America : The stage production.
A day in the life of...
The lights dim, and a short soft drumm roll signals the audiences attention to the stage.
A spotlight comes on, and pans across the thick black theater curtain. It's searching for the man who is fumbling with the curtain from behind. He is attempting to find the center so he can slip between the folds. After a bit of his struggling with the curtain, he is still behind it and growing frustrated.
His microphone goes live.
Narrator : This fucking thing is impossible to sneak through. What the fuuu..
(The narrator yells.)
A long deep scream of anger rings over the sound system. The narrator begins ranting at a stagehand.
Narrator : Eric, please be fucking useful and help me get through here. I'm already on the big guys shit list, and if I fuck this up the producer is gonna have me canned. With my wife already fucking our neighbor, and all the other shit going on, losing my job would push me over the edge.
Eric : Sir I think… (The Narrator interrupts him.)
Narrator : God I need to chill out, do you have any Xanax or Valium ??
Eric : No sir, umm sir..
Narrator : Some weed then ? I know I smelled some good shit earlier when when I walked by you and the lighting guy out back. Do you have a vape, just let me hit it real quick. Come on man, I'm floundering here.
Eric walks over the narrator, and the crowd can hear his footsteps followed by some audible but indistinguishable whispering.
Narrator : It’s Live, what the fu.. !!
A band begins playing loudly, and the center of the curtain partially parts. In the opening is a well dressed and we'll groomed man, with his back facing the audience. He snaps around to face the audience with a big warm smile on his face. He dramatically raises both of his hands in the air as he steps through the curtain. The spotlight tightens in on him, and the curtain closes behind him.
Narrator : Welcome All to Family Day at the Sunrise theater. Today's first play will be the classic tale of “Rip Van Winkle”!
He walks over towards the corner of the stage, as the spotlight trails a few feet behind him.
He gets to the corner of the curtain, and tries to pull it back and slip out of view. The spotlight lands on him as he struggles with it. He spins around and stares into the light, surprised like a deer cought in a set of headlights.
The stage curtain raises and a bit of subtle music begins to play, but the stage lights are still dimmed. The main character is a man in his early 20’s. He is walking across the stage towards a tree at the center of the scene.
The spotlight is still stuck on the narrator, who is now zipping left and right in a small area at the far end of the stage, he is frantically trying to get away from the beam of light.
The main actor begins to speak his lines, but his voice is faint and distant. The small clip on microphone he is wearing hasn't been added in by the sound guy, instead you can still hear the narrator swearing under his breath at the lighting guy.
Rip Van Winkle stops reciting his lines and walks off of his mark by the tree. He comes to the front of the stage, and begins screaming at the Audience.
Rip Van Winkle : I’m the star, this is my show! Pay your attention to me, not to him!
(He points and flails his arms wildly in the direction of the Narrator.)
Rip Van Winkle : This is my show, I'm the first trans Rip Van Winkle in a professional stage production. (They rip their hat and wig off, exposing a head full of long blonde hair.)
The Narrator : It's his show, put the damned light on him.
Rip Van Winkle : Im fucking done. (storms off back stage)
The Narrator : Ha ha ha ha ! (He laughs hysterically as he points at the wig and hat on the ground.)
Eric : This is madness ! (Eric Runs onstage and picks up the wig, he puts it on and silently just smiles at the crowd.)
The narrator crawls off the stage into the band area. While Eric’s smile is slowly shifting to a look of absolute madness, as he basks in the spotlight. His arm begins to spasm, and his posture shifts. Suddenly, he thrusts his hand into his pocket and pulls out a quarter. He examines it in the palm of his hand, and he leans forward in an unnatural way. When he reaches the pinnacle of his lean, he flips the quarter off of his thumb and it goes spinning towards the dark end of the stage. The spotlight follows it, and it lands in the coin slot of a jukebox.
A record is picked up by the mechanical arm, and is placed on the turntable inside. The needle drops onto the record, and Alien Ant Farm’s “Smooth Criminal” begins to play.
The curtain drops and Eric is behind it.
The spotlight remains trained on the Jukebox.
Actors within the audience begin to scream.
Actor 1 : This isn't what we paid for !! Where's Rip Van Winkle.
Actor 2 : Yeah, this is messed up, this was supposed to be family friendly theater !
As the Crowd actors are yelling, a man in a tuxedo slips between the curtain, but the spotlight remains on the jukebox for a moment.
Tuxedo Man : Thank you for coming to the American Theater experience, I have to deeply apologize this is certainly not what you have paid to come and see tonight. Instead what we have presented you with here, was an artistic interpretation of the American Government and our Political establishment. Now, due to the rapid inflation rates, we would ask you to pay an additional $5 each on the way out. This can be paid at the front door, just feed it directly into the automated mechanism that charges $5 per person to exit the building. We had them installed during the show. These machines accept $5 bills. For this of you that do not have cash on hand, the ATM’s in the lobby will be up and running next week.
The curtains part behind him, He walks backwards between them, and they close.
The song Smooth Criminal Continues to play.
The lights come back on.
The crowd actors begin complaining very loudly, and they leave their seats heading for the exit of the theater. A member of the crowd yells out, I have $5 bills I'm selling for $20 over cash app or venmo. $5 Bills for sale..
The fire alarm goes off, and just seconds later the sprinkler system activates.
