|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Trevor Duncan.....Ewan MacGregor Tom.....Kenan Thompson Mrs. Duncan.....Amy Poehler (Open to large multi-stalled bathroom with nice brownish toned decor. Tom, in khakis and a casual shirt, stands behind a urinal, doing his business. Trevor, in a suit, enters and stands next to him. A beat and then Trevor turns to Tom.) Trevor: Nice weather, yeah? (Tom looks around as if unsure who Trevor is talking to.) Trevor: Not too hot, not too cold. Little breeze, but it's warm, you know? Very pleasant. Tom: I'm sorry, are you talking to me? Trevor: Do you see multiple other persons taking a fizzle near by with whom I could be making a verbal exchange with? Tom: Uh.. Trevor: Name's Trevor Duncan. (Trevor extends his hand to shake Tom's.) Tom: (pulling his hand back) Do you mind if I don't? Trevor: Not at all. (They both shake - not hands - and zip up, walk to the sinks and wash their hands. Tom leans against the counter.) Tom: Ooh, I had crab cakes for lunch and it's not feeling so good right now. Trevor: You know, I think I have some Tums, did you want one? (Trevor begins searching in his pockets, Tom feels explosive sickness coming on and runs to a bathroom stall.) Trevor: What do you know? No Tums, oh, looks like I'm getting a phone call. (Trevor pulls a small, ringing cell phone out of his jacket pocket.) Trevor: Hello? Hi mum, how are you? Thank you for the birthday card that was sweet, although my birthday isn't until November. (Retching sounds can be heard as he pauses.) Right now it's August, that three months early. (More retching) Well I'll look forward to that card as well. (More retching) Oh, I'm in the loo. I've got a bud who's experiencing a bit of backwards eating. Alright mum, love talking to you. (Trevor hangs up and replaces the phone in his pocket; and pulls out a roll of Tums.) Trevor: Lookee what I've found! (He holds the Tums under the stall.) Tom: (Sounding sickly) Thanks. (The crunching of Tums can be heard.) Trevor: Sounded like a bit more than crab cakes, it sounded like every crustacean in the ocean. I could barely hear mum. Tom: Yeah, you think you could have left your conversation out of the restroom? It's a bit embarrassing. Trevor: Nonsense, everyone does it, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. Besides, if I'd walked outside to take the call I would have just left because it'd be on my way to my next errand and then it would have been out of my way to give you these Tums and then where would you be? (Tom flushes and opens the stall door.) Tom: Exactly where I am right now, but without being a part of you conversation with your mommy. Trevor: My mother is a delightful woman. Tom: I'm sure she- (A look of sick over comes his face and he runs back into the stall. Fumbling with a belt can be heard.) Trevor: Poor bloke. (His cell phone rings.) Trevor: Mum! You know not a good time, yes- still in the toilet. No, I'm afraid it's the other end with the problem - bad case of the trots. Bad crab cake, you know. Actually, I didn't ask - mate, were those crab cakes from Brooklyn's? Tom: What? Trevor: Little restaurant down fourth avenue, mum says they're really iffy. You know what, mum would like a word. (He passes the phone under the stall.) Tom: I do not want to speak to your mother! Trevor: Come on now, you're being a bit rude. She only wants to wish you well. Tom: I'm fine. Trevor: I beg to differ. Here. (He turns the phone to face the stall and holds it at arms length. A small squeaking sound can be heard from the phone.) Can you hear her? (The bathroom door bangs open and a small woman in fuzzy slippers enters and knocks on the stall door.) Mrs. Duncan: Can you hear me? Oh, there you are. You feeling better dear? Tom: Is that your mother? Mrs. Duncan: I was just passing by, I live a block away. You know dear, we should really work on conserving our phone minutes. Last month, would you believe it; I went over by four minutes. It was a ten dollar charge. I was in such a state of shock; they really take advantage of you, those cellular phone companies. Trevor: I know, just like coffee companies. As if a latte really costs $3.28 to make. Mrs. Duncan: Capitalist jerks is what they are. Tom: Do you mind? Mrs. Duncan: Only a little, the poor working man at the bottom of the chain - no consideration. (Tom lets an exhale of exasperation, flushes, belt fumbling can be heard again and he storms out of the bathroom.) Trevor: That was a bit unexpected. Mrs. Duncan: It was. Trevor: Ew, he didn't wash. Mrs. Duncan: Grab some paper towel so we don't have to touch the door. (Fade out to Trevor getting paper towels.) Rate or review this sketch | Prior comments |
