A short one act play with a surprise ending. |
Dramatis Personae Waiter – a waiter (from New York) who works at a French restaurant Accountant Lawyer Anthropologist Napoleon – the French dictator who now works at a fast food restaurant President – the President of the U.S. (whose character is not based on any living or dead President of the U.S.) Agent 1 – a Secret Service agent for the President Agent 2 – another Secret Service agent for the President Waiter: (Exiting the restaurant at which he works.) Finally, it’s five o’clock. Whoa, if I don’t hurry I’m gonna be late for my show. (Starts walking down the sidewalk at a hurried pace.) (Waiter bumps into a person who is walking down the same stretch of sidewalk but is traveling in the opposite direction.) Waiter: Hey, yo, watch where ya goin’! Lawyer: (confidently and with a bit of an attitude) Excuse me, sir, but you are mistaken. It was you who bumped into me. Waiter: Oh yeah? You callin’ me a liar? ‘Cause I don’t like to be talked to like that by someone I don’t even know that good. Lawyer: I am in the right, sir, and I am willing to defend my case in a court of law. And I can predict that you will lose unless you read a grammar book. Waiter: You callin’ me stupid? Lawyer: Not at all, sir. I am merely pointing out that your lack of eloquence is slightly less than subtle. Waiter: Yeah? Well what makes you think you’re gonna do so good in court? Lawyer: Because I am Simon H. Andaffiliates, attorney at law. Waiter: Well, just ‘cause you’re some big college boy doesn’t mean you’re any smarter than me. Lawyer: I afraid it does indeed, sir. Waiter: Psh, forget about it. I’m gonna be late for my show. (Starts to walk away.) Hey, you dropped your box. Lawyer: Now, now, sir, I can understand how you can be confused about who bumped into whom, but surely you must know your own box when you see it. Waiter: What are you talkin’ about? Lawyer: That’s your box. Waiter: No, it isn’t. Lawyer: Well, it certainly isn’t mine. Someone else must have dropped it. Waiter: What’s in it? Lawyer: Hey, we can’t just go looking through other people’s property. We’ll have to turn it in to the police station. Waiter: C’mon, they’re not gonna do anything. Besides, there might be money in it. Lawyer: (eyes go wide for a second) That’s beside the point. We should at least try to find the owner. Waiter: Hah! In this city? Impossible. Lawyer: Well we can’t just let it sit here. Someone might take it. Waiter: You mean like this? (He reaches down and grabs the box.) (Just then another person walks by and sees the two staring at the box.) Napoleon: (with a thick French accent) Holy revolution. Is that what I think it is? Lawyer: Are you the owner? Waiter: What do you think it is? Napoleon: (Directing his wide eyes from the box to the waiter’s face…) A box. (…and promptly returning them to the box.) Waiter: We know that, you bum! Lawyer: What we need to know is to whom the box belongs. Napoleon: (stops staring at the box and looks casually at the lawyer.) I am sorry, I cannot help you. Have you tried looking inside? Waiter: He’s right, we need to look inside. Lawyer: We can’t. It’s against the law. I must insist that we at least take it to a police station before looking inside. Napoleon: (aside to the waiter) What a killjoy. Waiter: Tell me about it. Hey, where are you from anyway? Napoleon: I just got out of work at ze Bagel Barn. Waiter: No, I mean your accent, it sounds funny. Napoleon: Ah, yes. I am foreign. Ah, I miss ze good old days. You know, I was very important where I came from. I even led zem through a war. But afterwards, zey said I had too much power, and so zey exiled me. (Another person walks up and starts talking to them.) Accountant: Watcha guys lookin’ at? Lawyer: We found this box here on the sidewalk, and we’re trying to find out to whom it belongs. Waiter: Yours? Accountant: Um…yeah, it is. Lawyer: Really? Accountant: Uh, sure it is. Waiter: You happy now, Mr. Attorney? Now we can see what’s inside. Accountant: Uh, no, you can’t. I mean, you shouldn’t. I would rather you not. Waiter: Why not? Accountant: Um, please just give it to me and let me go. Waiter: Who are you anyway? Accountant: I’m an accountant. Now please give it to me… Lawyer: Hold on a second. I don’t think you’re telling the truth. I don’t think it’s really your box. Accountant: What? Of course I am. I, I…I…uh…um…oh, all right. It’s not mine. But that box has been here for hours. I just want to know what’s inside! Waiter: See? He agrees with me. Let’s just open it up, get the money— Lawyer: Hey, how do you know it has money in it? Accountant: Yeah, it probably has jewelry or something like that. Napoleon: No, no, it probably contains some sort of recipe collection for some really good French food. I am so tired of being a Napoleon at a fast food restaurant. Lawyer: No, no, no, you’re all wrong. It most likely has some important documents. (Another person walks up.) Anthropologist: Hmm, I’d say it might have some sort of artifact or even a collection of artifacts from some ancient Mayan tribe. Oh, I hope so. Waiter: Who are you, and what do you know about our box? Anthropologist: Your box? Ha, ha, ha, that’s not your box. I saw that lying here in this exact same spot last night. I thought I’d come down to see if anyone had claimed it yet. I guess not. Oh, and I’m George Farewell, an anthropologist. Waiter: Well, this thing is drivin’ me crazy. I’m gonna open it. Lawyer: No, you can’t. Waiter: Oh, shut up. (The waiter runs around the corner with the box.) Napoleon: Get him! (After passing the corner, all, including the waiter, stop to watch a shiny black limousine park by the sidewalk. Two men dressed in black suits wearing sunglasses step out of the car and hurry over to the waiter.) Agent 1: I’ve got him. C’mon hand over the box. (The waiter hands it over in.) Agent 2: Good, let’s move. (The two agents get into the car. The party is left on the sidewalk to wonder what happened, while inside the car…) Agent 2: Here you are Mr. President. President: Oh good, we finally found it: my lucky lunchbox. |