Spotlighting - Part 3 of 4

LUCAS: Did I do good that time?

MITCH: Are you kidding? You hesitated again. When I say hit the button, you hit the button. 

LUCAS: You didn’t do the signal!

MITCH: What?

LUCAS: The signal. The, uh - (He snaps and points.) - signal.

MITCH: Now you’re telling me how to do my job?

LUCAS: No, I just - 

The intercom chime plays. Both men look to the ceiling.

 

MITCH: Here it comes.

INTERCOM: Case S-L-I-0-3-1-7. Operator Mitch. (They sigh.) Well, where to begin? This was a simple one. Newer user. It looks like we got cut short before we could get too much data, so we didn’t do much to expand the user profile from what we extracted. We all know how much of a pain it is to have to terminate the session when we see those red lights pop up, regulations and all, but we still want to keep trying to get as much as we can whenever we can. Also, we want to make sure we’re not telling users what they want. Muddies up the data. Makes it harder for the next operator. They already know what they want, we just have to get them to tell us.

MITCH: They were drunk, I needed to hold their hand.

INTERCOM: If you’d like to submit an appeal on this performance review, please note that it’ll take up to ten business days to process, okay? Now, since you got some info, we’re going to, uhh, reroute this user back to your queue on his next use, so you’ll have to be on call for that, okay? We’re going to try and expand info on alcohol preferences in the eighteen to twenty-five demographic. We also failed to ask how he was enjoying his R.E.M. Assist V2 at the end there. Altogether, we lost control of the conversation and we’ve rated your performance as a five out of eleven. Control’s important for the, uhh, pace. So, don’t forget that. Don’t rush, don’t uhh, lead them, let them take their time, but keep up the pace. (Pause.) Okay? The pace?

LUCAS: Do you have to respond?

MITCH: No.

    Pause.

INTERCOM: One more thing, Operator. The signal. We forgot the signal at the end. You always have to signal properly when making directions to your co-Operator. As a favor, we won’t mark it against you this time. Now, Operator Lucas…we always want to make sure we wait for that signal before terminating the session. That’s, uhh, page two, paragraph four of the manual. But since Operator Mitch failed to execute the signal, we had to make a split decision when those warning lights came on. We should be proud of ourselves, Operator Lucas. We saved a life tonight. Great instinct under pressure. That’s some of the best button pressing we’ve seen this quarter, uhh, according to our records. Ten out of ten. Let’s load up the next user, guys. 

Another chime plays the intercom out.

 

LUCAS: I think I might be a natural. (Mitch scowls and drinks his coffee before reading over the next sheet in the stack.) Hey, what’s got you so down? We saved a life, did you hear?

MITCH: Oh, I heard.

LUCAS: And think on the bright side. When you have to talk to that guy again, you won’t be starting from scratch. You’ve got something on file. Can’t put the toothpaste back in the tube, right? Isn’t that what we say?

Mitch continues reading the sheet as he retrieves his flask, pouring a bit more alcohol into his cup.

MITCH: Drink your coffee. 

    Lucas sips his coffee and grimaces.

 

LUCAS: You know, I could use a little something more in my -

MITCH: No. 

Lucas drinks more coffee.

 

LUCAS: Say, why’s my evaluation out of ten and yours is out of eleven?

MITCH: Shooting desk is always out of ten. Spotlighting desk is out of eleven because… (He thinks, then with a pang of pride.) Because there’s more responsibility. It’s more difficult. Higher expectations. Read your goddamned manual for once.

LUCAS: Wait, the what desks?

MITCH: (Pointing to Lucas.) Shooting. (Pointing to his own desk.) Spotlighting. I set up the spotlight, you take the shot.

LUCAS: I don’t remember anyone calling it that.

MITCH: The manual calls it “extraction” and “termination”...or maybe it’s “harvesting” and “execution”...some bullshit like that.

LUCAS: (Laughs.) I didn’t know it was really called anything.

MITCH: You have no clue what it is we’re doing, do you?

LUCAS: Not really. I just hit the button and get my paycheck, man. (He thinks.) I mean, we’re helping these people, right?

MITCH: Think so?

LUCAS: I mean…aren’t we?

    Mitch offers a bitter smile.

 

MITCH: C’mere.

LUCAS: Why?

MITCH: Just c’mere with your cup. (Lucas crosses to Mitch with his cup. Mitch retrieves his flask and gestures with it. He speaks almost affectionately.) This is because you’re a simpleton.

    He pours a splash of alcohol into Lucas’ cup.

LUCAS: Eh, I’ll take it.

MITCH: I wouldn’t mind going back on the shooting desk myself, you know.

LUCAS: Don’t you get paid more at your desk, though? More responsibilities and whatnot?

MITCH: A little more. Cents on the dollar. Gets you closer to moving up to the intercom. Or, that’s what they tell me.

LUCAS: What’s above the intercom?

MITCH: Uh…sales, I think.

LUCAS: How does that work?

MITCH: I don’t know.

LUCAS: Better start improving your evals, then. 

MITCH: I’ve been here for five years, you know. Two at shooting, three at spotlighting. I was here when we still had the V1s. That was before the thing would flash red when someone was about to puke or if there was a fire. That’s all the government’s suggestions. I’ve gotten all sorts of shit out of all sorts of people and I’ve never gotten higher than a six out of eleven. I’ve never even seen what - (pointing to the ceiling.) - that sonofabitch looks like. 

LUCAS: Well, when I’m promoted, you’ll know exactly whose voice it is. (Mitch starts to laugh. Lucas joins in.) What? What’s funny?

MITCH: I’ll be dead by the time that happens! (Lucas stops laughing. He finishes off his drink again and holds out his cup for more. Mitch pours a little alcohol in and settles down.) Oh, that was good. What were we doing? (He notices the next sheet.) Oh, shit, right.

    Mitch returns his focus to the sheet.

LUCAS: Why do you call it that anyway?

Mitch does not look up from the sheet as he begins manipulating his console.

MITCH: What?

LUCAS: Spotlighting and shooting or whatever.

    Mitch looks up from the console and eyes Lucas briefly.

MITCH: You ever go hunting?

LUCAS: Like, animal hunting? With a gun?

MITCH: Mhm.

LUCAS: No.

Mitch continues to manipulate the console as he speaks, going slowly, methodically. The overhead lights begin to dim. The machine hums to life. The backlights behind the panel shift slowly bringing the next silhouette in and out of focus. 

MITCH: What do you think the most frustrating thing is when you’re trying to hunt?

LUCAS: I don’t know. Mosquitos?

MITCH: No. It’s when the prey spots you and gets away. Animals aren’t stupid. They can hear you coming from a mile away if you’re not careful. Takes a lot of practice and know-how to stay undetected. Sometimes, you can get right up within shooting range but they’ll spot you and book it. My dad, though, taught me a trick. We only ever went out hunting in the middle of the night and we’d always bring a huge flashlight with us. The flashlight was my responsibility. We’d stand and wait out there in the dark and I’d shine the light slowly back and forth across the tree line or a clearing. I was kind of like a little lighthouse. My dad would wait right behind me with his rifle, quiet, still. I’d shine that light back and forth until it caught the eyes of something. Mostly rabbits or deer, sometimes a fox or a raccoon. If I was lucky, I’d catch their eyes first. Two tiny, glowing dots out there in the thicket. I wasn’t sure what it was, but that light stopped them in their tracks. They’d be completely entranced. They couldn’t help but stare, soak it in. To them, that damn flashlight is alien, a marvel. They stand there like statues. “Begging to be shot”, is what my dad would say. While they stood there, he’d creep forward just enough to get a good and clean shot. It was easy. It was…cruel. I told myself for a long time I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just holding a flashlight in the woods. The light didn’t hurt them, no. They liked the light, I thought. 

LUCAS: You thought?

MITCH: Turns out, it just blinds them. They’re not moving because they’re just trying to get their senses back. Enough time to take a shot. Hesitate for too long or give them too much leeway and they’re out of there. You have to shoot them quick and get what you need from what’s left. My dad said a good hunter doesn’t throw anything away, uses every part of the animal for something. When I was young, I just thought it was so that the animal couldn’t be forgotten. Nowadays I think “forgotten” might be better sometimes.

LUCAS: Jesus Christ.

MITCH: What?

LUCAS: Is any of that even legal?

MITCH: Who’s going to tell? Does the deer know it’s been spotlighted?    

The intercom chime plays.

INTERCOM: Operators, can we pick up the pace, please? We did not authorize a break.

MITCH: (Mocking, frustrated, to himself.) Pace, pace, pace, pace.

LUCAS: Careful, now. I think they can - 

MITCH: (To the ceiling.) You can take your pace and shove it up your ass!

    Lucas winces. Pause.

INTERCOM: Uhh, Operator Mitch? Can we actually have you, uhh, come up to the third floor, please? You’ll be instructed on what to do once you’re there. Turn off your station and we’ll go ahead and clock you out. 

LUCAS: They can definitely hear us.

MITCH: No, they can’t, it’s an intercom.

Mitch manipulates his console a bit. The machine powers down, the backlights go out, and the overhead lights come back to full. He stands, retrieves his flask, takes a sip from it directly, then puts it on his desk.

LUCAS: What’s on the third floor?

MITCH: Reprimandings.

 

LUCAS: The whole floor?

MITCH: Might as well be.

    Mitch begins his exit.

 

LUCAS: Hey.

 

MITCH: What?

 

LUCAS: Look on the bright side. Maybe it’s a surprise promotion?

 

    Pause. Mitch scowls at Lucas then points to his flask.

 

MITCH: Don’t touch that.

 

    Mitch exits. Pause.

 

LUCAS: What an asshole. No wonder he’s not on the intercom yet. I’ll definitely get promoted faster than him. (To the ceiling.) I’ve got a good voice for the intercom, too. (He imitates the Intercom voice and mimes speaking into a microphone.) Operator Lucas, that’s going to be a, uhh, ten out of ten. The hundredth one this week. Really knockin’ ‘em out of the park. You’re being promoted to C.E.O. (He laughs.) Nah, that’s stupid. They can’t even hear me. (Pause. To the ceiling, projecting.) They can’t even hear me.

 

Pause. He waits for a response but there is none. He crosses to Mitch’s desk like before and tries to take another pass at the top sheet. He still can’t seem to make sense of it. He disregards the paper and picks up the flask. He takes a small, trepid sip. Then another. He takes another look at the top sheet. He sits down, studying it and sipping from the flask. 

 

LUCAS (Cont.).  Oh, wait a minute…okay, I think I get it. (He rips off the top sheet and begins manipulating the console and drinking.) Let’s see here…(He manipulates the console more deliberately. The machine hums to life. The overhead lights begin to dim and the backlights focus on a silhouette relatively quickly, surprising him.) Oh, damn. (He clears his throat and speaks into the mic.) Is this thing on?

 

SILHOUETTE 4: Hello?

 

LUCAS: Oh, uh…good evening.

 

SILHOUETTE 4: Good evening. 

 

Lucas looks over the paper, but loses his place in the dim light.

LUCAS: H-how’s it going?

SILHOUETTE 4: I’m well. 

    Lucas finds his place.

LUCAS: A-ha! Easy. This is easy.

SILHOUETTE 4: What’s easy?

LUCAS: What’re you wearing?

SILHOUETTE 4: What?

LUCAS: Tell me what you’re wearing…or, uh… (He looks at the paper again.) What you like to wear.

SILHOUETTE 4: Why would I do that?

LUCAS: What do you mean why? You’re just supposed to tell me what you like to wear. Like, clothes or whatever.

SILHOUETTE 4: Why do you want to know?

LUCAS: Well, I don’t want to know. I don’t give a hoot. It’s on the paper is all. I’m just supposed to ask. Now c’mon, I don’t have a lot of time. 

SILHOUETTE 4: What paper? (Pause. Lucas realizes his mistake too late. The silhouette breaks their trance.) What paper?

LUCAS: Um…

SILHOUETTE 4: Wait a minute, where am I?

    Lucas covers the mic and scours the sheet.

LUCAS: What’d I do wrong? How the hell does he do this?

SILHOUETTE 4: Hello?

    Lucas uncovers the mic.

LUCAS: Yep, still here, just give me a sec. (He covers the mic again and strains to think of something, reading over the paper and drinking from the flask frantically. Suddenly, he has an idea. He uncovers the mic.) Let’s start over, alright?

SILHOUETTE 4: I’d like to go.

LUCAS: Ah, ah. We’d like to go. 

SILHOUETTE 4: We’d like to go.

LUCAS: But not yet, okay? We just need to know a few things. Right?

    Pause.

 

SILHOUETTE 4: Just a few things to know. 

LUCAS: (Relieved.) Good! Good. Right, so…what are we wearing right now?

SILHOUETTE 4: We’re not wearing anything. Nude. We sleep in the nude. 

LUCAS: Oh! That’s, uh…something, I guess. (Correcting himself.) We guess. (He uses Mitch’s pen to make a mark on the paper.) Okay, so, we wake up and we’re ready to start the day, what clothes do we put on?

SILHOUETTE 4: We sleep naked because…

    Pause.

 

LUCAS: Because?

SILHOUETTE 4: We got new sheets. Six-hundred thread count. We can’t go back to sheets with a lower thread count. These sheets are too comfortable. Comfortable enough to sleep with no clothes. If we ever sleep on lesser sheets, we can tell. Our mind can tell the difference now.

LUCAS: But what about when we’re outside around people? What do we wear? Are we into sweaters all the time or cargo shorts or -?

SILHOUETTE 4: Whenever we happen to sleep on thread counts less than six hundred, and we can tell, we have nightmares. Nightmares about falling. We can’t sleep. Every hour or so we wake up. Cold sweat. Falling, falling, then waking up right as we hit the ground. Sometimes the falling feels like forever. What if we never hit the ground? Do we die? Do we die on the bad sheets? Or do we just go numb? Never realize we’re falling?

Lucas tries to keep up by marking the sheet but gives up in frustration.

LUCAS: Christ, alright…well, we’re not having a nightmare now, right? We’re on the good sheets?

SILHOUETTE 4: No, no nightmares. This is different. We have this dream sometimes. Where we talk to ourselves. 

LUCAS: This is taking too long.

SILHOUETTE 4: We’re lucid dreamers. We can manipulate every part of our dream. In fact, we’re going to fly. Right now. (Pause.) Why isn’t it working?

LUCAS: Gosh, we don’t know. We’re just going to write down that you like jeans and we’ll move on.

SILHOUETTE 4: (Breaking trance.) This isn’t a dream, is it?

LUCAS: Nope. (Lucas tries to take another drink but the flask is empty. He tries to stand, but wobbles on his feet, drunk.) Uh-oh.

Lucas sloppily marks the sheet with a large “X” and places it in the “Out” box. 

SILHOUETTE 4: Where am I?

LUCAS: I’m forgetting something…oh! Do you like your headset thing?

SILHOUETTE 4: My what?

LUCAS: Good enough.

Lucas performs the signal for himself, pointing towards his desk. He crosses to his desk.

SILHOUETTE 4: Where am I? Where the hell -?

Lucas presses his button. The backlights behind the panel turn off, the silhouette disappears, the panel becomes opaque, and the mechanical hum slows to a stop. Overhead lights rise. He holds his head, dizzy.

 

LUCAS: Oh, god. (The intercom chime plays.) Oh, god. 

 

INTERCOM: Case M-E-Y-0-5-0-2. Operator…(Surprised.) Lucas.

LUCAS: Yeah?

INTERCOM: How’s everything, uhh, going down there?

LUCAS: I think I’m - 

INTERCOM: We don’t have word that Operator Mitch is back from his, uhh, meeting, but we see that a docking procedure was initialized and completed.

LUCAS: Yep. That was me.

INTERCOM: We have reason to believe that was, uhh, you, Operator Lucas.

LUCAS: (Drowsy.) Mhm.