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B O R E D O M
___________

A Ten Minute Play in Two Acts

by

Daniel A. Scurek

Copyright © 2007 by Daniel A. Scurek 2790 Packford Ln.

Aurora, IL 60502
630-898-9001 [H]
630-401-6549 [Cell]
dan_scurek@yahoo.com
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Cast of Characters

Mona: 28 years of age.

Tom: 28 years of age.

Setting

A dilapidated motor hotel in an undisclosed

location.

Time

4:00.

AUTHOR’S NOTE
I’ve divided this ten-minute play into two
acts. Although not mandatory (after all…who
am I?), I feel that a nice, leisurely,
fifteen-minute stretch between the two acts
is critical in order for audience members to
fully appreciate the script’s concept and
for the producers to fully benefit from the
sale of concessions. If production personnel
really, really want to do it without
intermission, okay (of course). But then
TOM will need a body-double to come out
wearing the dermatological facial mask at
the end of Act I—and there should be nothing
more than a quick “lights out/lights up” in
order to properly suspend the audience’s
amazed disbelief at his seemingly lightning-
quick, facial-mask-removing skills as they
witness the real TOM in place at the start
of Act II.

“Make me one with everything.”

—Zen Buddhist ordering a hot dog
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ACT I

SETTING: A motor hotel, neither fancy

nor dilapidated. The hotel
clock reads 4:00. With blinds
down and curtain drawn, it
might be a.m. or p.m.

AT RISE: MONA stretches across the

bed. The bedding, though not
pulled down, has apparently
been slept on a few nights.
She shakes her restless legs
not looking at TOM. She wears
a blouse and skirt, no hose,
shoes off. Her index finger
twirls her long blonde curls.

TOM sits silently in a chair

wearing an old, worn but nice
suit, loose tie, cowboy
boots. Dropping her knee
with a thud, MONA sighs
deeply, not looking at TOM.

TOM
...I'm trying to be nice. Are you tired?

MONA
(Whistles Dixie twenty seconds. TOM stands)
Tired?
(Overtly seductive giggle, raspy voice)
Tired…you ask?

TOM
(Paces for a moment then looks at MONA)
Yeah.

MONA
(Giggles, still not looking at TOM)
Say it again.

TOM
Are you tired?
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MONA
No!
(Playful, seductive, cute, etc.)
You’re hot. Get it? Just plain hot. Dependable. Simple.
Good old-fashioned reliable; neat, inexorable, tried-and-
true hot. You make my ass laugh.
(She laughs. TOM stares)

TOM
I'll try this again. Are you tired?

MONA
(Stops laughing, mock serious)
Are you?

TOM
No.

MONA
Well then...
(A true question)
...Tom?

TOM
Yeah. Tom.

MONA
Well, then, Tom...
(Serious)
...I'll pass.
(Sighing it)
I'll pass...Tom.
(Forty-five second pause: TOM stares at MONA
while she stares at the ceiling. MONA suddenly
lifts herself, turns and looks directly at TOM)
Oh.
(Lying down, again staring at the ceiling)
You’re so quiet.

TOM
(Moves to his chair about to sit but doesn't)
Well, to be honest, I’d like to tell you that I think I
would like to lie down.

MONA
Well, you sure do seem to find yourself taking the long way
around a sentence now don’t you, cowboy?
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(With a fingertip, she draws large and

small loops on the bed, humming. TOM looks
away. Pause. TOM sighs. Pause. He shifts his
weight from left to right foot and flicks
his index finger under his nose a couple
times to brush away an itch. Beat. He looks
at her. She doesn’t look at him. He sits in
his chair. Beat. MONA rises, crosses to the
dresser, grabs a cigarette, lights it.
Pause. She returns to her spot on the bed)

TOM
(Half to himself)
Yeah, you know, I really don't believe this. I don’t have
time for this.
(Beat)
Pencils?

MONA
(Repeatedly, rhythmically, shaking her
head “no” but exaggerated and loose)
No.

TOM
Boxes? Manilla folders? Paper clips?

MONA
(Shaking her head “no” in the same manner)
No.

TOM
File folders! Pad? Paperweight?
(Shaking her head “no” in the same manner)
Mucilage, multigraph, switchboard? No coffee spoons?
(Shaking her head “no” in the same manner)
Why is that?

MONA
(Stops shaking her head)
I don’t know but you know but I don’t know but you know…

TOM
Comma. Lavatory. Unalterable pathos. Order. I need order.
I placed an order.
(TOM turns his face from her)
Didn’t I?
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MONA
(MONA hears a noise outside, runs to the
window, peaks out from the drape)
Oh, no! They closed it…?! They’re closing it! What
should we do?!
(She turns suddenly to him for a second)
Tom…! What—Tom?

TOM
Yeah. Tom.

MONA
(Back to the window)
Shit!
(Beat. No reaction. Her next line is rhetorical)
Are you serious?
(Beat; still looking out the window)
Fuck me!
(Beat; still looking out the window)
Unbelievable.
(Beat; she lets the curtain drop)
Well.
(Pause. She thinks)
I’m gonna eat one. Why not? They’re not open.

(MONA runs offstage into the bathroom. While

she’s gone, TOM nearly leaps to the dresser
mirror, quickly, nervously, checks his face
closely in the mirror, tugs one nostril up
with his thumb, tilts his head back and
scrutinizes the image in the mirror. We
hear the sound of a blender in the bathroom.
TOM reaches into his nostril with his other
hand and plucks something. It causes him
great pain. He then quickly runs back to his
chair and plops himself down as before
trying to appear as if he never moved)

TOM
(Takes a newspaper off the dresser, opens it,
starts reading. Suddenly he puts the paper down,
shuts his eyes tightly and says the following)
Muscles are tough, elastic tissues made of cells, baby,
made of cells! You hear me?! Made of cells!
(Very angry, reading the paper, not looking up)
Held together by cells. No ice in the tub. No input from
the peanut gallery.
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MONA
(Brightly entering the room with a bowl
of popcorn, she plops herself down on the
chair behind TOM, dangling her legs over
the arm in a restless fashion)
Popcorn!

TOM
MADE…OF…CELLS.

MONA
I heard you. Wow. Whoo-hoo. Made of cells. Rah-rah.
(Holding up the bowl of popcorn)
Spicy-ranch popcorn?
(He doesn’t look at her. Beat. She moves
onto a different topic, resumes eating)
I can’t believe they did that. No biggie, really. We
could always...you looking at me?
(Pause)
Tom. Tom? Tom-tom!
(He looks at MONA)
Go back to the reunion. You could. But without me.
(He grins stupidly. She raises the popcorn)
Spicy ranch?
(She looks at his face)
What’s on your face?
(He turns his face away from her)
Take my car. Don’t you want to go back? Dressed in clothes?
(He crosses to bed and sits, not facing her)
It will grow back, Tom. Skin and muscle grow back. Cells
are not plastic. Amino acids? Not plastic.

TOM
You haven’t experienced me at all.

MONA
Yeah, you know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about
that. I don’t even know you. Who are you again?
(MONA laughs, speaks intellectually)
No. Let's give an example, shall we? Lets. If a boy's
called Blimpy, he's fat, right? And if, say, a girl's
called Crater, she has zits, right?

TOM
(TOM rises, walks toward the bathroom)
I’m not fat.
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MONA
No, you’re just gonzo for paper clips. “Which doesn’t make
me fat, mama!” I’m not saying it does, Tom. Okay?
(Sitting up)
Don't go to sleep!
(TOM stops)
“Why shouldn’t I go to sleep, mama?” Excuse me, you're not
tired! Yea! And Mona wins! Mona wins! Mona wins! Cool.
I am awesome.
(“High-fives” herself in the mirror)
Cool chick. Totally cool. Don’t you agree, sir?
(Pause. She covers her mouth quickly then
uncovers it. She yells:)
AM I BEING TOO LOUD?!

TOM
Christ! What are you on?

MONA
Oh!!! You don't have to get up at seven.

TOM
(TOM continues to the bathroom)
Never mind. I know what you’re on.

MONA
Don’t have to take your car in! You can’t! They’re closed!

TOM
…say that, now?! What’s that? And she says it again…!?

MONA
Your car...oops! That car you drove here...

TOM
(He waits)
Go on.

MONA
(She stares at him then speaks very gravely)
You don’t want me to talk about it, do you?
(They stare at each other thirty seconds.
Then—with no change of expression—she lets
out a large belch. He walks to the bathroom)
So, that’s what you think? That’s the whole enchilada?
(Pause)
What else did you pierce?
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TOM
Now she's talking to herself.

MONA
Can I say something?

TOM
(Back in the room for a brief moment)
No.
(Exits to the bathroom again)

MONA
Without you cutting yourself?

TOM
Without you cutting yourself!

(Pause)

MONA
I won’t say it.

TOM
(Entering, speaking very seriously)
We’ll drive separately.

MONA
(Serious)
I really am very sorry I told her.

(Pause. They regard each other for a moment)

TOM
I used to be considered good-looking.

MONA
Talk to me, baby.

TOM
(Feeling in his mouth with his tongue)
I still have flesh in my teeth. Unbelievable. I need floss.
(TOM exits to the bathroom)

MONA
(To herself)
She used to be your…mom???
TOM
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I’ll go to sleep after I floss. I can’t sleep until I

floss. Sometimes I have to floss more than just my teeth.
Afternoon or night. In bed or on the go!

MONA
Go where? Wait. To bed? No. To sleep.

TOM
You can have the bed. I’ll make do.

MONA
(Quietly to herself)
If you expect to have sex, say “yeah”.
(Shouting to him)
TOM!

TOM
WHAT?

MONA
(Shouting to him)
NOTHING.
(To herself)
What besides teeth can you possibly floss?

(Dead pause. Then:)

TOM
(Still in the bathroom, singing “Vive Las
Vegas” in a mock but sincere Elvis Pressley)
“Bright light city gonna set my soul,
Gonna set my soul on fire!
Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn,
So get those stakes up higher!
There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there,
And they're all livin' devil may care,
And I'm just the devil with love to spare,
Viva Las Vegas! Viva Las Vegas!”
(Begin slow but perceptible fade to black)

MONA
I'm going to have to get in there, too, for a little bit,
handsome.

TOM
What’d you call me?
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MONA
What was your nickname in high school?
(She waits; he doesn’t answer. Beat)
TOM!

(Pause)

TOM
(Not seen)
What.

MONA
Dolor? Pad and paperweight? Baby?
(Very quietly)
If "stupid" was your nickname, say, “yeah”.
(Pause. Yelling to him)
WAS THAT IT?!

TOM
(Enters. His hair is up in a towel, a
greyish dermatological facial mask coating
his face. An unlit, slightly-smoked cigar
dangles from his mouth. MONA, again, shakes
her head “no” in big circles)
What?

MONA
Huh?
(They regard each other for a moment. Beat.
TOM sits in a chair. Pause. MONA continues
to shake her head in big circles)
Ho………………hum…………
(Pause)
Ho…………
(She stops shaking her head, pulls off a
blonde wig, revealing dark brown hair)
………HUM!

BLACKOUT

END OF ACT I

ACT II
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SETTING: The same motor hotel, neither

fancy nor dilapidated. The
hotel clock reads 4:00. With
blinds down and curtain
drawn, it might be a.m. or
p.m.

AT RISE: Lights rise to reveal TOM and

MONA sitting at a very nicely
made but simple card table.
TOM looks as he did at the
start of the play though he
still holds the same unlit
cigar he came out of the
bathroom with at the end of
ACT I. MONA looks the same as
she did at the end of ACT I.
They play Scrabble.

TOM
(Placing letters on the board)
T-E-N-T! Tent!

MONA
(Immediately takes her turn, placing
letters on the board, swallowing TOM’S word)
E-X-I-S-T-E-N-T-I-A-L.
(She collects more letters. Pause)

TOM
That’s not a word.

(Pause)

MONA
Tom?

TOM
Yeah?

BLACKOUT

END OF PLAY