(lights come up on a well-dressed man sitting at a desk)
Executive: (pressing a button on his desk phone) Underling?
Underling: (over speakerphone) yes sir?
Executive: bring me my zoloft, hydrocodone, penicillin shake and and a pomegranate – chop chop.
Underling: yes sir.
(Executive mutters about the benefits of antioxidants as he rummages through papers on his desk while Underling brings him his food)
Executive: is it fresh?
Underling: yes sir.
Executive: thank you.
(Underling exits, Executive presses the speaker button)
page Miss for me, will you?
Underling: (over speakerphone) yes sir.
Executive: thank you.
(Executive begins work on the many papers on his desk, a bit into his work, Miss enters)
Miss: You called for me sir?
Executive: Yes, sit, please. (She sits) Now, before I get into this let me just say that I absolutely do not believe in any of your touchy-feely psychology-mumbo-jumbo, that being said I figured that since you're a woman you'd be the one here at Healthcorp to be less inclined to mock me.
Miss: Mock you?
Executive: Yes.
Miss: For what?
Executive: For telling you my recent dream.
Miss: Which was...?
Executive: I'm getting to that---
Miss: Alright---
Executive: (as he speaks, Miss draws a notepad from her bag) Anyways, last night I dreamt that I was the manager of a restaurant.
Miss: Interesting...
Executive: (snapping) Don't do that.
Miss: Do what?
Executive: Analyze.
Miss: Oh, yes sir.
Executive: I was the proprietor of a restaurant that served only shit.
Miss: The food was no good?
Executive: No, it was shit, crap, human feces.
Miss: oh, how novel...
Executive: Yes, I suppose it was. Anyhow, we served all kinds of shit: shit from people of different ethnicities with different diets, Indians who ate a lot of curry, Chinese who ate a lot of fish and so on, and shit of varying consistencies, and everyone flocked to my restaurant -- it was always full. And I was rich, much as I am anyway, everyone looked up to me for providing such a necessary service. Within the dream, I soon found out that reason we were so full was that we were one of the only 4 restaurants in the country, and all of the restaurants served shit as well. People had no choice but to come our restaurants. And anyone who wanted simple, nutritious food, had to make it themselves or get it from little hippy co-ops, and nobody wants to go there. I immediately awoke feeling a distinct unease, I can't really place my finger on why. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?
Miss: Perhaps it's because of the similarities?
Executive: similarities?
Miss: yes sir
Executive: what similarities?
Miss: the similarities between the dream and reality.
Executive: Miss, are you suggesting that I am the proprietor of a Shit restaurant?(unaware)
Miss: Well sir---
Executive: Is that what you're suggesting?
Miss: I---
(Executive begins work on the many papers on his desk, a bit into his work, Miss enters)
Miss: You called for me sir?
Executive: Yes, sit, please. (She sits) Now, before I get into this let me just say that I absolutely do not believe in any of your touchy-feely psychology-mumbo-jumbo, that being said I figured that since you're a woman you'd be the one here at Healthcorp to be less inclined to mock me.
Miss: Mock you?
Executive: Yes.
Miss: For what?
Executive: For telling you my recent dream.
Miss: Which was...?
Executive: I'm getting to that---
Miss: Alright---
Executive: (as he speaks, Miss draws a notepad from her bag) Anyways, last night I dreamt that I was the manager of a restaurant.
Miss: Interesting...
Executive: (snapping) Don't do that.
Miss: Do what?
Executive: Analyze.
Miss: Oh, yes sir.
Executive: I was the proprietor of a restaurant that served only shit.
Miss: The food was no good?
Executive: No, it was shit, crap, human feces.
Miss: oh, how novel...
Executive: Yes, I suppose it was. Anyhow, we served all kinds of shit: shit from people of different ethnicities with different diets, Indians who ate a lot of curry, Chinese who ate a lot of fish and so on, and shit of varying consistencies, and everyone flocked to my restaurant -- it was always full. And I was rich, much as I am anyway, everyone looked up to me for providing such a necessary service. Within the dream, I soon found out that reason we were so full was that we were one of the only 4 restaurants in the country, and all of the restaurants served shit as well. People had no choice but to come our restaurants. And anyone who wanted simple, nutritious food, had to make it themselves or get it from little hippy co-ops, and nobody wants to go there. I immediately awoke feeling a distinct unease, I can't really place my finger on why. You wouldn't happen to know why, would you?
Miss: Perhaps it's because of the similarities?
Executive: similarities?
Miss: yes sir
Executive: what similarities?
Miss: the similarities between the dream and reality.
Executive: Miss, are you suggesting that I am the proprietor of a Shit restaurant?(unaware)
Miss: Well sir---
Executive: Is that what you're suggesting?
Miss: I---
Executive: Is it?
Miss: No sir, of course not.
Executive: Since you have failed to provide any insight, you may go.
Miss: Ok sir, thank you sir.
(Miss exits)
Executive: (pressing the speaker button) Underling?
Underling: (over speaker) Yes sir?
Executive: Fetch me the Times will you? I'll be heading to the john soon.
Underling: Yes sir.
- fin-
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