Spotlighting - Part 1 of 4

SPOTLIGHTING

A Play in One-Act

By Joe Kuhlman

 

SETTING:

• TIME: After 9/11. Before 2010.

• PLACE: A basement work station. 

 

CHARACTERS: 

• MITCH (M, Early 30’s, looks older): A tenured employee. Colloquially a “spotlighter”.

• LUCAS (M, Early 20’s): A new hire. Colloquially a “shooter”.

• SILHOUETTE(S) (Various): Physical manifestations of subconscious

• INTERCOM (M or F, faceless): The supervisor

 

SPOTLIGHTING

A cloistered workstation. No windows. Two desks and accompanying chairs, S.L. and S.R. frame a structure just upstage, center: A thin panel or series of panels (hereafter referred to as “the panel”) made of frosted glass or plastic. When lit, the panel must be opaque from the front and semi-translucent from the back or within, allowing only for silhouettes of objects to be seen from head on by the audience; something of a one-way mirror. The desk S.R. holds a bulky command console complete with various knobs, switches, and buttons. It also holds a mounted gooseneck microphone, a styrofoam cup and both an “In” and “Out” box. The “In” box contains a thick stack of reamed computer paper. The “Out” box has its own stack of paper torn from the ream that only just peeks over the rim. The S.L. desk is mostly bare save for a single large button embedded in the middle and a second styrofoam cup. 

At rise the lights are dimmed save for backlights behind the panel. A low mechanical whirring of unknown origin provides an underscoring hum. The backlights shift and rotate. The silhouette of something behind the panel comes in and out of focus along with the movements of the light. Mitch and Lucas sit at their desks, S.R. and S.L. respectively. They both wear utilitarian boiler suits as uniforms. Mitch, pen in hand, reviews the paper from the top of the stack in his “In” box. Text on the paper guides his periodic manipulation of the console. Lucas skims a small pocket manual, shooting frequent glances at his co-worker and the panel itself. This plays out for a moment. 

 

LUCAS: Everything alright?

 

MITCH: I’m fine.

 

LUCAS: Need any help?

 

MITCH: No.

 

    Pause.

 

LUCAS: You’re taking a bit, is all.

 

MITCH: There’s a lot to sift through here. I need to make sure it’s all done right.

 

LUCAS: Of course…you were just quicker before.

 

MITCH: When?

 

LUCAS: Yesterday. When I was shadowing you. You were a lot quicker, I think. I’m pretty sure you only looked at the paper once before you started pushing buttons and whatnot.

 

MITCH: Yesterday was an easier group. Less info to go through.

 

LUCAS: Still.

 

MITCH: Still what?

 

LUCAS: I’ve never seen you go this slow.

 

MITCH: You’ve been here less than a week.

 

LUCAS: Still.

 

MITCH: Still what?

 

LUCAS: I just thought you had to go faster.

 

MITCH: I thought you had to talk less.

 

LUCAS: I only wanted to see if everything was alright.

 

MITCH: I’m fine.

 

LUCAS: Or maybe if you needed any help, or - 

 

MITCH: I don’t.

 

LUCAS: Okay. (Pause.) So, how was your weekend?

 

MITCH: Just keep reading your manual.

 

LUCAS: Okay.

 

Lucas resumes reading his manual. Mitch refocuses on the console. Lucas begins to yawn, distracting Mitch.

 

MITCH: What’d I tell you about that?

 

LUCAS: (Yawning.) Sorry, sorry.

 

MITCH: You’ve gotta learn to hold that in. We’re not getting paid to sit here and yawn.

 

LUCAS: It’s hard to stop once you’ve started.

 

MITCH: It’ll be harder for you if I have to come over there. Now stop. That shit’s contagious.

 

LUCAS: Are you sure you’re alright? You seem a little agitated.

 

MITCH: I am agitated.

 

LUCAS: You know what I think? (No response. Mitch drinks from his cup.) I think you’re agitated because you have to read that in the dark. It’s too dark in here.

 

MITCH: The lights have to go down when the console’s running.

 

LUCAS: Maybe they should give us little headlamps so we can read better. I can’t even read what’s in my manual. It’s giving me a headache.

 

MITCH: Drink your coffee or something, okay? Push through it. You talking is holding us up.

 

LUCAS: Sorry. (He drinks from his cup and grimaces at it. He squints at his manual.) Hey, listen to this. (No response.) Says right here that I’m not supposed to talk while the console’s running. You were right.

 

MITCH: I know I was right, goddammit, be quiet!

 

LUCAS: Sorry! (Then, quieter.) Sorry. (Pause. Lucas starts to yawn. Mitch glares at him. Lucas swallows the yawn. Then, in a whisper.) Sorry.

 

Mitch returns focus to the console. With a few more adjustments, the backlight behind the panel sharpens, clearly defining the silhouette of a sexless human figure. Mitch places a hand over the microphone while he makes a notation on the paper.

 

MITCH: Got ‘em. (Lucas claps. Mitch scowls at him again. Lucas stops. Mitch carefully retrieves a flask from within his suit. He pours a bit of alcohol into his coffee then returns the flask. He takes a sip. Mitch clears his throat and uncovers the mic, angling it towards himself. He speaks in a calming, flat baritone.) Good evening.

 

Note: Silhouette characters are performed as recorded V.O. Unless otherwise specified, silhouette characters speak in a flat monotone, as if sedated or in a trance. While talking to a silhouette, Mitch will periodically mark and notate his paper.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Good evening.

 

MITCH: How are we tonight?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: There are ups and downs.

 

MITCH: How’s the weather?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: It goes up and it goes down.

 

MITCH: Looks like we’ve been seeing a lot of rain recently.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: It goes down.

 

MITCH: It sure does. We don’t mind the rain too much, though, do we?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Mind? Rain? Not so much.

 

MITCH: In fact, we’d say we prefer the rain, don’t we?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Rain. Beautiful thing, rain. Droplets on droplets on droplets. Against the pane of a window. Pitter patter against the crash of thunder against the strike of lighting. Symphony. Symphonic. Beautiful, beautiful -

 

MITCH: We don’t go out much, right?

    

Pause.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: No.

 

MITCH: We like to stay inside?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Inside. Yes.

 

MITCH: We like rain because it is a good excuse to stay inside?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Yes.

 

LUCAS: Is that all on the paper?

 

Mitch covers the mic.

 

MITCH: Shh!

 

LUCAS: Sorry.

    

Mitch uncovers the mic.

 

MITCH: We’re a homebody. That’s fine. Going outside is stressful, right?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Our body is at home. Outside is stressful.

 

MITCH: Sure is, but we can’t stay home all the time, can we?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: No. We wish.

 

MITCH: We need to go out for some things, right?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Some things.

 

MITCH: Food.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Food.

 

MITCH: Groceries.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Groceries. Food.

 

MITCH: We leave the house for groceries. Too expensive to order, isn’t it? Looks like we’re on a budget?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Leave. Groceries. Budget. Have to shop on the weekends, no time during the week with work and all, have to shop the cheap stuff, my pay is - 

 

MITCH: We’re at the store. We’ve just arrived. What are we getting?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: There’s so many aisles.

 

MITCH: Focus. Where do we go first?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We have a list. We always have a list.

 

MITCH: Perfect, what’s first on the list?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We don’t know?

 

MITCH: Remind us.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: It’s alphabetical.

 

MITCH: What’s first?

 

LUCAS: Apple.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Apple?

    

Mitch covers the mic.

 

MITCH: What the hell are you doing?

 

LUCAS: I’m trying to help!

 

MITCH: Let them answer, would you? (Mitch uncovers the mic.) Do we like apples?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: They’re alright.

 

MITCH: Okay, we have apples in our cart. What else? 

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We need milk.

 

MITCH: What kind?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Skim. We need eggs.

 

MITCH: What kind?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Eggs. Brown. Twenty-four count, if we can.

 

MITCH: Perfect. That’s a lot of eggs, isn’t it? We must really like eggs, right?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: It’s easy to cook with eggs. We’re good on bread, we think.

 

MITCH: Skip the bread. What is our favorite food?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Favorite food.

 

MITCH: What food can we not go without?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We don’t know?

 

MITCH: Remind us.

 

    Pause.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We miss dad’s cooking.

 

MITCH: Dad’s cooking. Huh. What’d dad cook?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We don’t know?

 

    Mitch takes a second and rubs his temples.

 

LUCAS: You ok-?

 

    MInch holds out a hand to silence him. Lucas cuts himself off.

 

MITCH: Remind us.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Dad cooked goulash.

 

MITCH: Goulash, of course. (He covers the mic.) What the hell is goulash?

 

LUCAS: Are you asking me?

 

MITCH: Yes.

 

LUCAS: I don’t know. Sounds gross. Isn’t that what they feed prisoners?

 

MITCH: No, that’s gruel.

 

LUCAS: This all sounds gross.

 

MITCH: Screw it. (He uncovers the mic.) Goulash. Just the best.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Goulash.

 

MITCH: Yes. So, remind us, what was in -

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Goulash. 

 

MITCH: Yes.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Goulash night was once a week. Dad would come home and say “it’s goulash night!”. My brother and I would light up. Goulash was like pizza night for us.

 

MITCH: Brother. How old is he now?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Twenty-four.

 

MITCH: Marital status?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Single.

 

MITCH: Continue.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Dad only made goulash when he had a particularly good day at work. As we got older, it became once a month. Then maybe once a quarter. Then it was almost never goulash night. He was too tired.

 

MITCH: And now?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Dead.

 

MITCH: Excellent. So, this goulash made us happy?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Yes. Dad’s goulash.

 

MITCH: What was in it?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: It was a secret recipe.

 

MITCH: We don’t know?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: There were noodles…meat…a sauce…spices.

 

MITCH: We have to have seen him make it.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: No. We wanted to keep the secret alive.

 

Mitch covers the mic and makes a few notes on his paper.

 

MITCH: If pappy loved his kids he would’ve written down the damn recipe.

 

LUCAS: Can I try something?

 

MITCH: No.

 

    Mitch uncovers the mic.

 

MITCH: Noodles. What kind?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Rigatoni…no, macaroni.

 

MITCH: Meat. What kind?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Chicken…no, beef.

 

MITCH: Ground or steak?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Ground.

 

MITCH: A-ha! Now, what was in the sauce?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We don’t know.

 

MITCH: Guess.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: We don’t have a clue.

 

MITCH: Gun to your head.

 

    Pause.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Love?

 

    Mitch is exasperated by the answer. He covers the mic.

 

MITCH: (To Lucas.) Standby. (Lucas holds a hand over the button on his desk. Mitch uncovers the mic.) One more question. How satisfied are we with the R.E.M. Assist V2?

 

SILHOUETTE 1: The what?

 

MITCH: The headset.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Oh.

 

MITCH: Scale of one to five.

 

SILHOUETTE 1: Five.

 

Mitch rips the top paper off the ream and sticks it in the “Out” box. He covers the mic with one hand and with the other he snaps his finger and points to Lucas.

 

LUCAS: Now?

 

MITCH: Yes.

 

LUCAS: The manual says to wait for the signal of the day.

 

MITCH: That was it!

 

LUCAS: Oh! Good, no one told me or anything. You know my shift only just started, is there a place to check for that, or -?

 

MITCH: Hit the goddamn button!

 

Lucas quickly hits the button on his desk. The backlights behind the panel instantly turn off with a pop. The mechanical hum slows to a stop. The panel becomes opaque. Overhead lights rise.

 

LUCAS: Did I do good?

 

MITCH: No.

 

LUCAS: No?

 

MITCH: You can’t talk while I’m working.

 

LUCAS: When am I supposed to talk?

 

MITCH: If I had my way, never. 

 

LUCAS: That doesn’t seem fair. I can’t help it if something comes out.

 

MITCH: I did it. I didn’t say a word when I used to sit there. All you have to do is hit the button when I tell you.

 

LUCAS: I could do more than that.

 

MITCH: No, you can’t.

 

LUCAS: But - 

 

MITCH: You can’t. 

 

LUCAS: (Surrendering.) Alright. (Small pause.) You ever wonder what they’re doing? Like, if they’re just laying there in bed or if they’re mouths are moving or -?

 

MITCH: I don’t think about it.

 

LUCAS: Really? I’m just wondering if -

 

A gentle chime is heard from an intercom system. Both men stop talking and look to the ceiling. A voice comes over the intercom.

 

INTERCOM: Session A-M-O-1-0-1-1. Operator Mitch. We were focused on, uhh, let’s see here…food preferences from the user. We managed to get, uhh…goulash. Great. Good job trying to break down the ingredients list for us there, but it definitely came at the cost of your, uhh, pace. Took us a little while to get there.There were also several, uhh, missed opportunities we noted. The user mentioned they enjoyed the rain which is something that could have been prodded, but we sort of cut them off there. Umbrella style preference, for instance. We also could have capitalized a bit more on how the, uhh, user felt about their father’s death. Were they seeking counseling, how recently did dad die, was he buried or cremated, how did they feel about their own mortality, that sort of thing. Death in the family is a, uhh, gold mine so to speak. Plenty of, uhh, missed opportunities. We want to keep up the pace but we won’t knock points for going, uhh, above and beyond.

 

    Mitch sighs and nods.

 

LUCAS: (To the ceiling.) We’ll get ‘em next time!

 

MITCH: They can’t hear you.

 

INTERCOM: Overall performance, we’re looking at, uhh, six out of eleven. Just remember that pace, Operator. We’ve been slipping. Overall user base has been getting larger so we all have to come together to exceed our goals and, uhh, pick up the pace. Optimize. Strategize. Synergy. You get the picture. Let’s finish up that stack before we leave.

 

MITCH: (To himself.) Goddammit.

 

INTERCOM: Operator Lucas. (Pause.) Good job on this one. We hit the button like a champ. Good reflexes, good form. Keep up the good work, new guy. Ten out of ten. Let’s get back to it, Operators.

 

Another chime plays the intercom out. Mitch downs the rest of his coffee.

 

LUCAS: You hear that? Ten out of ten! (Mitch gets up in a huff with his cup and starts to exit.) Where are you going?

 

MITCH: (Offstage.) Coffee!

 

LUCAS: Can I have some too?

 

MITCH: (Offstage.) Get it yourself!

 

LUCAS: The manual says one of us has to be at our station at all - (Mitch stomps back in, crosses to Lucas’ desk, takes his cup, and exits again.) - thank you. (He revels.) Ten out of ten! (He leans forward, accidentally pressing the button with his elbow. The machine fires off with an electric pop, startling him.) Shit!

 

Mitch reenters.

 

MITCH: What was that?

 

LUCAS: I sneezed.