Free This Is What Happens Next by Daniel MacIovr

On stage left is a chair, a pair of shoes beside the chair, a coat stand with a suit jacket hanging on it. On stage right a small table with a shelf below where a glass and a vodka bottle sit. These furniture pieces are placed near the edges of the playing space.
    ME enters the theatre through the audience wearing street clothes (a pink shirt). He carries a book and a venti Starbucks coffee. He makes his way toward the stage. The house lights remain up.
    ME
    I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry I’m late. That’s the first thing I say when I enter any room. I’m always late. Chronically late. Terminally late. And I’m really trying not to be late these days. I’m really trying not to be late because when I’m late I get annoyed and when I’m annoyed I get resentful and… well I don’t even want to think about where resentment gets me. Resentment is fatal. But here I am late. But it wasn’t my fault. That must be the slowest Starbucks in the city. In the country. And I’ve been around. Twenty minutes for a decaf grande soy latte? And this is not even a grande, it’s a venti—and we won’t even bother getting in to how that happened. Regardless I’m late. But it’s not my fault. It was these two women. I’m walking to the door of the Starbucks and there are these two women behind me chatting away and I think, “I’ll be the nice guy,” and I hold the door for them. And this is also a little annoying. I don’t need a thank you but a head nod might be nice. An acknowledgement of my existence. How hard is a head nod? How hard is that. I should probably be on the stage. I’ll go on the stage now.
    ME steps onto the stage. During the following he changes from his street shoes to the shoes that have been sitting near the chair. At one point he considers putting on the suit jacket but forgoes it, thinking it’s too formal. As he continues the house lights fade.
    So I know the deal. I let them in ahead of me and that means that they’re ahead of me and of course they order eight lattes. Eight? Don’t you have to call ahead for an order of that size?
(re: book)
This isn’t a Bible, by the way, it’s
The Story of Philosophy
by William Durant. It’s pretty good; I’m trying to expand my mind. What’s left of it.
    He puts the book on the shelf near the vodka.
    So I’m waiting. And so far I’m not overly annoyed. I get to order my decaf grande soy latte but of course there’s an eight latte backup so it’s going to be a while. But lucky for me the first two are made and the women are chatting away and sipping on them and one says to the other, “I can’t taste my flavour. Can you taste your flavour?” And the other one says, “No but I wasn’t going to say anything.” So the first woman says to the barrista guy making the latte’s, “Did you put the flavor shots in?” He says, “Yep.” She says, “Well I don’t taste anything.” And the guy says, “I’ll make you new ones.” What? Just like that? And he turns to me and says, “You’re not in a rush are you?” Well actually I am. Clearly. But when he asks me “You’re not in a rush are you?” I don’t say anything because I don’t want to sound annoyed. I just turn away and think about being late and try not to be annoyed. But then I realize not saying anything when he says “You’re not in a rush are you?” is a very annoyed thing to do, it’s downright rude. So I turn back to say something but the moment has passed and it’s too late to say anything. And so now I’m not only failing at not being annoyed I’m failing at hiding that I’m annoyed. So now I’m just officially waiting and annoyed. Meanwhile there’s this other