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THE ROBOSAURUS DOESN'T SLEEP HERE.
[AVAILABLE SINCE: 19 AUGUST, 2001]
Here is an excerpt of another sketch from my sketch writing class.
Again, the full sketch is pretty long - about 9 pages - and I
know I can't read more than about 2000 words online before punching
my computer monitor in the face, so in the name of compassion
I've only provided a little bit here. For this assignment, we
were asked to examine a 'routine', and then have one of the characters
in our sketch break the routine - laughs to follow. I chose a
factory assembly line for my sketch. I now take you to the middle
of page four.
******
RONNIE throws his hammer on the floor, and its noisome clang
attracts the attention of THE FOREMAN.
THE FOREMAN is a thick-sized middle-aged man – the kind
of man who hitches the waistline of his Dickies down as far as
possible, to clear the girth of his swollen, beer-nourished belly.
He wears a hard hat, lab coat (with "Worthington Industries"
silk-screened on the back), and safety goggles. As with all foremen,
he also carries a clipboard and, trailing behind him is his NEW
TRAINEE.
NEW TRAINEE is a rodent-faced sixteen year-old boy with a
weak but ambitious beginner's moustache and a long braided rat-tail
hanging down below the bottom of his hairnet. If he could, he’d
wear full Insane Clown Posse makeup to work each day. TRAINEE
has ripped the sleeves coveralls off his coveralls and carries
a standard-issue hammer in each hand. Throughout the scene, when
not specifically called upon to act, he should nonetheless remain
in constant loping motion, like he just shot a juice glass full
of bathtub speed into his body for breakfast.
FOREMAN
OK now, what's the trouble here? That sounded like an Oh-Eight-Seven
violation.
TRAINEE
Um, yeah, uh, that's a "rogue hammer at rest on the assembly
floor without proper authorization." That's right, yeah.
In your face for eighty-eight!
FOREMAN
This is John Henry –
TRAINEE
Snake. Call me Snake.
FOREMAN
John Henry's the new trainee. He's gonna be working in the new
Angleville factory but we gotta train him here on account of the
asbestos clean-up over there.
TRAINEE
(sniffing loudly)
Asbestos gets all up in Snake's eyes. Ain’t that a bitch?
DARLENE
Don't worry. There's nothing wrong here. We just had an accident.
The hammer slipped.
FOREMAN
Well, Ronnie you know you got to lay off the hand moisturizer.
I know it smells pretty, like lilacs. But ever since the union
started making it mandatory in the men's bathrooms we've lost
at least six good hammers and two Mexicans.
DARLENE
He'll be more careful. Won't you, Ronnie?
The TRAINEE quickly attacks the conveyor belt
with both hammers, bring each of them down several times in quick
succession before getting out of breath. The others look at him,
somewhat astonished.
TRAINEE
(panting, and then posturing)
Hey. OK. Wassup now?
RONNIE
(trying to ignore the TRAINEE)
No. Now listen. That wasn't no accident. I gotta tell you. I can't
smash puppies no more, for certain. I quit.
FOREMAN
Listen here, Ronnie. I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that,
especially from September's employee of the month. Why don't you
clear your head of nonsense, pick up that hammer, and continue
to make your folks proud? It’s your birthright.
DARLENE rushes over and grabs the fallen hammer.
She presents it to RONNIE.
RONNIE
No. I won't do that. Y’all go ahead and be small-minded,
but I can't just come in here everyday, doing the same old thing
without a single thought to it. No. There's something out there
for me, and it's time I found it. It’s time we all found
it.
TRAINEE and DARLENE seem especially affected
by this last comment. They take pause, and stare at their own
hammers meaningfully for a moment. Then they both notice the conveyor
belt moving in front of them and smash it. The TRAINEE then continues
to smash it several more times.
DARLENE AND TRAINEE
(together)
Sorry.
FOREMAN
(sighs deeply before continuing)
Well, it looks like I'm going to have make this speech again.
(throws an arm around Ronnie) Ronnie, look around you. Take a
good look now. The work we do here - this is our life, and our
love. And these people are your family, and as far as we’re
concerned this is the world.
Here on this assembly line, we kill puppies with three-pound steel
hammers. That's what we do. And it's what we've always done. Killing
puppies with three-pound hammers put you through school, Ronnie.
And Darlene, you like rainbows, right? Well, killing puppies makes
rainbows. And John Henry -
TRAINEE
Snake.
FOREMAN
Killing puppies with a three-pound hammer paid for your prosthetic
leg, John Henry.
TRAINEE
(addressing others)
It's made of bamboo. Extra-strong, yo.
TRAINEE smashes conveyor belt with his hammer.
FOREMAN
Now some people might argue that killing puppies with a hammer
all day long is tedious work. Some people, like those folks at
60 Minutes, might even say it's unethical, that ultimately killing
puppies all day long and burying their corpses in a tremendous
landfill just outside of city limits has little or nothing to
do with the production of Worthington's Après-Dinner Pastel
Mints. But if you ask me, that's just missing the point. Fact
is, killing puppies is a Worthington Industries tradition, as
rich as exchanging presents on Christmas day or setting fire to
foreign-made automobiles. We don't ask why. We just do, and we
do it proudly.
Ah, but what of the world out there, Ronnie Dreamer? That mysterious
unknown for which young hearts burn. Sure, we don't know much
about it right now, except what our schools teach us: that it's
a vast, smoldering wasteland run by atomic-strength zombies who
drink gasoline and feast on the sweet flesh of humanoid travelers.
If you ask me, we're doing a lot more good here by providing cool,
soothing mints to the world's remaining population of senior citizens
than we'd be doing out there, meting out the short remainder of
our lives hiding behind rocks and surviving on each other’s
urine while we curse nightfall, for that is when the zombies attack.
And if our production of Worthington's Dinner-Dinner Pastel Mints
means the steady, systematic destruction of every breed of puppy
on earth, so be it. I say it’s the natural order of things.
If it weren't, why would dogs continue to make more puppies? What
kind of God would allow that, Ronnie?
Now embrace me, for I am your foreman.
DARLENE and TRAINEE, now practically choked up
with fear, embrace the FOREMAN while RONNIE remains on the outside
of the tight circle, shaking his head. They hold together for
a moment until the TRAINEE breaks the silence by smashing the
conveyor belt with one of his hammers. The FOREMAN sees this and
approves.
FOREMAN
That boy's going to make a fine plant manager some day.
RONNIE
You're all brainwashed by this system! Don't you ever dream about
having something more?
DARLENE
Like another hammer?
RONNIE
No!
FOREMAN
Listen, if you still feel so strongly, I can offer you a transfer
to the Division Four assembly line, where you'll be killing puppies
with a length of piano wire. Might be just the right thing for
your wandering spirit. You know, your grandfather was this factory's
best wire-man in his day.
RONNIE
You don't get it. You all just don't get it. I quit. I'm going
to graduate school.
RONNIE takes one last look at the crew, throws
his baseball hat down, and stomps off.
TRAINEE
Can I have his hammer?
DARLENE
I guess his heart just wasn't in it. We'll never know why.
DARLENE swings her hammer down, slowly, mournfully.
FOREMAN
He'll be back. Mark my words. He'll be back.
DARLENE and TRAINEE stop working for a moment to look at the FOREMAN
reverently. This moment should last about 4 seconds, at which
point RONNIE returns and others draw their attention to him.
RONNIE
OK, I'm back.
:FADE OUT
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