CHUCK: 50s. A man of no words where few will do. A true professional who tries to hide his wounded, but not broken, heart from the world.
ANNETTE: Early 20s. A naturally warm young woman who is good at resisting the urge to be unkind.
THE FERAL HIPSTER: Late 20s. The type of scavenger endemic to disaster areas and war zones.
BRUCE: Late 30s. A loquacious man who is very concerned about the environment.
VANESSA: 50s. The type of reassuring voice you turn to in troubling times.
TIME
JANUARY 2021
PLACE
A CVS in Azusa, CA.
NOTES
A forward slash (/) indicates a point of overlap.
“I believe in my mask – The man I made up is me.”
-Sam Shepard
Editor's Note: This is the original script, as shared by the author.
Lights up on a CVS whose supplies have been picked clean. Well, almost picked clean. On stage left there are shelfs of various items ranging from candy to shampoo. On stage right, there are the obligatory magazines and a set of doors that are both an entrance into and an exit from the CVS. Center stage, there is a cash register with a long desk underneath it. There is a copy of Time Magazine next to the cash register. The desk is covered in various items that you would find at a CVS. There are other cash registers, but the workers who staff them are long gone.
The chorus of “Shiny Happy People” by R.E.M. plays for a few moments. Then, Chuck enters from a door that is upstage left. He wears gloves but not a face mask. He presses a button on the long desk and the music stops. He stands at the cash register for a moment. He looks stage right, and then takes out his iPhone. He pushes a button, and the voice of Vanessa fills the room with love.
VANESSA
Hey baby. I know you’re going to be working late again, so I just wanted to check in. I hope you can get some time off soon; this pandemic is getting really bad and I don’t want you being with those sick people all day. And, don’t get mad at me, but I don’t think you should dance at work to any of those corny pop songs. Chuck grunts.
VANESSA
Knowing you you’re grunting right now. Anyway, give me a call whenever you’re free. I love you.
The Feral Hipster enters the CVS from stage left. He walks with a peculiar strut, as if he is still high from a cocktail of drugs. If he is, the cocktail is dominated by the main ingredient: fear.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Still open, huh?
Chuck puts away his iPhone.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Wow, relax, ok? The world may have gone to shit, but there are still gentlemen around. You’re looking at one.
Chuck says nothing. The Feral Hipster walks up to him, looking at his nametag.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Chuck? That’s your name, or did you forget your nametag and borrow one from one of your many co-workers?
The Feral Hipster laughs. Chuck doesn’t.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Ah, I like you, Chuckie Boy. Although someday I hope you’ll let me get a word in edgewise. You’re a regular motormouth!
The Feral Hipster continues to laugh. Chuck maintains his stone face.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
I know you’d love for me to stay and chat, Chuckie Baby, but I got some shopping to do. See you soon!
He saunters around the store. The audience but not Chuck notices that The Feral Hipster has a gun in his back pocket. He starts to take items off of the shelf.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
I never thought I’d be back in Azusa. I know they say it’s got everything from A to Z in the US of A but it personally never held anything of particular intrigue for me. Then again, when half of SoCal drops dead from some goddamn virus, you change your plans.
He finishes shopping, and saunters back to the register with some candy bars and chips.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Kit Kats and chips, Chuck-Chuck. The cornerstone of every growing boy’s balanced diet.
Chuck starts to scan the items. Almost absentmindedly, The Feral Hipster picks up the copy of Time Magazine. He spots a bottle of Purell underneath it. Before Chuck can notice, The Feral Hipster picks up the bottle and lets out an excited little yell.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Wow, you’ve been holding out on me, Chuckster! I haven’t seen one of these in a year!
Chuck quickly snatches the bottle of Purell out of The Feral Hipster’s hands. Chuck puts it in his pocket.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Hey, that wasn’t very sportsmanlike! Come on, Chucksie, I want that bottle of Purell. I’m good for it.
Chuck shakes his head.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Well, I didn’t want to play this card, but it is my birthday.
Chuck picks up a birthday card and hands it to The Feral Hipster. He opens it up and Stevie Wonder starts singing “Happy Birthday.” The Feral Hipster throws it away in disgust.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Come on, Chuckopolous, be a pal! I’ve been having a tough time! First, I lost my job as VP of Marketing at Sony, and now this?! I ought to file a complaint with the President of CVS, who happens to be a good friend of me, and my father! You could lose your job! So how about you give it to me for free, eh, Chuckles the Juggling Clown?
Chuck shakes his head.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Well then! I guess I’ll just have to take it by force.
By the time he holds his fists up like a boxer, Chuck has drawn a shotgun. He points it at The Feral Hipster’s head. The Feral Hipster throws up his hands.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Wow! Wow! Ok, I get it. That bottle of Purell belongs to you, and nobody else! I’ll just mosey away now.
The Feral Hipster reaches for his pistol as he talks.
THE FERAL HIPSTER
Don’t worry, old buddy. You won’t have me to kick around anymore. I’m just going to go right…
He starts to draw the gun. Chuck lowers the shotgun at The Feral Hipster’s left leg and shoots. The Feral Hipster falls down and drops his gun. He grabs his leg as he cries out in pain.
THE FERAL HIPSTER Aaah! Aaah! Now I’ll never make the UCLA polo team!
Chuck hops over the table and walks over to The Feral Hipster’s gun. He picks it up and pockets it. He grabs The Feral Hipster by his hair and pulls him stage left, through the doors and offstage. The Feral Hipster whines and complains until he is out of sight.
Chuck enters from stage left. He walks behind the desk and returns to his original standing position behind the cash register. He picks up the bottle of Purell and looks at it as those it were the only thing keeping him alive. Chuck puts the bottle of Purell in his pocket.
The CVS is closed for the evening. But Chuck is still there. He sits where we last saw him, but this time he’s sitting. He eats a pack of Cheetos and occasionally dabs at his face with a small napkin. His iPhone sits next to him, the warm voice of Vanessa pouring out of it.
VANESSA
Hmm…what else? Some of my kids don’t know how long to wash their hands for, so I told them to sing happy birthday twice. They told me that was boring, just like me. I guess kindergarteners have better taste than we give them credit for, the little jerks.
The ghost of a smile appears on Chuck’s face and it looks like he might laugh, but then Vanessa coughs. The smile disappears.
VANESSA
Relax, I don’t have it. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I made up a little song to help them remember. I think you’ll like this one.
Vanessa sings the following lyrics to the tune of “Come on, Eileen.” Chuck mouths the words as she sings. It creates the effect of a ghostly duet.
VANESSA
Let’s be a team,
We’ll get those hands real clean,
Thanks to water, they are less dirty!
Let’s clean up the mess,
So, we won’t have stress,
Touch your shirty,
Because we are a team.
Vanessa coughs. This time stronger, and for longer. Chuck forces himself to listen.
Bruce, a man in a suit and sunglasses, stands in front of the cash register. He holds a bag made out of cloth and watches Chuck scan a large number of items that he has.
BRUCE
I bet you’ve noticed I’m not buying as much as I normally do. That’s because I’m giving up plastics. It’s better for the environment. We can save the world one person at a time, am I right?
Bruce starts to hold out his hand for a fist bump but retracts it.
BRUCE
Sorry, I know it’s been a year, but sometimes you just forget, you know?
Chuck continues to scan Bruce’s items, as if he has not heard anything he has said.
BRUCE
I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I think people are still overreacting. Well, not overreacting, it is lethal, but like, so is climate change. We’re destroying our Earth right before our eyes, but no one cares. I mean last month was the hottest ever recorded, in human history, but people care more about coughing into the crook of their arm than turning than planting a tree! It’s ridiculous.
Chuck finishes scanning the items. He looks up at Bruce, who notices. Bruce takes out his wallet and starts to hand Chuck some money.
BRUCE
We wouldn’t even have this pandemic if they hadn’t have cut down that forest in Asia. It’s like we’re ripping our lungs out of our body every time we use anything made out of paper.
Chuck holds up a plastic bag. Bruce shakes his head and holds up his cloth bag.
BRUCE
No plastic bags. Just reusable ones. Thank God my daughter loves Greta Thunberg, otherwise I wouldn’t know any of this stuff.
Chuck reaches for the items. Bruce stops him.
BRUCE
Sorry, Chuck, but I don’t know where those gloves have been. Climate change’s worse, but we’re still living in the middle of a plague.
He starts to put the items in his bag.
BRUCE
You know, you used to be really friendly. You’d ask about how I was, or how my husband was doing, or what my kids were up to. But now you don’t say one word. What happened?
Chuck looks away. Bruce sighs. He finishes packing his items. He starts to walk away, but then turns around. He takes off his sunglasses.
BRUCE
I don’t see how we make it out of this. Not the plague, there’ll be people who make it out alive, but more often than not I think that no one’s going to make it out of climate change alive. I have nightmares every night. That I’m in a forest as it burns, or a whirlpool as dead polar bears swirl around me. Some days I can’t get out of bed. I wonder if it’s worth being alive. But then my kids come into my bedroom, and they serve me breakfast in bed. Nothing fancy, just the most scrambled eggs you ever saw and some pancakes. And they and my husband hug me, and I hug back, and then I go about my day. No matter how dark I think it’s going to get, and believe me, it will get dark, there’s no way I’m giving up. Not when I’ve got people counting on me. Take care, Chuck.
Bruce exits. Chuck stands there, and takes out the Purell bottle, remembering what it was like to have someone count on him.
Chuck sits behind his cash register. His iPhone lies on the table. He holds a can of beer in one hand and the bottle of Purell in the other hand while he listens to the sound of coughing. This coughing is strong, loud, and uncontrollable. Finally,
Vanessa speaks.
VANESSA
If, if anything happens to me…. Don’t change. Don’t be sad. I’m lucky, because if I go, I will go having spent my life with you, and I want you to be the same loveable goof I married. But that’s probably not going to happen. Cough aside, I feel fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m….
Her voice trails off into coughs. Suddenly, the power goes off. We hear Chuck put something down. A flashlight illuminates Chuck’s face as he listens to Vanessa cough and stares vacantly into space.
Morning at the CVS. Chuck sits in front of the cash register, fast asleep. His arm that holds the Purell bottle is slumped out of sight.
Annette hurriedly enters into the CVS from stage left. She has a wound on her forehead, wears a crown of flowers in her hair, and carries a messenger bag. She finds a place as far away from the entrance as possible and hides.
When she thinks the coast is clear, Annette stands up. She walks over to a still sleeping Chuck.
ANNETTE
Um, excuse me. Can you please/
Chuck awaits with a start. He notices Annette.
CHUCK
Aaah!!!
He is about to reach for his shotgun when he stops. He hasn’t made a sound in a long time.
CHUCK
That’s how I scream?
ANNETTE
I’m sorry! I can come back later if you’re busy/
CHUCK
Are you ok? You look like you’ve got some kind of wound on your forehead.
ANNETTE
Oh, that. I was trying to buy groceries but there was this huge riot in front of the store. Everyone was yelling, and panicking, and somebody threw a rock at my head. At first, I thought they missed, but it turns out they just almost missed.
CHUCK
Bandages are over there.
ANNETTE
Thank you!
Annette walks over to the shelf that contains the bandages.
ANNETTE
How’s your day going?
Chuck doesn’t respond at first.
ANNETTE
Ok.
Annette takes a package of bandages and moves over to where they keep the Neosporin.
CHUCK
Good. It’s going good. Well, I mean well. I’m sorry. I’m not like this normally.
ANNETTE
Like what?
CHUCK
Quiet. Sullen. You’re going to find this hard to believe, but that scream I let out when you woke me up is the first real sound I’ve made in months.
ANNETTE
But what do you do when you have to talk to/
CHUCK
I don’t have anyone to talk to, not anymore. This CVS was always understaffed, and half of my colleagues quit, and the other half are in the hospital with the virus.
ANNETTE
Don’t you have any friends, or family?
CHUCK
I kind of cut myself off from my friends after…
Chuck’s voice trails off. Beat
ANNETTE
How long have you worked here?
CHUCK
Since I moved out here 30 years ago. My wife wanted to be an actress, but her career fizzled out, so she became a kindergarten teacher. I never really wanted to do anything except spend time with her, so this job suited my just fine. But enough about me. What do you do for a living?
ANNETTE
I’m a grad student at UCLA.
CHUCK
That’s pretty far from Azusa.
ANNETTE
The rent’s cheaper in Azusa. The commute’s long, but I haven’t had to do it for a while because the campus has been closed. I still teach remotely, and I do my research.
CHUCK
About what?
ANNETTE
The French legal system in the 18th century.
Chuck starts laughing.
ANNETTE
Why’s that funny?
CHUCK
You don’t really seem like the scholarly type. I mean, you’ve got flowers in your hair for crying out loud.
ANNETTE
Wearing a crown of flowers doesn’t mean I’m not smart. It just means I have good taste.
CHUCK
Sure. I’m Chuck, by the way.
ANNETTE
I’m Annette.
She takes some Neosporin and walks over to the cash register. Chuck stands up and starts to scan Annette’s items. He absent-mindedly puts the bottle of Purell on the desk. Annette, not knowing it’s his, notices the bottle and picks it up.
ANNETTE
You guys have Purell?! I thought you’d all run out! How much?
Chuck takes it back from her.
CHUCK
It’s not for sale.
ANNETTE
Why? I’ve got money.
CHUCK
I said it’s not for sale.
ANNETTE
Look, I don’t know when I’ll see another bottle of Purell again. I know it’s not that important, but it’d really make me feel better if I/
CHUCK
I SAID IT’S NOT FOR SALE!
Silence. Annette thinks.
ANNETTE
I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was yours.
Annette starts to walk towards the entrance to CVS.
CHUCK
It’s one of the last things she touched.
Annette turns around.
CHUCK
The night my wife Vanessa died, she was holding on to two things: my right hand, and this bottle of Purell. I’m not going to give up my right hand, and I’m not going to give this up either.
ANNETTE
I understand. I’m sorry I was so insistent. I hope you have a good day.
She turns around again.
CHUCK
Wait! What if that riot is still happening?
ANNETTE
It’s probably cooled down by now.
CHUCK
Annette.
ANNETTE
Yeah?
CHUCK
Do you think your head’s going to be ok?
ANNETTE
Yeah, I’ll be fine.
CHUCK
Thank you.
ANNETTE
For what?
CHUCK
Being nice. Not a lot of people are these days.
Annette walks over to the cash register. She opens her messenger bag and give Chuck a flower.
ANNETTE
I’ve been giving these to people since the pandemic started. Flowers tend to cheer people up, you know?
CHUCK
Yeah, I guess they do. Here, I want you to have this.
He holds out the bottle of Purell to Annette.
ANNETTE
No, I can’t/
CHUCK
She wouldn’t want me to grieve like this. Please. Take it.
Annette takes the bottle of Purell and exits. Chuck sits there, lost in thought. Finally, he moves over to the device on the desk that controls the music that plays in the CVS. He presses a button and then dials it until he lands on a station he likes.
“Manic Monday” by The Bangles starts playing. Chuck walks around the desk and stands in front of it. He starts to lightly tap his foot. Then he begins to move his arms and legs. As the song continues, Chuck starts full-on dancing. His dance moves are bad, embarrassing, yet strangely joyful. As Chuck dances, we see the man he once was – and may someday become again.
End of Play.
