I don’t think it will help you with your math homework or anything.
An amusing and informative assortment of the search engine terms that bring people to my blog:
“Okay, I did dead dog. Where’s my damn cookie?”
Part 8 of Real Vampires Don’t Eat Grilled Cheese. Probably this is the last or second to last part. Until I write the sequel.
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Anna: That’s not very nice.
Earl: I’m not saying it to be mean, but I did need to be practical. Town drunks stumbling home from bar fights, crop circle fanatics, self-professed alien abductees living back in the woods. It was easy to make them look like accidents. And no one would believe them if they did tell.
Zoe: You were fine with this widespread bloodsucking all spring and summer?
Earl: I’ve never, not in a hundred years, been “fine” with it. But it was an evil necessary for my survival.
Anna: And in the fall?
Earl: In the fall, we had the slaughter.
Zoe: That is generally what is done with pigs. You were maybe not expecting this?
Earl: Oh, I knew we’d have to kill them, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so… grotesque. So much blood.
Anna: You’d think a vampire would be used to blood.
Earl: So what, now you don’t believe me either?
Anna: Just an observation.
Earl: Yes, I drained blood to feed, but I was always neat about it. Two little holes, and you get just as much blood as you need in a carefully controlled flow. No mess, no waste.
Zoe: People still ended up dead, didn’t they?
Earl: It’s not something I like to think about.
Anna: That’s what I don’t understand. You’re used to killing –
Earl: You never get used to killing.
Zoe: Some of us do.
Anna: You’ve done worse, so I don’t see how slaughtering a dozen pigs could turn you off blood forever, especially when it’s something you need. Sure it was messy, and I’ll bet it was gross –
Zoe: Plus, it probably smelled bad. Don’t forget that; it’s important.
Anna: Would it smell that bad to a vampire? I mean, it’s just a lot of blood.
Earl: Blood and death and pig doody. The pig doody made it especially delightful.
Anna: Point taken. I can understand why it would have turned you off blood for a little while, or why you’d have mixed feelings about feeding again. But like you said, it’s been months. Isn’t it time to get over it?
Earl: It’s not something you just “get over.” First, it wasn’t a couple dozen pigs; try a hundred. We were out under the full moon –
Anna: We?
Earl: The folks I hired on to help with the killing. Generally not smart to try slaughtering a hundred hogs on your own.
Zoe: You did this at night?
Earl: Couldn’t very well do it during the day, could I?
Anna: Didn’t they think you were… odd?
Earl: I told them I sunburn easily.
Zoe: They believed you?
Earl: They thought I was strange and a bit of a weenie, but not that I was a vampire, which is all that matters.
Anna: Why a full moon?
Zoe: Because his helpers were werewolves who needed their wolf strength for the slaughter. Or so the humans could see at night.
Earl: And we could see, much too clearly. The moon illuminated everything so that while we worked, it was in perfect, silvery detail. And these men, they’d slaughtered before, so none of it fazed them.
Zoe: I told you some get used to it.
Earl: Only they weren’t at all careful about the blood they were spilling. Maybe they didn’t want to think about it; maybe they just didn’t care. So I was the one who saw it, blood everywhere, trickling down into mud and pig carcasses, ruined, wasted.
(Earl begins to sob.)
____________________________________________
Okay, so maybe 2 more episodes until the end. But maybe next time will be the finale!
Of this play.
_Begegnung_am_Waldrand.jpg)
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Zoe: So you never get the craving for blood?
Earl: Not anymore.
Zoe: But you did?
Earl: Things have changed.
Zoe: I find that hard to believe.
Earl: I’m not asking you to.
Zoe: If you’re a vampire, you need blood to survive.
Earl: You’re not even sure I am a vampire.
Zoe: I’m not entirely discounting the possibility, though; I’m waiting for proof.
Earl: What makes you think I care about proving anything to you?
Zoe: What makes you think I care whether you’re a vampire or not?
Earl: You ask an awful lot of questions for someone who doesn’t care.
Zoe: I was trying to show an interest. I pride myself on being polite.
Earl: I find that hard to believe.
Zoe: I’m not asking you to.
Earl: This seems like a lonely place to spend a Saturday night.
Zoe: Are you lonely?
Earl: We both know why I’m here. I was wondering what it says about you.
Zoe: That at the moment, this was one of my better options.
Earl: Spending your Saturday night talking to a waitress who doesn’t even like you.
Zoe: And a fake vampire who also doesn’t like me.
Earl: You didn’t know I was going to be here.
Zoe: Didn’t I? Maybe I just got unlucky.
Earl: And I’m not a fake vampire, but you don’t care.
Zoe: I do, actually. Your life might depend on it.
(Anna enters with Earl’s sandwich. She crosses to the table and sets it in front of him.)
Anna: Sorry about the wait. The first one fell on the floor.
Earl: Why did I need to know that?
Anna: This is the one that didn’t.
Zoe: Are you sure?
Anna: I can check.
(She starts to cross left.)
Earl: No, wait. Don’t leave me.
Zoe: Scared of something?
Anna: What did she say to you?
Zoe: Why do you automatically blame me?
Anna: Every bit of past experience I’ve ever had. (To Earl.) What did she say?
Earl: Nothing. I just — I was going to tell you about becoming a vegetarian, remember?
Anna: Yeah, I know. But actually, my shift’s almost over, and I’ve got to start cleaning up the back.
Earl: Wait a minute! How much whining and cajoling did you have to go through to get me to tell?
Zoe: I didn’t whine.
Earl: No, you threatened.
Anna: I whined, maybe, a little bit.
Earl: And all of the sudden, you don’t care anymore? My story means nothing to you?
Anna: It’s not that, but I do have other things I need to do — like my job.
Earl: You’re going to leave me to talk to her?
Anna: You don’t have to talk to anybody.
Earl: That’s going to stop the lady the fantastical threats?
Zoe: My threats are pretty mundane, actually.
Anna: Okay, fine. Maybe for a few more minutes.
Earl: Fine.
Zoe: So. You were in Arkansas.
Earl: I am aware. Let me tell my own damn story.
Zoe: Just wanted to remind you where you left off. I wouldn’t dream of interfering.
Earl: You don’t need to dream; you just do it.
Anna: However, some of us realize that it’s still your story. Go ahead and tell.
Earl: I found a remote little town, and I bought a hog farm just outside it.
Anna: Um, why?
Earl: People tend to be suspicious if you don’t have anything like a job or a means of living. I didn’t need to be the “crazy old man” living back in the woods.
Zoe: The town probably had one of those already. Maybe two or three.
Earl: I needed to belong.
Anna: Why hogs?
Earl: The farm was for sale, and raising hogs is pretty easy. You can manage it almost entirely without going outside in sunlight, especially if you hire someone to help you.
Anna: Very useful.
Earl: Everything went reasonably well through spring and summer. Obviously, there was some trial and error in figuring things out, but nothing I can really complain about.
Zoe: What about feeding — yourself, I mean?
Earl: Why are you only interested in the morbid bits?
Zoe: Must have been hard to find blood to suck without attracting attention.
Earl: Actually, no. The town… well, let’s just say it was full of people no one would miss.
I guess “cheese” isn’t a verb. And it isn’t close to Christmas. But it doesn’t matter because there’s only one vampire, and anyway, Real Vampires Don’t Eat Grilled Cheese.
______________________________________________________
(Beat. Anna enters with a pot of coffee. She crosses to pour Zoe a cup.)
Anna: What kind of fun and exciting vampire stories did I miss?
Earl: Zoe claimed you were a vampire hunter.
Zoe: Tattle tale.
Anna: The same woman who claimed you were a vampire based on fashion sense alone?
Zoe: I was right about that, wasn’t I? And we weren’t talking about me. We were talking about our resident vampire, mister… um… mister…
Earl: Earl.
Zoe: Excuse me?
Earl: You’re trying to introduce me. For that, a name is helpful. My name is Earl.
Zoe: Perfect. A vegetarian vampire named Earl. How’d I guess?
Anna: You didn’t. He told you. Twice.
Zoe: Even with proof, no one will ever believe this.
Earl: Proof of what?
Anna: That you exist and that she’s not jumping to conclusions.
Earl: The two are not mutually exclusive.
Zoe: So, Earl here was just going to tell us how he became a vegetarian vampire.
Earl: I thought you didn’t want me to tell.
Zoe: I never said that.
Anna: We picked up on your ever-so-subtle hints.
Zoe: Fine. Suit yourself. He’s probably just going to lie about it anyway.
Anna: At least it will be an entertaining lie.
Zoe: We can hope. Frankly, I have my doubts.
Anna: Because you’re cynical and pessimistic by nature.
Zoe: Not true. Both are carefully honed skills.
Earl: So sorry to interrupt, but if you’re through chatting, can I finally tell what you wanted to hear in the first place?
Zoe: By all means. Don’t let me keep you. I’m not really in the mood for chit chat anyway.
Earl: I don’t believe it.
Zoe: Well, I’m not. It’s true.
Anna: Earl, just tell.
Earl: So I moved to Arkansas back in the spring –
Anna: Where’d you live before?
Zoe: And why would anyone move to Arkansas?
Earl: Already with the interruptions. This is going to get old fast. You move to Arkansas if you want to make sure the people from where you were before don’t want to follow.
Zoe: Ah, the vampire hunters.
Anna: Good strategy.
Zoe: They don’t sound very determined.
Earl: You could do better?
Zoe: Try me.
(Beat.)
Earl: My place –
Anna: In Arkansas?
Earl: Yes, in Arkansas — was kind of tucked away from everything. I can keep a low profile when I want to.
Zoe: Because the cape’s not giving anything away.
Earl: I said “when I want to.”
Anna: Why don’t you want to now?
Earl: Let’s just say my life has become complicated recently.
Zoe: You’re trying to find yourself. Or having an identity crisis.
Anna: Just because he’s a vegetarian? I don’t think it works that way.
Earl: Um, my life, my story?
Zoe: Maybe because he no longer sucks blood. It seems like that’s the defining characteristic of being a vampire, and if he can’t even do that –
Anna: I still don’t think he un-becomes a vampire.
Zoe: I wouldn’t call him one.
Earl: Who died and made you queen of the undead?
Zoe: I don’t make the rules; I just know them. Vampires drink blood; you don’t. Therefore –
Anna: Therefore, we were talking about how he got this way and what made him a vegetarian.
Earl: Speaking of vegetarians, don’t I have a grilled cheese coming?
Zoe: If it’s not already burnt by now.
Anna: I’ll check.
(Anna starts to exit left.)
Zoe: But don’t worry. She’ll serve it to you anyway.
Anna: No, Zoe. That’s just with your food.
(She exits.)
Earl’s continuing adventure.
___________________________________________________________
Earl: She doesn’t seem to like you much.
Zoe: She knows me too well for that.
Earl: Been coming here awhile, then?
Zoe: Entirely beside the point.
Earl: I’m not sure I follow you.
Zoe: I’m sure you don’t. (Beat.) You don’t need to stay vegetarian.
Earl: You don’t know that, but thank you for being presumptuous.
Zoe: She’d be the perfect victim.
Earl: How generous and helpful of you.
Zoe: She’d never see it coming; Anna’s too trusting. No one would miss her right away. And I could make sure there were no witnesses.
Earl: You’re not really a “people person,” are you?
Zoe: You’re a bright child; I knew you’d pick up on it eventually.
Earl: I’m hardly a child. In fact, I’m probably older than you are.
Zoe: You don’t look it. Undead age well.
Earl: It’s one of the perks.
Zoe: Big perk. Almost up there with not actually dying.
Earl: Maybe for some people, though having some choice in the matter would have been nice.
Zoe: Still, you’d think that would outweigh certain other… distasteful aspects of vampirism.
Earl: Still, since you don’t know what you’re getting into here, maybe you’d like to keep your mouth shut.
Zoe: This can be arranged, but I know more than you think. No need to get snippy.
(Anna enters stage left.)
Anna: Be just a minute on the grilled cheese.
Zoe: The vegetarian grilled cheese, correct? Since the rest of us couldn’t possibly be expected to comprehend the emotional and psychological impact of eating meat.
Anna: That’s a little harsh, Zoe, even for you. Might want to scale it back before our guest starts thinking you’re a heinous bitch.
Earl: Too late.
Zoe: I’m a guest too.
Earl: I thought this was a place for people who wanted to eat alone.
Anna: You didn’t know that when you walked in.
Earl: She did.
Anna: Not sure if you’ve noticed this by now, but Zoe only likes the rules when they work for her.
Zoe: And even then it’s doubtful.
Anna: Anyway — and believe me, I do realize how strange this sounds — but I was wondering, if I could –
Zoe: Of course you can wonder. We can’t stop you.
Earl: Though you could let her ask a question uninterrupted. At least, I suspect you have that capability.
Zoe: Yes, but I choose not to use it. She wouldn’t show me the same courtesy.
Anna: She’s probably right.
Earl: Fine. Clearly I know nothing. You were saying –
Anna: Call it morbid curiosity, but I was wondering if I could ask about, you know, the whole vampire thing.
Earl: Can I not eat in peace?
Zoe: Your food’s not here yet.
Earl: Can prying into my personal life really be that interesting?
Anna: Don’t tell me if you don’t want. But yes. I’ve never met a vampire before. You must get asked about it all the time.
Earl: I don’t tend to do a lot of socializing.
Anna: And you picked us. I’m flattered. But can I ask you what it’s like?
Earl: Not socializing?
Anna: Being a vampire.
Earl: Antisocial, a little.
Zoe: We don’t even know for sure that he’s a vampire. He could be lying.
Anna: You were the one who said it was obvious.
Zoe: And you trusted me?
Anna: Good point. You’re wrong a lot.
Zoe: I’m never wrong.
Anna: We should probably try to get proof.
Earl: You know, I also admitted to the vampirism. Why ask me anything if you’re going to disbelieve my answer?
Zoe: We just met you. Why should we believe you?
Earl: Because it’s a dumb thing to lie about?
Zoe: You might be right. But if that were the case, there would be thousands of angsty little goth teenagers shrinking away from every bit of garlic they came near and physically disintegrating in the sun. Since I haven’t seen the ash piles, it must take more than saying you’re a vampire to make you one. If you’re going to convince me, I’m going to need proof.
Okay, so the full title is “Real Vampires Don’t Eat Grilled Cheese,” and it’s continued from Part 2.
_______________________________________________
Zoe: She has a lovely neck, you know.
Earl: I beg your pardon?
Zoe: I’m just saying. Not like mine: my arteries are starting to harden.
(Earl studies the menu for a moment. Zoe goes back to ignoring Earl. Finally, Earl turns to face Zoe.)
Earl: What’s good here? Besides necks, I mean.
Zoe: Nothing, particularly.
Earl: You don’t like the food? Then why stay?
Zoe: Nothing’s particularly bad here, either, so it all works out. Life is more agreeable that way.
Earl: And I thought I had problems.
Zoe: You probably do.
(Anna enters with Zoe’s order. She crosses to Zoe, takes the cup of soup, and sets the plate on the table.)
Zoe: More coffee, too, when you get to it.
Anna: At this rate, you’ll be up all night.
Zoe: I’ll be up all night anyway, and I don’t need you to question my decisions here.
Anna: Question? When did I ask a question? (She turns to Earl.) All set to order, or do you need a few more minutes?
Earl: What’s your soup today?
Anna: Bean with bacon.
Earl (shuddering): Yuck. Too bad.
Anna: Can’t say that I blame you. I’m more of a chicken noodle person myself.
Earl: Well, I don’t mind the beans, but — there’s not a way to serve that without the bacon, is there?
Zoe: Bean with bacon without the bacon? What do you want her to do, go through and pick all the little shreds of dead pig out of there for you?
Earl: It was just a question. Besides, it would still leave the problem of the bacon residue floating around in the broth.
Zoe: And why is this bacon residue a problem?
Anna: Or the bacon itself, for that matter?
Earl: I’m a vegetarian.
Anna: I thought you were a vampire.
Earl: That too.
Anna: So you’re a vegetarian… and a vampire?
Zoe: You seem a bit confused.
Earl: That too.
Anna: Can I ask how that works?
Earl: I’ve only been vegetarian for a couple of months; it’s been a long couple of months.
Anna: I’ll bet.
Zoe: If you ask me –
Anna: Which no one did –
Zoe: It doesn’t sound like a sustainable lifestyle.
Earl: I’ve considered this.
Anna: Doesn’t matter. She’s going to tell you again.
Zoe: There’s nothing to tell; you just can’t do it. At some point, you will need blood, end of story. You’re setting yourself up for failure.
Earl: And I’ll worry about that later, but for now could I just get a grilled cheese?
Anna: God, yes, and fast, before she starts in on how you’ll never achieve your full potential this way and will end up a disappointment to everyone around you. Don’t need to hear that rant again.
(Anna takes Earl’s menu and exits left.)
Student: Miss, this script has a lot of profound language. Is that okay?
Me: Profound or profane?
Student (narrows eyes to look stealthy): … Yes.
Me: Do you know the difference?
Student (same slitty eyes): No.
Me: If you’ve chosen your words carefully, and the profane word is really the best one to convey your point, then it should stay. But if it’s just you being lazy, then work harder.
Continued from here.
_________________________________________________
(Anna exits stage left. Zoe pulls out a pair of glasses, a couple of file folders, and a pen from her bag. She begins reading through the papers in the first folder, making notes to herself as she goes.
Earl enters stage right. It should be immediately obvious to the audience that Earl looks like a vampire. This probably requires a cape as some lines of dialog assume its presence. Please consult director and costume designer for specific suggestions.
Earl looks around for a hostess to seat him. When that doesn’t happen, he starts to cross into the restaurant, stops, and ends up tapping his feet or fidgeting impatiently. Zoe’s chair should face Earl. She looks up at him once then proceeds to ignore his presence, focusing instead on her papers.
Anna re-enters with a cup of coffee and a cup of soup, probably both on a tray. She glances toward the entrance and registers Earl’s presence, though she doesn’t get a good look.)
Anna: With you in a sec.
Earl: Take your time.
(Earl smiles, possibly revealing sharp pointy vampire teeth. Anna looks again; this time she stops in her tracks. Zoe speaks without looking at either of them.)
Zoe: It’s rude to stare, Anna. I’m sure you’ve seen customers before; the place isn’t that bad.
Anna (under her breath): What I wouldn’t give to change your mind.
Zoe: What? Speak up, dear, if you have something to say.
Anna: Nothing important. Just, you know, chit chat.
Zoe: Which I am not in the mood for.
Anna: Precisely.
(Anna sets the soup and coffee in front of Zoe, who moves her papers off to the side but doesn’t put them away entirely. Then Anna crosses to Earl, where she once again becomes visibly nervous and uncomfortable.)
Anna: Hi! My name is… um…
Earl: Anna.
Anna: How’d you know?
Earl: Name tag. I can read.
Anna: Right. Good for you. So I’m Anna, and I’ll be your server this evening.
(She does not move. Earl does not move. The silence continues until it becomes awkward.)
Earl: Could I get –
Anna: Nice cape.
Zoe: Smooth, dear.
Earl: Um, thanks? I wasn’t looking for a fashion critique.
Anna: Sorry. I meant… um… how may I help you, sir?
Earl: May I have a table for one, please?
Anna: That I can do. All our tables are for one.
(Anna takes a menu and seats Earl at the far table. Though they cross past Zoe in the process, she does not acknowledge the two of them.)
Earl: Well, sure. I guess that makes sense, except not really. What do you do for people who want to eat together?
Zoe: Tell them to go someplace else.
Earl: Kind of rude, isn’t it?
Anna: You must not be from around here.
Earl: You could say that.
Anna: It’s a restaurant for people who want to eat alone. So if there are people who want to eat together, they probably don’t want to come here in the first place.
Earl: Who wants to eat alone?
Anna: You’re about to.
Earl: Doesn’t mean I want to. My meal choices, not to mention dining hours and locations, are kind of limited, and this place didn’t look too crowded.
Anna: You know — and forgive me if I’m being presumptuous — but it occurs to me that we might not serve the kind of food you need.
Zoe: Finally. I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out.
Earl: I’m not sure what you’re getting at.
Anna: That makes two of us.
Zoe: Don’t be an idiot, child. Do you think anyone would display that kind of hideous fashion sense for the fun of it? He’s obviously a vampire.
Anna: And you’re obviously a batty old lady. What happened to “top secret,” or did that go out the window with all things tactful?
Earl: Um, could I get a menu?
Zoe: Just making sure some very salient details are clear.
Earl: Because I’d hate to interrupt your conversation.
Anna: But why would a vampire need a restaurant menu? It’s not like we serve blood –
Earl: But I’d also like to order.
Anna: And even if we did, there are probably not a lot of ways to serve it that require looking at a menu.
Zoe: He could still be planning to suck our blood. The “menu” line could all be a clever act.
Earl: No, a menu would help with me getting food.
Anna: Only it wouldn’t be quite so clever since you miraculously and heroically figured it out in the nick of time.
Earl (rising): Hi, remember me?
Zoe: She might not, you know; she’s flighty like that.
Earl: The guy you were worried might be planning to kill you?
Anna: I wasn’t worried.
Zoe: Could still be planning, for all we know.
Earl: For the record, I could have killed you ten times over while you were deciding and discussing and bickering. Also for the record, yes, I am a vampire, but no, I do not want to feed off of either of you. Now, can I Please. Get. A. Menu?
Anna: Yes. Sure. Of course. (She hands him a menu.) I should check the kitchen anyway; order’s probably up. Why don’t I give you a few minutes to look things over and decide?
Earl (who is seated again and making an effort to be affable and polite): Excellent plan. And I should apologize for the outburst; I’ve been a little cranky lately. Low blood sugar or something.
Zoe: Low blood sugar makes me feel weak, not cranky.
Anna: That’s because you’re cranky normally.
Zoe: Weren’t you going somewhere? Somewhere away?
Anna: Right. Kitchen. Food. Yours.
(Anna exits left.)
Regardless of anything I may think on my darkest days, this is how I know I’ve made a difference in the teaching world.
Two students, who have by all accounts been slackers all year, are discussing their own plans for a script after reading Earl.
Student 1: What’s our conflict?
Student 2: Aliens!
Student 1: Zombies!
Student 2: Aliens versus zombies!
Student 1: Who will win?
Student 2: Aliens!
Student 1: Zombies!
Student 2: What if they make a truce?
Student 1: How will they make a truce?
Student 2: Pancakes!
Student 1: Pancakes?
Student 2: If you give the zombies pancakes —
Student 1: They’ll stop craving brains.
This is not, technically, more writing than they’ve done all year. But it sure as hell is more enthusiastic writing than they may have done ever.
I’m putting this here for a number of reasons. First, it represents the last time I wrote something substantive — in my world, this means a play — that I am proud of. This happened in 2007.
Now, it’s quite true that I wrote another play in 2008, and I’ve been keeping this blog since the beginning of 2011, so it’s not exactly like I’ve been in a complete writing drought. It’s happening, even if I do miss locking myself in the third floor library for hours and tearing away at the insides of a composition book.
Which brings me to the second reason. I was revising it — read: taking out the extraneous cuss words — to share with my students recently, for their drama unit. I was iffy about sharing it with them, but we all turned out to have a blast with it. To the extent that I am motivated to write a sequel and/or Act Two this summer.
So this might be a complete piece. But then again, it might not be.
_______________________________________________________
Real Vampires Don’t Eat Grilled Cheese:
Characters:
Anna, early 20s
Zoe, mid 50s
Earl, a vampire
Setting:
A quiet restaurant. After sunset.
Set:
Two tables, right and left, each with only one chair. Each chair should be placed on the stage center side of its table so that they face away from one another. (Note: When performing bits of this in class, my students — admittedly, not experienced actors — found it difficult to perform with chairs facing away from one another. Though I like the dynamic it has in my head, this may work out less well in practice.) Add other restaurant furnishings as desired.
_______________________________________________________
(Lights up. Anna is onstage, clearing or wiping off one of the tables. Zoe enters stage right; she carries a large purse or briefcase. She waits for Anna to seat her, but Anna’s back is turned. After a moment, Zoe clears her throat, and Anna looks over to her.)
Anna: Zoe, hi. I wasn’t expecting–
Zoe: That makes no sense. It’s still a restaurant, isn’t it? Customers could walk in anytime.
Anna: They don’t.
Zoe: I’m a customer.
Anna: Officially.
Zoe: I walked in; it could happen.
Anna: It’s Saturday.
Zoe: I’m aware. Good to see you’ve mastered days of the week. Working on months of the year next?
Anna: Cute. I just meant it wasn’t your usual –
Zoe: I still need to eat on Saturday. And you’re still open on Saturday. Unless I’m missing something –
Anna: No, but I suspect I am. Again.
Zoe: If you needed to know, I’d tell you. And we still need to work on Saturday.
Anna: Knew there was a reason. Do I get details, or am I supposed to trust you and guess?
Zoe: You know, I’m not really in the mood for chit chat.
Anna: Of course not, not on anyone else’s terms. (She picks up a menu.) Usual table?
Zoe: That would be fine.
(Anna seats Zoe at the near table.)
Anna: What are we working on tonight?
Zoe: My plans are my business.
Anna: Even when they involve me.
Zoe: Who says they do?
Anna: Sometimes I think you carry this “top secret” thing a little too far.
Zoe: It’s nothing that needs to be discussed. Yet.
Anna: Then why come here?
Zoe: Because usually it’s quiet, and usually you don’t give me the third degree. Sometimes I don’t think you take your other job seriously enough. People will suspect.
Anna: Point taken. Menu tonight, or — ?
Zoe: What’s your soup today?
Anna: Bean with bacon.
Zoe: Just the usual, but start with that. And coffee. It might be a long night.
The second-to-last installment of the WEGO writer’s month challenge:
Six Sentence Story. In this day of micro-blogging – brevity is a skill worth honing. Can you tell a story and make it short and sweet? What can you say in six sentences. Check out some here: http://sixsentences.blogspot.com/
I was supposed to be at a training all day, but no, I just had to go and conference with my substitute before school.
There was a mix up at District. The sub was late.
An hour later, I was finally finished explaining the conflict, teaching the class, advising a student about an award application, writing nurse’s passes, scrounging for extra pencils, comforting tears, answering emails — all clearly more urgent than my own needs — and wrangling stray students out of the hallway.
I hadn’t even had any coffee yet.
And they wonder why I am tired at eight-thirty in the morning.
Another post in the WEGO Health Activist Writer’s Month Challenge. (I am sort of sad to be coming toward the end of April, just when I’d committed that acronym to memory.) Today’s prompt reads:
Health Mascot. Give yourself, your condition, or your health focus a mascot. Is it a real person? Fictional? Mythical being? Describe them. Bonus points if you provide a visual!
It just so happens that I have a uterus mascot already. On my LiveJournal, it’s an animated GIF, but I’m not sure if WordPress will let me upload it that way.
10 minutes later: No? At least, it does not show up as animated when I preview the post. Never fear. I can make this work anyway.
My uterus mascot has two basic manifestations. (The bolded statements appear as text on the GIF animation.)
This is my uterus:
This is my uterus on opiates:
Any questions?
To be clear, this is not because I think opiate pain medications are the best choice for every single person with endo or even that I particularly enjoy the side effects of said medication. (I don’t.) Rather, it’s because, in my particular case, “opiate” is my shorthand to refer to “the one pain management technique that actually works to take away my pain.” In other words, the uterus up there is not grinning because it’s high; it is grinning because it is finally experiencing appropriate pain relief.
