Elevator by Gail Parrish

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This Play is the copyright of the Author and may not be performed, copied or sold without the Author's prior consent

ELEVATOR - A One-Act Play

CHARACTERS:

BRUCE - A 35-year-old janitor. African-American.

CHARLES - A 37-year-old lawyer. White.

FLEMING - Building supervisor

TIME: The early 1990's

PLACE: The busy lobby of a large, urban courthouse at the start of
another work day. Waiting for the elevator are two men on their way
to work. CHARLES, an attorney, waits impatiently. He's impeccably
dressed and carries a briefcase. BRUCE, the building's janitor, is
also waiting for an elevator. He's dressed in his janitor's uniform
and carries a bucket with cleaning supplies. He appears relaxed.
CHARLES enters the elevator hurriedly. He pushes a button, then stands
near the elevator wall, glancing at his watch. BRUCE enters the
elevator behind CHARLES, who stares at the numbers above the door,
waiting for the elevator to start. He leans over BRUCE and
impatiently pounds the “door closing” button several times. The doors
finally close. All stage lights down except for those inside the
elevator. The elevator begins its ascent, with its two passengers
seemingly oblivious to each other. A signal bell rings as the
elevator passes each floor. Eight. . . nine. . . ten. . .eleven. . .

. Unnoticed by CHARLES, BRUCE moves his hand to the control panel.
Suddenly, there is a whirring noise, lights flicker, a loud thump,
then all is dark.

CHARLES: Damnit! I don't believe it! (Lights up)
It's stuck! (He hits floor buttons frantically)

BRUCE: Try the start button.

CHARLES: Whatdaya think I'm doing? Its dead! Everything's dead!

BRUCE: What about the alarm?

CHARLES: That's dead too

BRUCE: Must be the electricity.

CHARLES: The electricity wouldn't affect the alarm. Why the hell should that stop?

BRUCE: Try that box. . .

CHARLES: What box?

BRUCE: That box there. It opens up. . .

(Charles opens cover to emergency phone. Lifts and jiggles receiver.)

CHARLES: Hello! HELLLO!!! (He slams receiver down). I don't believe
this. This is not happening to me!! (He appeals to the heavens.) TELL
ME THIS IS NOT HAPPENING TO ME!! (Bruce snorts in amusement.)

BRUCE: To you! Ain't that some stuff. . .

CHARLES: Excuse ME?

BRUCE: You ain't the only one in here, you know.

CHARLES (under his breath) Oh, Jesus. . .

(Pause. Charles looks around, assessing the situation, then pounds his fist against the wall).

Damnit! Why today!?

BRUCE: Why not? It's as good as any.

CHARLES: Yeah. Right. . .

BRUCE: You got something real important, huh?

CHARLES: Only my whole future, that's all. Nothing too important. .

BRUCE: Tough breaks, Jack.

(Charles dials his phone).

CHARLES: Hello?? Yeah, well my emergency is I'm stuck in an elevator. . .Yes,
broken down. McKinley Courthouse. Yes. (To Bruce) What's the address
here?

BRUCE: One McKinley Place. . .

CHARLES: One McKinley Place. No. . . YES!! Somebody passed out. There's no air in here.
We can't breathe. Get somebody over here quick. I can't. I gotta make another call. Just get
somebody over here fast!!! (Charles dials again) Hello. Florence, let me speak to Carter.
No. Uh-huh. Okay, well listen. Would you believe I'm stuck in an elevator? I don't know.
Somewhere about the tenth floor, I guess. Yeah, I'm in the building. I called 'em already. Okay,
yeah. I don't know how long it'll take. Probably no more than a few minutes, but you know how
Jessip is. Right. Right. Yeah, tell him what happened. They can hold things for a few minutes.
Right. And tell Carter to stall Reynolds. Yeah, call me back right away. (Hangs up)

BRUCE: What time you gotta be there?

CHARLES: 9:30.

BRUCE: Aw, man, you got lotsa time. These elevators ain't never down for more than five,
ten minutes. You'll be outa here 'for you know it.

CHARLES: I need to be outa here now! Where're those maintenance people?
Aren't you a maintenance man?

BRUCE: Who me? Noooooo. . . . Most folks call me a janitor.

CHARLES: Well, you must know something about these elevators. Don't
you know how to get these things started?

BRUCE: Well, that depends.

CHARLES: On what?

BRUCE: On how bad I got to get somewhere. Or how bad somebody else does.

CHARLES: (Pause and recognition) Okay. I see now. (Raises his arms slowly) I knew
I hadn't seen you around the building. I only got fifty dollars on me.

BRUCE: You think. . . Wait a minute. (Laughs) You think I set this up? Man, I don't
believe this. You think I set this up to rob you?? YOU!?? Why in the world would I try to rob you?

CHARLES: Soooo. . . . what do you want, then?

BRUCE: Why I got to be the one wanting something? Did I ask you what YOU want? How I know you
didn't set this up to rob ME??

CHARLES: I just thought. . . when you said. . . .

BRUCE: I know what you thought.

CHARLES: You said you knew how to start the elevator.

BRUCE: I never said that. I said it depends. I was just messing with you, that's all.

CHARLES: Well, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mess with me anymore.

BRUCE: No problem.

Charles opens briefcase, begins shuffling through some papers.

BRUCE: They won't wait for you? Important man like you?

CHARLES: (distracted) What?

BRUCE: I said, seems like somebody'd wait for somebody as important as you.

CHARLES: Not today. Not this client. (pause) Why don't you use a screwdriver or something
and try to pry that door open?

BRUCE: Ain't got one.

CHARLES: Well, a knife then.

BRUCE: Nope.

CHARLES: You don't have anything you can use to pry that door?

BRUCE: Do I look like Mr. Fixit? I already told you I'm a janitor. I mop
floors. I don't carry no tools. (Charles sighs in disgust) Hey, it
ain't bothering me none. I could stay in here all day, it wouldn't
bother me. Didn't want to go to work today anyway. (Bruce laughs a
little. Takes an ipod out of his pocket, starts reviewing his music
then settles comfortably in a corner as hip-hop begins to play.)

CHARLES: Typical. . .

BRUCE: You say something, man? Hey, you got something to say, you say it l
oud enough so I can hear you. Don't be mumbling under your breath, and stuff.

CHARLES: (annoyed with the music) Lord! Don't you have earphones?

BRUCE: What?

CHARLES: EARPHONES!!!

BRUCE: Oh, my earphones! They broke. (Fake concern)
Is this bothering you? Well, here let me find something more your
speed. (Changes music to smooth jazz or similar) There. That sounds
like your type.

CHARLES: I'd appreciate it if you'd turn it off.

BRUCE: That ain't you either? Here, wait a minute. I gotta find
something you like. Here, my girl likes this mess (country music
comes on) There. I KNOW you like that.

CHARLES: I'm asking you to turn it off.

BRUCE: Or what, tough guy?

CHARLES: It's annoying. I can't think.

BRUCE: Oh, well, hey, why didn't you say so? You KNOW I don't want
you to stop thinking, that's for sure. Man like you stop thinking,
you know we in BIG trouble. (Turns music off) There. How's that?
(Charles resumes scrutiny of the elevator for an avenue of escape)
So. . . you a big-time lawyer, huh? You working on that case
upstairs? What'd they call it?. . . uh. . . Lendel-Jackson!

CHARLES: That's right.

BRUCE: Umph! That's sure some big-time case, boy.
Reporters been coming through here all week long. In and out. I been
trying to follow it some in the paper, you know, but that legal stuff
is some hard stuff to follow when you ain't used to it, you know what
I mean?

CHARLES: (Notices a trap door in the elevator ceiling) Maybe
we could open that hatch and get out through the top.. (He stands,
jumps, reaches toward the ceiling) . . .but I'd need you to boost me.
BRUCE: Forget it. I got a bad back. Whyn't you just sit on down so
we can have a little talk. Little chit-chat to pass the time.

CHARLES: I told you. I don't have time to pass.

BRUCE: That's right. I forgot. You got a big-time lawyer job to go to.

CHARLES: (Charles' phone rings. He answers) Yeah? Yeah. He what?? Oh,
man!! Well, did you tell him what the situation is???!! DAMN! I don't believe this!
Listen, this is what you do. Go up to where Crawford is. . . I don't know. I think it's
the eighteenth floor. Anyway, give him. . . Hello? Hello? What the. . .? (He dials again.
Listens. Dials. Shakes the phone. Presses more buttons.) HELLO?? DAMN!!
(Slams the phone down)

BRUCE: Seems like that always happens just when you need 'em the most, don't it?

(Charles is beyond frustration. He sits defeated on his briefcase. Long pause)

So. . . what do they call that kinda law you do? Corporate law?

(Pause)

CHARLES: Yeah, I guess.

BRUCE: Boy, that's the BIG bucks, ain't it? Lot more than them dudes chasing
ambulances. You don't make nothin' doing that, do you? (Charles sighs) Yeah,
but what you do, that's where the big bucks are. (Pause) So. . . uh. . .how much
you make doing that?

CHARLES: Enough.

BRUCE: No, I mean, I know you guys charge by the hour. How much do you charge?

CHARLES: (Sighing, impatient) I usually bill my time at about eight hundred dollars an hour.

BRUCE: (Incredulous. In shock) You kidding, right? You telling me you make eight hundred
dollars IN ONE HOUR? Not in a day, IN ONE HOUR?

CHARLES: I hate to think how much I've wasted in here already.

BRUCE: Man, I really owe you an apology. Here I was thinking you was nuts cause you was
thinking about climbing out the top of this thing, hey, I can see where you coming from now.
EIGHT HUNDRED DOLLARS AN HOUR!! Shoot! When you say your time is money, you ain't
never lied! Eight hundred dollars??! Man, you better forget about climbing out the top. You
better LASER BEAM them doors open and carry this thing on your BACK!! Shoot!! No wonder
you so nervous! I'd be nervous too. Somebody paying me that much, they'd want me to walk on
water, or something. Be Jesus. And I'd feel like I better do it, too, with that much money riding on it!
Man! Eight hundred dollars an hour!! (Pause) How much you think I make?

CHARLES: Oh, I don't know. . .

BRUCE: No, come on, what do you think?

CHARLES: Oh, I don't know, about $25,000.

BRUCE: (Laughs) $25,000. What's that? AN HOUR?? Man, come on. What you
think I make an hour?

CHARLES: About eleven, twelve dollars an hour, I guess.

BRUCE: I make exactly ten dollars and ninty-seven cents an hour. What you think about that?

CHARLES: It's. . . . respectable.

BRUCE: (Laughs) Respectable. (mimics Charles) “It's respectable”

CHARLES: There's a whole lot of people making less.

BRUCE: And a whole bunch of fools making a whole lot more. (Pause, considering) Man, don't
you ever feel funny, man, you know when you see people, like just regular folks and you know a lot
of 'em works ten times harder that you? Don't you ever feel funny making eight hundred dollars
an hour?

CHARLES: I doubt if many work even half as hard as I do. And do I feel guilty? Absolutely not.
I got a lot of training for what I do.

BRUCE: Hey, I got a lot of training, too. Elevator maintenance. And this is what I end up doing. Janitor.
How do you explain that?

CHARLES: I wouldn't attempt to.

BRUCE: They said they was having union problems. I know they was having color problems.

CHARLES: (Exasperated) How do you know it wasn't union problems? Or something else. Like you.
Your attitude, maybe. Some people always think it always has to be about race. . .

BRUCE: It don't always HAVE to be about race. It just always IS about race.

CHARLES: Okay, so it is. What do YOU do about that?

BRUCE: Think I ought to pull the old bootstraps right on up, huh, Goldie?

CHARLES: Nobody owes you a thing.

BRUCE: Oh, yeah. . . ?

CHARLES: You wannatalk hard? You go talk to my Polish grandfather one day. He'll tell
you about hard. And he never had anybody's affirmative action helping him out either.

BRUCE: No?

CHARLES: If you want to get somewhere, just figure out a way to get there. Do what ever you got to do.

BRUCE: Man! I sure am glad I'm stuck in this elevator with you so you can teach me all these things
I never learned. What's that you said? “If you want to get somewhere, just figure a way to get there
and do what you got to do”. Man!! That's deep. I'm gonna write that down in my diary so I won't forget it.
(He pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen and writes) “. . .figure. . . out. . . a way. . . to. . . get. . . there. . . do. .
what. . . you gotta. . . do.” Man!! My granddaddy shoulda had your wisdom. Maybe he woulda made
something outa himself like your granddaddy did, what you think? Maybe he coulda worked real hard, saved
all that big money he made sharecroppin in Alabama, and opened up him a business, what you think? Bet your
granddaddy woulda even come all the way to the Black side a town, to do business with my granddaddy, right?
Umph! Thanks for sharing that information.

CHARLES: What I was trying to say was that everybody's had a hard time in one way or another. Some people
just don't spend their whole lives whining about it. They just move on.

[end of extract]

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