The Newb
Let's start with a share, to break the seal as it were.
I wrote the following on February 6th this year as that day's entry to TheatreDeli's 28 Plays Later challenge. It was the first creative thing I had written in years that gave me the familiar rush of self-satisfaction, and to date the only one of the 28 that I have shared with anyone.
One other preface to this wee playlet, which my stepmom was quick to figure out for herself having been a woman in corporate Canada: every single one of the statements made below has been made to me or someone I know.
And with that, I give you... "The Newb."
I wrote the following on February 6th this year as that day's entry to TheatreDeli's 28 Plays Later challenge. It was the first creative thing I had written in years that gave me the familiar rush of self-satisfaction, and to date the only one of the 28 that I have shared with anyone.
The official challenge was to write a farce inspired by the centennial of [some women's...] right to vote, with bonus points for the inclusion of Emmeline Pankhurst, Simone De Beauvoir, Germaine Greer, and Oprah Winfrey as characters.
The real challenge for me, imposed by me, was just to write: no edits, no corrections, no review. I am a stream-of-consciousness writer, you see, taking dictation of the near-fully-formed chatter in my head, but years of business writing has made me cautious and self-critical. A mischosen word in a project status report can bring down sponsor reaction so far above and beyond reasonable and rational that the temptation to quit on the spot and go flip burgers is profound, and I have developed a compulsive need to tweak and twist and polish until my intended meaning is bulletproof. Great for business writing, really stilting for creative... To remove the ability to reread and edit felt a bit like diving headfirst into unknown water - would it be cold? would there be rocks? would I bash my brains in and never come up again? - but necessary.
And with that, I give you... "The Newb."
***
Lights up on a
boardroom. Ellie is sat at the far end
of the table, with The Boor, The Cad, The Lout and The Rube clustered around
the other end. They are conversing
conspiratorially, in a tight huddle, while Ellie sits in silence watching. Finally:
The Boor: It’s
official!
The Cad: It’s
unanimous!
The Lout: Eleanor
Johnson, you are the first female director of Bothos and Sons!
The Rube: Welcome!
The Cad: Welcome!
The Boor: Welcome!
They all rush
Ellie to shake her hand.
Ellie: Wow,
that’s really fantastic. Thanks so
much. I of course accept!
The Lout: It’s
an historic day!
The Rube: An
historic day indeed!
The Boor: 72
years we’ve been in business, and not until now have we had a woman director!
The Cad: We’ve
had women of course!
The Boor: Of
course!
The Lout: (with innuendo) Have we ever had women…
The Cad: But
never a director.
The Boor: Oh
no.
The Rube: Just
wasn’t the done thing back then, you see.
The Cad: But
that was then!
The Lout: We’re
feminists, us.
The Boor: All
of us, feminists.
The Cad: I
am definitely such a feminist.
The Rube: I’m
the biggest feminist of all!
The Boor: And
we decided it was time.
The Cad: It
was time!
The Lout: And
so here you are, Eleanor Johnson, the first female director of Bothos and Sons.
Ellie: It’s
an honour. I trust I will do the role
justice.
The Rube: But
of course you will, my dear!
The Cad: We
have no doubt, darling!
The Lout: We
stand by our choice, sugartits.
A moment of
uncomfortable silence as that word settles.
Then:
The Rube: A
joke, of course.
Ellie: Of
course.
The Cad: He
didn’t mean…
Ellie: Of
course he didn’t mean…
The Boor: Boys
will be boys, right?
Ellie: Right.
The Lout: I
knew you’d understand. You’re not one of
those…
Ellie: I’m
sorry?
The Lout: You
know, those…
Ellie: I’m
not following.
The Cad: Feminazis.
The Boor: Bonerkillers.
The Rube: One
of those women who take everything so seriously.
Ellie: Oh. No.
The Lout: I
knew it. You’re a cool girl.
The Boor: The
coolest.
The Cad: A
toast to Eleanor Johnson, the first female director of Bothos and Sons!
They have
nothing to toast with.
The Rube: Eleanor,
be a love and pour us some coffees, would you?
The Cad: Only
because you’re closest to the machine is all.
The Boor: And
because you’re the woman.
The Lout: A
joke, a joke of course.
The Cad: Of
course.
They wait
expectantly until Ellie finally gives in and pours five cups of coffee, passing
them around.
The Rube: A
toast to Eleanor Johnson, the first female director of Bothos and Sons!
All the Men: Hip
hip hoorah! Hip hip hoorah! Hip hip hoorah!
The Lout: For
he’s a jolly good fellow…
The Cad: She.
The Lout: For
she’s a jolly good fellow…
The Boor: Woman.
The Lout: For
she’s a jolly good woman.
The Rube: This
is very complicated.
Ellie: I
look forward to getting started.
The Boor: You’ll
be one of the pack before you know it.
The Lout: The
clients are definitely going to like
you.
The Cad: After
all these years of just us men, having you
walk in.
The Rube: That
walk.
The Boor: It
is a very good walk.
The Cad: It
is a very good everything.
Ellie: I’m
sorry, I don’t think…
The Lout: A
joke, a joke of course. Thank god you’re
a cool girl.
Ellie: Perhaps
we can talk about…
The Cad: Of
course, of course, let’s talk.
The Boor: Are
you married, Eleanor?
The Rube: Of
course she is, or at least has a man in her life. Look at her.
Ellie: I
hardly think…
The Lout: Watch out
for him (gestures at The Cad) if
you’re single, Eleanor. He sniffs after anything in a short skirt.
They fail to notice Ellie
is not wearing a skirt, much less a short one.
The Boor: I bet
you’re a right wild one, aren’t you?
The Lout: No way, I
bet you’re a good girl, aren’t you?
The Cad: I think
wild, too. She’s got that look about
her. I think she’d rip me to shreds.
The Rube: I’d like to
rip her to shreds.
Ellie: Please!
The Lout: We’re just
getting to know you, Eleanor. Don’t be
so serious. Smile a little. You look prettier when you smile.
Ellie: Can
we please talk about the role?
The Cad: Of
course, the role.
The Lout: Well,
you’ll be a director. Of Bothos and
Sons.
Ellie: Director
of…?
The Boor: Of…
Women.
The Cad: You’ll
be the Director of Women.
The Lout: The
Chief Operating Officer of Women.
Ellie: Is
that actually a thing?
The Rube: It
is now!
The Lout: This
is going to look so good to our investors.
The Cad: Diversity! The share value will go through the roof!
The Boor: Best
idea we ever had, hiring a woman.
Diversity.
The Rube: Feminism.
The men laugh
and slap each other on the back.
The Lout: Hey, did I
tell you guys about this girl I was with last night? (He
mimes enormous breasts.)
The Cad: NICE.
The Boor: NIIICE.
The Rube: NIIIIIIIICE.
They all turn to Ellie
expectantly. There is a very long, painfully long,
uncomfortably long silence.
Ellie: No. No.
I’m not saying it. I’m not.
The Cad: Come on,
Eleanor.
Ellie: No.
The Rube: Just a
little one?
Ellie: No.
The Lout: I’ll say
it with you?
Ellie: No.
The Boor: No?
The Cad: That time
of the month, eh?
The Rube: Auntie
Flo’s in town.
The Lout: Beware the
red menace!
The Boor: MEEEEEEEEOOOOOOWWWWW!
Ellie snaps her
fingers and the room goes dark.
Suddenly, Emmeline Pankhurst, Simone De Beauvoir, Germaine Greer, and
Oprah Winfrey come burst through all the doors and windows like ninjas, each
taking one of the men down. A tremendous,
marvelous fight scene ensues while Ellie stands drinking her coffee. Then, it’s over, the men are down, groaning
but very much alive of course.
Emmeline: You
okay, hun? Sorry we’re a bit late.
Simone: Someone
(she indicates Oprah) wanted to stop for
McDonald’s.
Oprah: Hey,
their hash browns are delicious.
Ellie smiles and
takes a triumphant seat at the head of the table. Germaine pulls out some gin.
Germaine: A
toast to Eleanor Johnson, the first female director of Bothos and Sons!
They toast.
Lights down.
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