||[14 Feb 2005|05:53pm]
[My attempt at writing cliche love drama. I'm inspired by misery. It fuels talent.]
Enter Soebina and Charlie. Soebina - Persian female, 26 with blonde streakes in her otherwise black hair, rough skinned, tall and bony. She wears a dark grey cloak with no buttons, over a black turtleneck, black trousers with white dots, and mahogany coloured patent leather square-toed high heels. Her body is tolerable looking, but a dark and ugly face to top it is necessary.
Charlie - medium height, 23, mousy brown hair and an enduringly serious expression, can have any sort of bone structure, so long as he has wide facial features, and an abnormally square jaw. His hair is done with great attention to detail, perhaps some yellow highlights added to the actor's hair. I want him to look very refined, but his clothes to be simple: a plain white t-shirt or a plaid shirt made of ridiculously flaky fabric. His pants are improperly short for him, even though he's a bit short anyways, wears sturdy uninteresting shoes that take the focus back to his face. His shoes almost say he's the manager and spends all his time at this job and has no time to go shopping for anything that looks half decent. Either that or he just does not think anyone worthy of concern is going to meet him at the Glaciers' Candy and Ice Cream Shop in Northern Kentucky Int'l Airport.
She opens her briefcase on a box of candy only to look in her notebook and check for the time. In a mad dash of necessity, she uses the candy bulk boxes as a desk for her laptop. As one usually finds when one is in an a hurry, only the most disastrous consequences possible can occur from placing fragile items in slanted postures. So as her briefcase is falling back at her and closing on her face, "Can I help you madame?" he asks quite pompously with his arms folded from in back of the ice cream bar. An entirely serious expression is on his face. One cannot see an ounce amusement or displeasure. He thinks he's doing his job. He's always doing his job. And he does it to the best of his ability, because when he's doing his job, he's only doing his job. And he's great at it. He thinks he's a professional candy salesperson (and it's hilarious to all but him).
"Wuh-uh. Yeah. Uh. No. No...No," she says assertively closing the laptop, after the briefcase attacks her and falls on the floor. Everything has fallen on the floor by this point in time. She stands in vain with her hands on her hips. "Oooh. Umm," a little embarrassed but like usual hiding it in assertion, she walks up to the ice cream bar and suddenly realizes she recognizes the person behind it. "Ma'am, is there something you want?"
"You called Madame a minute ago."
"Well that is before I knew who it were. After I realized who you are, I realize I could never call You Madame."
"I'm a customer," she says.
"Right. Did you come here just to bother me?"
"No. I came here just to--just to buy ice cream."
"There are plenty of other ice cream parlors. Surely you didn't have to come he-"
"Not in this airport."
"Well you certainly didn't have to come to this airport, Sabbie."
"Don't call me Sabbie."
"Oh-kay," he pauses amused by her intensity and insistence, "Fine, so what would you like?"
"I don't know. What's the hardest thing to make?"
"Why are you making this so difficult?"
"I'm not making anything difficult. I'm just a customer. You're supposed to wait on me. Remember? Unless you've forgotten your job in your hatred for me. And I want the most difficult sundae to make." He glares at her and picks up a spoon, "Nothing is too difficult for me, [pause] except you,"
"I bet. So make the sundae and get on with it," she smiles viciously. He glares at her and kneeds the cake with the cream.
"I thought you're supposed to sing?"
"Yess--it says Singing Galateria on the promotional sign out there. Aren't you supposed to sing? I always thought that Glaciers' workers sang."
"You want me to sing to you?" he looks at her with a completely disgusted expression.
"Yes. I want you to sing. Sing. Now."
"You know what; I only sing for tips."
"Then you won't get my tip."
"I don't need your tip!" he places the cherry on top.
"Somehow I think I'm not getting the same treatment as the rest of the customers."
"Yah, think? Five o'eight, please," he looks with a deadpan expression.
"You didn't sing! I wanted you to sing."
"Sabbie--what do you want?"
"Don't--call-- me--Sabbie; that's not my name. My name is Soebina" she says vindictively.
"You didn't have a problem with it before."
"Yeah, that was when I knew you."
"Fine. Soebina, what are you doing in my candy shoppe?"
"I'm just buying an ice cream like anyone else."
"You're not like anyone else-" he stops and realizes he spoke too soon. She smiles and half curtseys.
"Thanks." he half-smiles in spite of himself.
"You're welcome," he bites his fat lip, "What happened?"
"Uhhhhhhh......You said such horrendous things about me!"
"Yeah, well you said horrendous things about me too."
"And they were all true. You are tyrannical!"
"I know. But Steven told me that it were endearing to you."
"It is endearing to me. I think it's sexy when a guy is an obnoxious tyrant."
"No, it's not sexy to you. You acted like you didn't like it. What didn't you like about it?" he starts to put away the utensils, and wash them. It's past closing time and all the workers have left.
"I don't necessarily think that being a tyrant is unattractive. It was that you were psychotically deranged too; that was the problem."
"I know I'm crazy. But sometimes being deranged is necessary in order to be tyrannical."
"No-it isn't. It was that you were a control freak and-- obsessive compulsion is indicative of mental illness. It's not healthy." He realizes he's washed the spoons in a manic obsessive compulsive fashion, and quickly puts them away furtively. He stares at her again, and puts down the doors on all the cases. He grabs the keys; and not even giving her the time to walk through the door, walks right past her. She scrambles to gather her belongings, enough to form them in an abbreviated luggage carrier outside the shop. He rolls down the door of the shop. He disregards her as he turns the other direction, picking up his absurdly neat satchel, and walks away. Not out of unfeeling does he do this, but because he no longer knows how to say what he wants to say. He no longer knows what he wants to say, or even if it should be said to her. She is left there wondering whether to say "I'm sorry" or "Wait," or anything that would make him stop. With every moment she thinks that the preceding moment was the last in which she had an opportunity to change anything, and she regrets with each passing moment that she did not know what she knew in the next. She keeps thinking to herself what it would be like, if she had the guts to say "Wait."
"So what should I do?" he would say, turning around.
"You need to give up fighting 'us.'"
"I know," not regarding the many times she fought with him, as it wouldn't serve any pertinence to the moment. "But why do I have to give up? Why can't you give up?"
"Because you're the man."
"That makes absolutely no sense."
"Of course it does. You're the man; therefore you have the power to give up. I don't."
"I don't actually have the power," he says. "You're just saying that so that I end up ceding more to you."
"That's exactly so," she would smile.
"So where do we go from here?"
"To the bagel shoppe," she says cleverly searching for an apt place ahead of time, as she could guess what was going to be on his mind (since really she was guessing it now).
But after the bagel shoppe, then what would they do? There would always be a point of unresolvable conflict. They would always hold a grudge against one another when it was all said and done. So it was best that they hadn't met, best that they never had known each other, best that they do not continue together. She reckons the only proper thing to say is nothing at all. She stares down at her ticket, and like one who feels she ought to be fully engaged in some overwhelming occupation, but is barred off from it by some technicality, she walks wastefully to the gate. Her best friend in New York would be saying, "What do you want with a candy store clerk anyway?!" They wouldn't understand.