Once upon an Easter...

by Joe Shaboo


as is from Hat City Entertainment... April  2007...

This year, my son didn’t feel like having his picture taken with the Easter Bunny, so I decided to have mine taken instead.  Below is a print of the actual photo, which I asked the editor to print so the general public could view it.  Actually, my psychiatrist recommended that I have the photo printed since she expressed some concern, to local and federal authorities, whether or not the photograph ever existed at all.

I’ll be the first to admit that a grown man sitting on the lap of the Easter Bunny, in this day and age of conspiracy theories and secret societies, could certainly be interpreted as a clear violation of the Patriot Act.  However, not only did I not get arrested for breaking the law, but the Easter Bunny invited me out to dinner and drinks! We munched on hard-boiled eggs, sipped spiked, celery-stick cocktails, and talked about normal things, like his massive, underground field of Easter grass, his unorthodox, fertility rituals, and the secrets of his best-selling book, The Easter Bunny Speaks: Inside the Golden Egg. 

Surprisingly, during our dinner I learned that the Easter Bunny wasn’t the first choice for the holiday job.  “One day, I was in my favorite Chinese restaurant nibbling on an egg roll when this guy started talking to me.  He showed me his business card, told me that he was Santa Claus’ agent, and mentioned that he was searching for a good-looking animal to represent Easter.  I guess he thought I’d be pretty good at hiding eggs and waving to children….”  The Easter Bunny further explained that Punxsutawney Phil was initially offered the job as the Easter icon but turned it down due to religious reasons.

“Are you and Santa Claus good friends?” I asked.

“Hardly,” the Easter Bunny replied while knocking a hard-boiled egg against his head to break the shell.  “Nowadays, Santa sees me as competition.  We were good friends before he started selling photos in the local mall.  Now, he’s all about stuffing his own stocking. Good ol’ Saint Nick wanted ‘kick backs’ from MY photo business!  Can you believe that?  He told me that the mall was his “turf.”  He also told me that a loyal elf would “turn my foot into a good luck charm” if I didn’t agree to his demands.  I couldn’t believe it!  My customers can’t afford to buy my gourmet jellybeans for $5.99, never mind a photo package for $25.99, and this guy wanted me to raise my prices to give him a cut?  NO WAY.  You know what I say?  I say, ‘Go ahead, Santa, cut off my foot!’  I really don’t care, to tell you the truth.  It certainly wouldn’t be the first rabbit’s foot I’ve seen on a key chain. Santa Claus is a con artist. Most adult rabbits only have three legs because of people like him. Millions of rabbit’s feet are dyed orange and given away as a prize at some carnival game…” At this point, I decided to change the subject.

“Did you have to sign a contract to become the Easter bunny?”

“No, the job is mine forever. I don’t have any competition or natural enemies.  I’ve already talked to Phil the groundhog.  He’s happy with his Groundhog Day job, and to tell you the truth, I think he’s good at what he does.  If people are happy with me being the Easter Bunny, then I’m happy being the Easter Bunny.  My Easter grass business is booming, anyway.”

“What is Easter grass, anyway? Is it made of plastic?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure. A while ago, I bought some seeds in Europe that were labeled “Easter Grass” on the package. Personally, I eat the grass everyday because I use it for medicinal reasons, but children have enjoyed stuffing their baskets with the stuff for years. It’s a holiday tradition. I’m looking to expand my colors next year with customer demand. Now, the only colors available are blue, yellow, pink and green.”

“Do you have any plans for the summer?”

“Revenge. I want to put Santa Claus out of business.  My buddy, Larry, is a real-life leprechaun and he just signed a photo contract for St. Patrick’s Day in the mall. He’s building ‘Shamrock Forest’ in the same spot as ‘Christmas Village.’  I’m also helping Tom the Turkey design his own photo business with a huge ‘Thanksgiving Day Feast’ display for November.  I’m trying to get Uncle Sam for The Fourth of July, Cupid for Valentine’s Day and The Great Pumpkin for Halloween. My goal is to kick Santa out of town then franchise my business to other malls: a photography business featuring one holiday character per month. However, I’m finding it difficult for people to take me seriously.”  At dinner, the Easter Bunny also mentioned his plans to travel cross-country on a lawnmower this summer.  “Why not?” he shrugged.  “Everyone else seems to be doing it.”

If there truly are no coincidences in life then I hope my psychiatrist has a camera in her car along with a bag of Easter grass. I’ve got a funny feeling that this summer she will finally meet the Easter Bunny on the side of the road and may find the need to validate reality by snapping a photo through the lens of opportunity. But if it’s you who happens to be on the side of the road giving directions to a giant rabbit on a lawn mower, don’t forget to ask him for a golden egg. Believe me. You won’t be disappointed.

Richie Allen

Richie Allen, where did you go?
I haven't seen you in such a long, long, time.
I just want to drop you a little line
to let you know you've been on my mind.

Richie Allen, where did you go?
I haven't seen you in such a long, long time.
I miss your surfin' and your cropped hair-do.
I just hope that the world's been kind to you.

Richie Allen , where did you go?
Don't you know that we all love you so?
I just want to hear your little voice say
that everything is goin' okay.

Richie Allen, where did you go?
I haven't seen you in such a long, long time.
I just want to drop you a little line
to let you know that you've been on my mind.

-J.S. - 1994

Some Like It Soft

by Joe Shaboo

So, I’m still buying ‘ultra soft’ toilet paper at the grocery store without worrying too much about the high price tag.  A while ago, I heard the manufacturing of “ultra soft” toilet paper was an environmental no-no, but I’m not convinced the manufacturing of soft toilet tissue is ruining the planet. Nevertheless, whenever I squeeze the Charmin one too many times I can’t help but feel a little bit queasy.

I think the real #1 problem is that we should have figured out how to save the rainforests before we figured out how to make soft toilet paper.  Marcal “Scott” Charmin once said, “A great civilization is judged not by its copper plumbing, but by the cushiony softness of its assets.”  In my opinion, soft toilet paper has become more important to our survival than the rainforests. Soft toilet paper is now a global, unalienable right of all Homo sapiens, and therefore should be aligned with the highest of our moral respects.  Yet, if we keep continuing to neglect #1 then who really gives a shit about #2?

Most people seem fairly content with believing their own make-believe worlds.  Nobody seems to really mind that the radiation from their cell phone is killing them or that ingesting corn syrup offers the same nutritional value as plastic.  During these fast-paced times, nothing can interrupt our daily doses of wireless chit-chat, chocolate syrup, Slurpees and Bacon-a-tors.  Recently, a retired prison guard credited his good health to the 25,000 Big Macs he’s eaten over the past 39 years. Between the money he’s spent on hamburgers and the money I’ve spent on Charmin Deluxe, we could easily conserve enough Amazon rainforest to protect a few hundred thousand tree frogs and fluorescent toads.

One day, somebody on the planet will discover how to make toilet paper properly and then share that knowledge with the rest of the world.  However, an easier idea to protect the environment would be to buy the Amazon Rainforest once and for all. If Warren “Workin’ on the Railroad” Buffet or Bill “Give it All Away” Gates isn’t interested in acquiring the South American swampland then why doesn’t the United States just pony up a $50 billion bill and buy it?

Buying the Amazon Rainforest is the responsible thing to do at this point.  The purchase could even be viewed as within the national interest of the United States.  Americans do have a large appetite for fresh air so the investment could keep our kids breathing well into the end of the century.  After that, I’m sure fresh air will be available in vending machines nationwide.

There’s an English company on the internet offering to conserve 100 acres of rainforest for every £5,000 donated.  This would make the Amazon Rainforest worth about £50,000,000,000.  In comparison, during 2010 the U.S. spent almost $687 billion on its defense budget, which coincidentally is enough to conserve every single acre of rainforest in the world and also pay for every single plane, missile, boat and bullet in the Chinese army.

Unfortunately, this generation will likely witness both, the destruction of the Amazon rainforest and the increasingly high price tag of velvety, toilet tissue.  The next time you reach for “Pillowy Soft” think about those tree toads.  If we save them first, we just might save ourselves… from seeing fresh air for sale in aisle 9. 

Mr. McBaldy

by Joe Shaboo

            Mr. McBaldy woke up one morning. He stretched his arms and yawned... but when he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror all of his hair was gone! How could that happen? How could that be! Have you ever heard of something so weird? What would you do if you woke up one morning and all of your hair disappeared?

Mr. McBaldy called the police. He thought, "Maybe they know what to do."  But instead they said, “We’re sorry, Mr. McBaldy, but the police are as bald as you!”

Mr. McBaldy grabbed his hat. He was determined to find his hair. He looked under the rug in the living room and found some underwear. He looked under the couch and behind a chair. He found some crackers and cheese. He found a diamond ring and a Ping-Pong ball. He found his wallet and keys. He looked in the kitchen in the cupboards and cabinets. He looked in his dresser drawer. He looked for his hair behind the stove and found a green apple core.

Mr. McBaldy wasn’t a dummy. He went to school. He was smart. But maybe, he thought, he left his hair at the store in a shopping cart. “No, no, no,” he thought. “That couldn’t be it.” Maybe he swallowed it in his sleep! Or maybe the tooth fairy took it by mistake and now it was hers to keep.

Mr. McBaldy searched the garage, the roof and the chimney top. He found a funny-looking suit, a fishing pole, some shoes and a lollipop. Then Mr. McBaldy drove away and knocked on Suzie McDougal's front door. When Suzie McDougal answered the door she said, “You don’t have any hair anymore!”

“I lost my hair, but I found something else.” Then he dropped to one knee. “Suzie McDougal, you’re the love of my life.Will you please marry me?”

Mr. McBaldy found true love but never did find his hair …and judging by the looks of things nobody seems to care.

(Picture of them fishing with the fishing pole) - he's wearing the funny-looking suit, the apple core is on hook, ping pong ball is the bobber, diamond ring on her hand, cracker and cheese spread nearby)

Maggie Maggoo & The Bubblegum Degummer

by Joe Shaboo

This is the story of Maggie Maggoo and the bubblegum stuck on the sole of her shoe.
How did it get there? Nobody knew, but the bubblegum stuck on the sole of her shoe.

“It wasn’t me,” said the bumblebee, “who put the bubblegum there.”

“It wasn’t me said the butterfly. “How on Earth could I?”

“It wasn’t me,” said the ocean. “I speak for the fish. There would be no more bubblegum if I had my wish.”

Maggie sat down. She looked all around. Wherever she looked, there was gum on the ground. A seagull said, “There’s bubblegum in my wings. I can’t fly anymore. There’s bubblegum sticking to the rocks on the shore.” Bubblegum was sticking to the flowers and trees. Bubblegum was sticking to the fish in the seas.

“Look at it all! Now what do I do? What do I do?” asked Maggie Maggoo.

Then a man with a machine KLUNKED and CLANKED his way through the woods. He said, “Have no fear, my invention is very good. I’m king of the clean-up. My name is Eddie McDrummer and my invention is called ‘The Bubblegum Degummer.’ My machine can clean the flowers and trees. It can clean the birds and the fish that swim in the seas. But I’ll need your help to have any success cleaning up this huge bubblegum mess.”

“Cleaning up bubblegum is my machine’s job. Look what happens when I press this knob.” The Bubblegum Degummer rattled and roared and a sign lit up that said, “All-Aboard!” It clucked like a chicken. It thundered like a train. “Please, find a seat! There’s no time to explain! Press this button when I say ‘GO’ and the bubblegum will melt like the sun melts the snow. Press this button when I say ‘NOW’ and the bubblegum will be gone.  You’ll see how. Are you ready? Get ready! GO, Maggie. NOW!”

Maggie pressed the buttons and the machine said, “KA-PLOW!” Then all of the gum on the birds and the trees zoomed into the machine like a hurricane breeze. The fish were clean and the flowers were too. There was no more bubblegum or bubblegum goo. “Very good, Maggie,” said Eddie McDrummer. “My machine is perfect. It’s the Bubblegum Degummer.”

But the machine BONKED! and WONKED! and HERKED! and JERKED! “Something’s gone wrong! My machine is overworked!” The machine began shaking. The machine began breaking. And Oh! The Bubblegum mess it was making! “Something’s gone wrong! My machine isn’t working. It’s BONKING! and WONKING! and HERKING! and JERKING! What can I do? What can I do? Everything is covered with bubblegum goo!”

Maggie thought quickly. What could she do? She thought of the gum on the sole of her shoe. “I found the answer! I can fix the Degummer!”

“Please fix it fast!” hollered Eddie McDrummer. Maggie jumped off the machine. She knew what to do. The answer was stuck on the sole of her shoe! She plugged up the cracks of the broken machine…and the leaves on trees turned summer-time green!

            The Bubblegum Degummer was working once more. It was cleaning the seagull and the rocks on the shore. The machine was cleaning the flowers and trees. It was cleaning the birds and the fish that swim in the seas. So, if you ever find bubblegum on the sole of your shoe, think of the Bubblegum Degummer and Maggie Maggoo. And remember…when you’re done chewing bubblegum and blowing big bubbles, please use the garbage to avoid these troubles.

The Little King

The Little King

by Joe Shaboo

The Little King was a very tiny king. His body was incredibly small. He wore a bottlecap crown and matchbox shoes. The King was only four inches tall! How could anybody be so short? No one could ever explain. Maybe it snowed the day he was born or maybe he shrunk in the rain. The King wasn’t happy with being so tiny. He wished to be 100 feet tall! “I’ll do anything to be taller than a mouse,” he said. “I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”

“I have an idea!” said one of his helpers. “We will build you a stretching machine. It will stretch your arms, your legs, your neck, your head… but it might cause your face to turn green.”

“A Royal Stretcher…” said the King. “Hmmm…that idea sounds good to me.” So all of the King’s helpers built the machine while the King sipped on his tea.

“Ready when you are,” they said to the King. The King was strapped inside. “Are you ready, your majesty?”

“I am,” said the King. His crown was placed by his side.

One leg was stretched to the corner of the room. The other was just as far. His arms were stretched like two rubber bands. The King looked a little bizarre. “How do I look?” the King asked a helper. “Am I finally taller than an elf?”

“You look …different,” said the helper. “Get out of the machine, stand up, and see for yourself.”

The King tried to stand. He tried to walk, but he kept banging his head on the wall. Suddenly, the King snapped back into place. He was again four inches tall.

“Maybe I can’t be 100 feet tall.” The King was tired and sad.

“I have another idea!” said the King’s helper. “It’s the best idea I’ve had! This funny mirror is from the circus. Stare into it and you will see! Your wish will come true in a matter of seconds. You’ll be 100 feet tall instantly!”

The King cheered as he looked into the mirror. His wish has finally come true. “I’ll stare into this mirror the rest of my life! That’s all that I have to do!” The King carried the mirror wherever he went. He smiled like a King. He was proud. Then he dropped the mirror. It crashed to the ground and the King cried like a cloud.

The helpers were thinking how to help the King. What could they possibly do? They gathered together and found a solution. “What we need is some glue! We will glue a stilt to each of your legs. Put your feet upon this chair. Hold very still, as still as can be. I don’t want to get glue in your hair. This should just take a minute… in a matter of seconds you’ll be taller than ever before! I think we can build you a little bit bigger. How about 100 foot 4?”

“Stop the procedure!” the King ordered at once. “How happy does a king have to be? I never realized how happy I am when I’m happy just being me!  If I was 100 feet tall, I couldn’t fit in my castle. I’d walk around and bang my head. I couldn’t sit down at the dinner table and how could I fit in my bed? I’d rather be happy than 100 feet tall, as happy as a king can be. And I’m happy,” said the King. “I’m a happy, little king because I’m happy just being me.”

The Pizza Box

The Pizza Box

by Joe Shaboo (c) 2001

(The stage is the interior of a small pizzeria. A large stack of pizza boxes sits atop the table in the corner booth. A decorative clock hangs on the wall. Nick Rotolli is the owner. He wipes his hands on his apron and walks into the customer area from behind the counter. There is no one in the restaurant except for an employee, Nicholas. He is making meatballs behind the counter.)

Mr. Rotolli

Nicholas.

Nick

Yes, Mister Rotolli?

Mr. Rotolli

You can call me Nick. Everybody calls me Nick.

Nick

Okay.

Mr. Rotolli

Atta boy. Come over here and have a seat for a second.

Nick

What is it? Did I do something wrong?

Mr. Rotolli

No. No. Nothing’s wrong. Nobody’s done nothin’ wrong. I just want you to have a seat.

Nick

Sure Mister…I mean Nick.

Mr. Rotolli

That’s it. Attaboy. Hiya doin’ today, Nicholas?

Nick

…better.

Mr. Rotolli

Better than what?

Nick

Better than before, I guess.

Mr. Rotolli

Attaboy. A little better than before. You’re a smart, young man.

Nick

Thanks.

Mr. Rotolli

I could tell you were a smart, young man. That’s why I hired you.

Nick

You could?

Mr. Rotolli

I could. I could tell a lot of things about you before you even walked through that door.

Nick

You could?

Mr. Rotolli

That’s right. I could probably tell ya your whole life story.

Nick

Really?

Mr. Rotolli

That’s right. I’ve been in the pizza business for thirty sump’n years now. Since 1969. You weren’t even born yet, were ya?

Nick

No. Not yet.

Mr. Rotolli

I didn’t think so. Bein’ in the pizza business that long, ya tend to know when a meatball’s cooked and when it ain’t. Ya know what I mean? (Funny laugh.)

Nick

Yeah. I think so.

Mr. Rotolli

Good. I called ya over here cuz I wanted to show ya sumpthin’.

Nick

You do?

Mr. Rotolli

Yeah, is that alright?

Nick

Sure. I guess so.

Mr. Rotolli

Good.

Nick

What is it that you wanted to show me?

Mr. Rotolli

I was just about to get to that. I was just about to get to that.

I hired you for a reason, Nicholas.

Nick

You did?

Mr. Rotolli

I did.

Nick

What would you like me to do?

Mr. Rotolli

That’s what I like about you, kid. You’re curious. You’re like a little squirrel. You know what I mean?

Nick

I think so.

Mr. Rotolli

Curious about everything. I could tell that about you. Remember what I was sayin’ before?

Nick

About…

Mr. Rotolli

About the pizza business.

Nick

Oh, yeah.

Mr. Rotolli

Good, cuz I know you’re gonna open up your own pizzeria some day.

Nick

I am?

Mr. Rotolli

Am I right?

Nick

I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve only worked here two days.

Mr. Rotolli

What do you like best about the business?

 

Nick

 Oh, I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to tell.

Mr. Rotolli

If you had to pick.

Nick

Oh, I don’t know. I guess makin’ meatballs.

Mr. Rotolli

Makin’ meatballs? You like makin’ meatballs?

Nick

Yeah. It’s alright.

Mr. Rotolli

Ain’t that somethin’. Ya see these boxes?

Nick

Yeah.

Mr. Rotolli

You know what’s inside these boxes?

Nick

Cardboard?

Mr. Rotolli

That’s a good answer. But it’s the wrong answer.

Your future is inside these boxes.

Nick

My future?

Mr. Rotolli

That’s right. And today,  I’m gonna show you how to make a pizza box.

(Grabs a flat pizza box.)

Nick

Wow.

Mr. Rotolli

Would you like that?

Nick

I guess so.

Mr. Rotolli

There’s really nothin’ to it but a couple of flaps and folds.

Nick

Hm.

Mr. Rotolli

Ya know who’s gonna  make the pizza box?

Nick

No.

Mr. Rotolli

Me and you. I’m gonna make this one and your gonna make the next one.

Know what I mean?

Nick

I think so.

Mr. Rotolli

Watch me. (Begins to fold the cardboard.) Ya ever heard of  ‘Origami?’

They teach ya that word in school?

Nick

I’ve heard of it.

Mr. Rotolli

You heard of it?

Nick

I’ve heard of it.

Mr. Rotolli

You know what it means?

Nick

Sorta.

Mr. Rotolli

Kinda?

Nick

Sorta.

Mr. Rotolli

Atta boy. Well, I’m gonna show ya what it means.

Nick

 Okay.

Mr. Rotolli

Origami is a Japanese word. You didn’t think I knew any Japanese, did ya?

Nick

I never really thought about it.

Mr. Rotolli

It’s real fascinating stuff. That Japanese stuff.

Nick

Yeah.

Mr. Rotolli

You can make birds, frogs, peacocks, komodo dragons…

You can pretty much make any thing you want.

Nick

Out of a pizza box?

Mr. Rotolli

Sure. You can make anything you want out of a pizza box.

But today, I’m gonna show you how to make a pizza box.

Start ya off with the basics.

The creases make it easy. Somebody already made it easy for us.

Ain’t that nice? Ya know what I mean?

Nick

Very nice.

Mr. Rotolli

Ya know what else makes it easy?

Nick

What?

Mr. Rotolli

(Pauses)

It’s a secret but I’ll tell ya.

Nick

Uh-huh.

Mr. Rotolli

These here tabs. Tuck and Fold. Piece o’ cake. You try.

(Grabs flat pizza box for Nick.)

Nick

I don’t know if I ca…

Mr. Rotolli

You’re young. Fold. Tuck and fold. Go ahead. That’s it. There ain’t nothin’ to it.

Nick

I don’t know if I’m doing this right.

Mr. Rotolli

Make whatever you want! It’s your box! Make whatever you want out of it!

You’re doing fine.

Nick

Like this?

(Folds long  flap over and tucks it in.)

Mr. Rotolli

That’s perfect.

Nick

That was easy?

Mr. Rotolli

Easy? Try again.

(Grabs another falt pizza box and hands it to Nick.)

This time I want to see a Komodo Dragon.

Nick

Komodo Dragon! There’s no way! I don’t know where to begin.

Mr. Rotolli

You want me to show ya?

Nick

Yeah, that’d be cool.

(Mr. Rotolli takes pizza box from Nick and folds it with drama and flair.

The end result is a pizza box.)

Mr. Rotolli

There.

Nick

Whaddaya mean? It’s just a pizza box!

Mr. Rotolli

You gotta use your imagination Nick.

Life is just a pizza box until you start thinkin’.

Nick

Thinkin’ about what?

Mr. Rotolli

You know what I like best about a pizza box?

Nick

What’s that?

Mr. Rotolli

The smell.

Nick

The smell?

Mr. Rotolli

Yeah, the smell. Each one smells like a Pepperidge Farm cookie. Take a whiff.

Nick

I guess you’re right.

Mr. Rotolli

That’s why you see me over here all day makin’ these boxes.

Nick

Because of the smell?

Mr. Rotolli

That’s right. You’re a smart cookie. What kind of cookie are you?

Nick

I don’t know. I never really thought about it.

Mr. Rotolli

Atta boy. You’re Milano. Don’t forget it.

Nick

I won’t.

Mr. Rotolli

(Grabs a square pizza box from the stack.)

This one smells like a Komodo Dragon.

That’s because it is one.

(He gives it to Nick who opens it and sniffs inside.)

Mr. Rotolli

There’s another reason why I like makin’ so many pizza boxes.

Nick

Why is that?

Mr. Rotolli

I don’t know if you’re old enough to understand.

Nick

I’m in high school.

Mr. Rotolli

You wear a watch?

Nick

A what?

Mr. Rotolli

A watch. Timepiece.

(Points to his wrist.)

Nick

No.

Mr. Rotolli

You got a girlfriend?

Nick

 Sorta.

Mr. Rotolli

Sorta? Whaddya mean sorta? You like somebody?

Nick

Kinda.

Mr. Rotolli

Kinda?

Nick

Sorta.

Mr. Rotolli

Y’ever make a pizza box for her?

Nick

No. Never have. You’re the only one.

Mr. Rotolli

That’s alright. It’s better that way.

Nick

Why is that?

Mr. Rotolli

You’re young, but I’ll tell you something. Some things are better kept between men.

Nick

Between men?

Mr. Rotolli

Between men. When you’re a little older, you’ll know what I mean.

Nick

I know what you mean.

Mr. Rotolli

You do?

Nick

I think so.

Mr. Rotolli

What do you think I mean?

Nick

 I know what you mean.

Mr. Rotolli

I think you do. I think you do know what I mean..

Nick

Then I probably don’t.

Mr. Rotolli

(Taps twice on Nick’s pizza box with one finger.)

You’ll figure it out. Open it up.

Nick

What do you mean?

Mr. Rotolli

Open it up. Take a sniff. Tell me what’s inside.

Nick

(Sniffs)

I can’t tell.

Mr. Rotolli

No?

Nick

(Sniffs again.)

It smells like coffee ice cream.

Mr. Rotolli

Not bad for a beginner.

Nick

I wish it smelled like a dragon.

Mr. Rotolli

It is what it is. In time. In time.

Nick

What time is it?

Mr. Rotolli

(Turns to look at clock on wall.)

Almost time for closin’.

Nick

I gotta run.

Mr. Rotolli

Where you gotta go?

Nick

Remember, I have to go to practice.

Mr. Rotolli

This time o’ night?

Nick

At school.

Mr. Rotolli

Atta boy. Nothin’ wrong with that. Practice…

Look at me. I practiced for years. Now look at me. I’m a professional.

Nick

You are.

Mr. Rotolli

I am. I’m a pro. I breed komodo dragons. Anyway…

Nick

I really gotta go.

Mr. Rotolli

Okay, Nick. I see ya tomorrow.

Nick

You got it.

Mr. Rotolli

Alright, kid.

Nick

I’ll see you, Nick.

Mr. Rotolli

I’ll see ya, Nick.

Nick

It feels funny calling you by your first name.

Mr. Rotolli

Why is that?

Nick

I suddenly feel like I’m talking to myself.

Mr. Rotolli

Maybe, Nicholas. Go practice.

(Mr. Rotolli sits down at the booth. He makes one more pizza box, opens it and sniffs inside. He stands up, closes down the counter and gathers his jacket and hat. He  walks over to the clock hanging on the wall. He moves the hour hand of the clock backwards one hour. He shuts the lights, locks the restaurant door and walks off stage. A faint beam of light illuminates the stack of pizza boxes. Blackout.)