“Why The Hell Do I Feel Guilty?” A Play in One Act
HOMELESS DUDE: Has been sitting outside of the same restaurant every single day for years; always asks for change in same entitled, surly tone.
JIVE TURKEY: Works close to the restaurant and sometimes stops there for lunch; often gives money to HOMELESS DUDE; once saw HOMELESS DUDE racing to catch the bus at 5pm and wondered what in hell a homeless man could be late for; notices that HOMELESS DUDE does not work this corner on the weekends; has also noticed that HOMELESS DUDE always has a warm coat and clean-looking clothes and is never carrying any of his belongings with him; has pondered the fact that if HOMELESS DUDE took 3 steps to his right and filled out a few forms, he could actually be working INSIDE the restaurant where they would provide him with money and one free meal per shift – a shift that likely doesn’t last as long as the 10 hours he spends outside on the steps each day.
Setting: Outside the restaurant, 1:15pm, two days ago.
Lights up. JIVE TURKEY exits restaurant with her usual lunch – steamed vegetables & rice – chosen for its nutritional value and the fact that it costs under $5, because JIVE TURKEY is conscientious about not squandering the money that she earns by working 40 hours in an office each goddamn week of her life. HOMELESS DUDE looks up from the paper he is reading.
HOMELESS DUDE: Have any change?
JIVE TURKEY: (Having just given HOMELESS DUDE a dollar a few days previous, but still not wanting to be rude) Uh, no, sorry – I didn’t get any.
HOMELESS DUDE: (Rolls eyes, mutters with sarcasm) Yeah, right.
JIVE TURKEY continues walking to her office, feeling guilty for not giving – GIVING – her hard-earned money to a man simply because HE ASKED FOR IT.
When it comes to guilt, the mothers of the world have nothing on you, sir.
Entry filed under: Taste my Backhand.