INT. UPSCALE BAR – NIGHT
Long tables are arranged into a rectangular pattern. Chairs line both the inside and outside of this rectangle. The inner and outer circles are segmented into gender, females on the inside, males on the outside. A woman in a nice red dress (I don’t know how to describe clothing. Trust me, it’s a nice dress. If you saw it you’d be all “oh wow, nice dress.” Take my word for it) holds a stopwatch in one hand and a microphone in the other. For anyone who has had the fortune of never going to a speed dating event, it’s a speed dating event. The woman in the red dress (Sophie) clicks her stopwatch.
The men on the outer ring stand up and shift over to the seat on their left. One guy anxiously tries to keep talking to the woman he was seated in front of. She’s dismissive. Typical Carl. Why you gotta play them like that, Carl?
CARL: I give great massages, I swear.
DARRYL: Sorry bud. You know how the game goes. [He points to the woman to his left] She looks nice, why don’t you tell her about your hands too?
CARL: One of these days it’s gonna be Carl’s turn. [He moves on in a huff]
[Darryl sits down in front of Karine.]
SOPHIE: AND BEGIN!
DARRYL: Nice to meet you. I’d offer to shake hands, but I can’t hold a candle to Carl. I’m no masseur. Is talking about yourself in third person the new thing?
KARINE: Let’s say it is and you’re on strike one. I’m Karine.
DARRYL: Harsh pitch. I’m-
KARINE: Darryl, right?
DARRYL: [Flinching] Well that was half past odd. How’d you know that?
KARINE: Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you. That is how I know you. Go on…
DARRYL: I just realised how creepy so many love songs can be. Context is everything I guess. Wait, that was really unsettling, how’d you know my name?
KARINE: Dude, you told Hilda to my left all of two minutes ago. We’re next to each other, of course I’m eavesdropping on everyone. You work in a factory that produces pickled onions, right?
DARRYL: Oh no, not at all. I make up a new profession for every person I talk to. Just for you, I’m an elocution coach for birds.
KARINE: I bet she was wondering how you hadn’t killed yourself yet.
DARRYL: Rough. I bet those factory workers have a real canning-do attitude.
KARINE: Ugh. Strike two.
DARRYL: And here I thought I was knocking them out of the park.
KARINE: You’re not my type anyway.
KARINE: Yeah, I’m more into the factory worker archetype.
DARRYL: Oh shoot, that gal Hilda to your left was just talking to one. Cute dude, nice butt. You just missed him.
KARINE: Guess I’ll keep waiting for my ‘Jack’ then.
[Darryl stands up, leans onto the table]
DARRYL: Nice meeting you Karine. By the way, that Titanic thing you did earlier, SUPER creepy.
KARINE: Didn’t you kind of love it though?
DARRYL: [Smiles] Of course. Everyone has a type, right?
[Darryl turns to his left. Carl is still seated. The woman and he are wide-eyed, engaged in avid conversation. Darryl gestures towards Carl].
DARRYL: See, everyone. Who doesn’t love a massage?
[Darryl pats Carl on the back and grabs a chair away from the group, allowing Carl to stay seated.]
KARINE: [Calling out] That is a nice butt. See you in my dreams. [Winks]
(For no reason other than running out of time. I had no particular goal with this except for shoehorning in that creepy Titanic thing. See yoose tomorrow.)