John is retiring from his job at the plant; Marty, Ed, Joan and “Pigs” (Allison) are co-workers who have gathered at the end of the dayshift to have a party. Marty paid for the party fare all by himself, unwisely because the plant is in danger of closing and all the workers have begun feeling the pinch. In the following scene, Ed pressures Pigs into having some more cake, as a way of showing Marty that his money was not wasted.
PIGS: Hey, John. Aren’t you eating your piece?
John gets up suddenly.
JOHN: Going to the can. I’ll be back. (Goes.)
Pigs, with only frosting on her plate, leans back with satiety.
PIGS: God, I need a gym.
ED: Another piece?
PIGS: Nah, I shouldn’t.
ED: You’d be helping us out.
PIGS: Let the other guys eat it.
ED: They don’t want any.
PIGS: Why?
ED: Because… (with a sideways glance at Marty) it’s Friday, and this is the time the cafeteria does fish and chips for all the hungry men and women working days. Besides, they’re not friends of John’s like we are. (He takes up the knife, begins cutting.)
PIGS: You guys have some then.
ED: We’ve had more than enough for guys our age. Anyway we like to see people enjoy. (He puts a piece of cake on a plate.)
PIGS (protesting weakly): Don’t give me that piece. John’s over there looks nice and small.
ED (switching her old plate with the new): That one’s for John. (He takes the old plate to the garbage.)
PIGS (frowning at her slice): That’s really big.
ED (turning around): So dig in!
PIGS: I’ll never finish.
JOAN: I’ll help.
ED (like an enthusiastic schoolteacher): There you go! That’s the way, Joan!
JOAN: I just like nibbling the little sugar flowers, but I’ll have the frosting if you don’t want it.
PIGS: She can have my piece.
JOAN: Oh no, I couldn’t. (softly, into her mug) I’d get fat.
PIGS (repelled by the cake now): I don’t want it.
ED: Come on now!
MARTY: She doesn’t like it, all right?
ED: Are you stupid or something?
MARTY: I must be, spending half my paycheck on a bum cake.
ED: She ate some!
MARTY: She’ll eat anything.
ED (to Pigs, confidingly): He’s not feeling too well. Don’t listen to him, P— Allison.
PIGS: No, that’s all right. He thinks I can’t hear him. He thinks I’m too stupid to stick up for myself. When I had my accident—driving home from his Christmas party—he didn’t give a shit about me. That was only three months ago. I never said I wouldn’t sue. I’ve been wearing this thing long enough, haven’t I? It’s not healing right for some reason. And what about those days I had to miss work? He better watch what he says to me. That’s all I’m saying. What if I decide I’ve had enough?
MARTY: You had your cake. So get the hell out of here.
PIGS: I was just going.
Struggling, she gropes for the crutch leaning sideways against the back of her chair. She lifts the crutch over her head and uses the rubber-tipped point to push away from the table, which she accomplishes haltingly, scraping the floor with the legs of the chair. She is slow getting her balance, as though she’d been sitting too long. The others just stare dumbly, like doctors or sleepy animals.
Joan can have my piece.
She takes a painful step in the direction John went.
Tell John I said bye. I wish it was me who was getting out of here.
She pauses at the edge of the scene; she turns to face them.
Oh yeah. And I’ve made up my mind about something. Ed, d’you think the foreman’s still here?
ED: You can try his office.
PIGS: Where’s that?
ED: Upstairs. You need to see him?
PIGS: I’ve got to do something, don’t I?
ED: We’ll tell John you said bye.
PIGS (turning to go): I hope he knows how lucky he is. (Goes.)
The men sigh heavily, almost in unison. Marty takes Pigs’ vacated chair while Ed poses melodramatically with his elbow on the microwave. Joan finds a magazine under a pizza box and opens it compulsively, turning the pages in a feint of reading.
ED: Marty, we’re his friends.
MARTY: Some things are more important.
ED: What are you talking about?
MARTY: What about surviving, huh? Should I starve just because we’re friends?
ED: Know what you sound like?
MARTY: A guy who’s got a right to be pissed, I should think.
ED: I mean what you just said. “Why should I starve?”…That’s cannibalism.
MARTY: Get out of here, Ed. I’m not thinking of eating anybody.
ED: No, but what you’re talking about ain’t much better.
MARTY: I’ve got a right to it.
ED: It was a gift! (Silence from Marty.) Was it a gift or wasn’t it? Marty?
Pause.
How much was it, Marty? How much did you spend?
MARTY (brokenly): All of it.
ED: You said only half—
MARTY: The wife paid the bills this week. I only got to see half of it.
ED: Should’ve taken the overtime. The guys are talking like that’s it.
MARTY: I didn’t want to.
ED: You didn’t?
MARTY: Ed, start helping me here, or else the chance will get away from me and then I’ll be hating myself.
ED: I—I’m trying, Marty, to keep you from a really big mistake.
MARTY: Meanwhile I got no gas in my car.
ED (amusedly): So how’d you get in this morning?
MARTY: On less than a quarter tank, all right? It’s getting home I’m nervous about.
ED: I’ll spot you the gas, Marty.
MARTY: No, Ed.
ED: Then tell the truth already.
MARTY: What?
ED: This isn’t about the money.
MARTY: How can you say that? I work for a living: everything in my life is about money.
ED: Some things are more important.
Joan clears her throat. She reaches self-consciously for her neck, indicating the sound was unintentional and insignificant. Nonetheless, the men are hushed as, swiftly and without a word, John walks in wearing his street clothes with a ratty knapsack over his shoulder and a pair of sneakers dangling from his hand. He pulls a chair out and immediately begins changing into the sneakers. Ed and Marty exchange uneasy looks, as there is something frantic about John’s movements. He puts his work shoes neatly beside his chair, and then leans back in the attitude of a passenger waiting at a bus station. Ed looks down nervously at his shoes. Joan begins turning the pages rapidly, stopping all of a sudden. There is a brief pause.
ED (continues): Time to punch out of this dump, eh, John?
The words have no visible effect, but at the same time something breaks inside John. His throat convulses, tears fill his eyes, and until the lights go down he weeps openly. Joan gets up with her mug and takes it to the sink. Ed moves quickly into her chair, as though stricken, and puts his elbows on the table. Marty is unchanged, staring dumbly at the things on the table.
The lights fade down.
2007 Winner
The Hart House One-Act Playwriting Contest