Way down yonder in Personification Nation...
(Mid-morning. Average-looking, 30-ish woman in green flannel pajamas reaches the top of a staircase, breathing slightly heavily. She is in the hallway of an apartment. She knocks on door number 3.)
(An middle-aged balding man with a beer gut and ratty clothes opens the door. He's smoking a cigarette.)
Man: What?
Woman: I've been looking for you.
Man: And I should care. Who the hell are you?
Woman: My name is Jen.
Man: (puffs cigarette) Yeah, whatever. Come in. I'm Los Angeles.
Jen: I know. (stepping inside, looking around) I didn't think you'd live in a fourth-floor walk-up.
LA: (shrugs) I'm full of surprises.
Jen: And this place is kind of a dump. Jeez, *you're* kind of a dump.
LA: This from someone wandering around in her jammies.
Jen: Hey, your fault for waking me up again. Besides, I'm not the one always telling everyone they're fat, old, and ugly.
LA: (smirks) Ironic, isn't it? And they all buy it.
Jen: Yeah, that's great. Good for you.
LA: Well, sit down and tell me what you want so I can get on with my day...fattie.
Jen: (sitting down on ratty couch from the Salvation Army) Oh, real nice.
LA: You're not here for nice.
Jen: True enough. But I'm here to ask why exactly you're so goddamn mean to me. To everyone.
LA: It's what I'm good at.
Jen: But it's so unnecessary!
LA: No it's not. Even with me being a right bastard, there are still too many people here. You've seen the traffic. It's my version of population control. I've got to send the weak ones crying home to mommy.
Jen: That's fine for the deluded actors from Idaho or wherever, but you know, I've got to be here. I've got a husband who'll be in school here for another five or six years.
LA: Leave him. Not my problem.
Jen: Leave him over you? I don't *think* so.
LA: Then quit your bitching. Besides, you helped pick me. Should have gone to Michigan.
Jen: I was cold!
LA: You and the rest of the world. Goddamn this nice weather, or you'd all stay home. Okay, should have gone to North Carolina.
Jen: Booooring.
LA: And I'm never boring. So you got what you wanted. Remember what you used to say about Boston?
Jen: That it's like a nice, dull guy everyone tells you should marry but you just don't love?
LA: That too. What else?
Jen: That it's like an old, comfortable sock with holes in it?
LA: That one. You wanted a challenge. You got one.
Jen: I wanted a challenge; I didn't want to starve.
LA: Fine. You're not starving.
Jen: Thanks to Mr. Visa and Ms. Mastercard, no.
LA: At least you're middle-class broke and *have* Mr. and Ms. Credit Line to help you out between paychecks. You're asking the wrong city to feel bad for you on this one.
Jen: Sure, but...how to say this without sounding entitled? Doesn't it count for anything that I'm skilled and college-educated? Shouldn't I at least be able to get a job at Starbucks? Shouldn't I be able to get as much catering work as I need? It's not like I'm looking for dream jobs here.
LA: You should thank me. Who really wants to work in the service industry? Especially if you're as skilled and la-dee-dah as you say?
Jen: I don't *want* to work in the service industry, but I need paychecks while I work the rest of it out.
LA: Whatever. In Boston, where everyone like you is too good to work a crap job, you had all the crap work you wanted. Big deal. So you'd have been my age and still serving people dinner. Bills paid, but so what?
Jen: Not necessarily.
LA: Yeah, necessarily. You needed me to give you a kick in the ass. You needed a place where you practically need an agent to get crap jobs, because you needed to learn you don't really want them.
Jen: Right, but when I tried to get a regular corporate job, you wouldn't let me do that, either.
LA: That's a crap job, too, just one that pays marginally better.
Jen: You sure don't make it easy.
LA: You know those women who never break up with their lousy boyfriends until they have a new one lined up?
Jen: Yeah.
LA: You never liked them. So don't worry about keeping lousy lifestyles until you've got a new one lined up.
Jen: There's a difference between being broke and being single.
LA: Yeah. You'd rather be broke.
Jen: (ponders)
LA: So for the tenth time, quit your bitching. You need me.
Jen: Christ, not another character-building experience.
LA: Yes indeedy.
Jen: It's built, it's built!
LA: Jeez, I hope not.
Jen: You are *such* a mean bastard. Could you maybe be just a little nicer to me in 2004?
LA: You act like there's some *nice* LA tied up in the closet.
(A loud thumping and crashing issues from a hall closet. Some muffled sounds like someone yelling through a mouth gag.)
LA: Er, anyway, it's time you were going. I've got an 8:30 with some dumbass from Hollywood whose nose job went wrong, then an 8:45 with an East LA dude with two jobs and a son in a gang.
Jen: Okay, Los Angeles. (opening the door) Happy New Year, you freakin' jerk.
LA: Happy New Year, neighbor. (watches her walk away) (yelling down the hall) Uh, I mean, "Go home, ugly girl!"
Jen: (turning around) Nice try, a-hole. I am home.
(Mid-morning. Average-looking, 30-ish woman in green flannel pajamas reaches the top of a staircase, breathing slightly heavily. She is in the hallway of an apartment. She knocks on door number 3.)
(An middle-aged balding man with a beer gut and ratty clothes opens the door. He's smoking a cigarette.)
Man: What?
Woman: I've been looking for you.
Man: And I should care. Who the hell are you?
Woman: My name is Jen.
Man: (puffs cigarette) Yeah, whatever. Come in. I'm Los Angeles.
Jen: I know. (stepping inside, looking around) I didn't think you'd live in a fourth-floor walk-up.
LA: (shrugs) I'm full of surprises.
Jen: And this place is kind of a dump. Jeez, *you're* kind of a dump.
LA: This from someone wandering around in her jammies.
Jen: Hey, your fault for waking me up again. Besides, I'm not the one always telling everyone they're fat, old, and ugly.
LA: (smirks) Ironic, isn't it? And they all buy it.
Jen: Yeah, that's great. Good for you.
LA: Well, sit down and tell me what you want so I can get on with my day...fattie.
Jen: (sitting down on ratty couch from the Salvation Army) Oh, real nice.
LA: You're not here for nice.
Jen: True enough. But I'm here to ask why exactly you're so goddamn mean to me. To everyone.
LA: It's what I'm good at.
Jen: But it's so unnecessary!
LA: No it's not. Even with me being a right bastard, there are still too many people here. You've seen the traffic. It's my version of population control. I've got to send the weak ones crying home to mommy.
Jen: That's fine for the deluded actors from Idaho or wherever, but you know, I've got to be here. I've got a husband who'll be in school here for another five or six years.
LA: Leave him. Not my problem.
Jen: Leave him over you? I don't *think* so.
LA: Then quit your bitching. Besides, you helped pick me. Should have gone to Michigan.
Jen: I was cold!
LA: You and the rest of the world. Goddamn this nice weather, or you'd all stay home. Okay, should have gone to North Carolina.
Jen: Booooring.
LA: And I'm never boring. So you got what you wanted. Remember what you used to say about Boston?
Jen: That it's like a nice, dull guy everyone tells you should marry but you just don't love?
LA: That too. What else?
Jen: That it's like an old, comfortable sock with holes in it?
LA: That one. You wanted a challenge. You got one.
Jen: I wanted a challenge; I didn't want to starve.
LA: Fine. You're not starving.
Jen: Thanks to Mr. Visa and Ms. Mastercard, no.
LA: At least you're middle-class broke and *have* Mr. and Ms. Credit Line to help you out between paychecks. You're asking the wrong city to feel bad for you on this one.
Jen: Sure, but...how to say this without sounding entitled? Doesn't it count for anything that I'm skilled and college-educated? Shouldn't I at least be able to get a job at Starbucks? Shouldn't I be able to get as much catering work as I need? It's not like I'm looking for dream jobs here.
LA: You should thank me. Who really wants to work in the service industry? Especially if you're as skilled and la-dee-dah as you say?
Jen: I don't *want* to work in the service industry, but I need paychecks while I work the rest of it out.
LA: Whatever. In Boston, where everyone like you is too good to work a crap job, you had all the crap work you wanted. Big deal. So you'd have been my age and still serving people dinner. Bills paid, but so what?
Jen: Not necessarily.
LA: Yeah, necessarily. You needed me to give you a kick in the ass. You needed a place where you practically need an agent to get crap jobs, because you needed to learn you don't really want them.
Jen: Right, but when I tried to get a regular corporate job, you wouldn't let me do that, either.
LA: That's a crap job, too, just one that pays marginally better.
Jen: You sure don't make it easy.
LA: You know those women who never break up with their lousy boyfriends until they have a new one lined up?
Jen: Yeah.
LA: You never liked them. So don't worry about keeping lousy lifestyles until you've got a new one lined up.
Jen: There's a difference between being broke and being single.
LA: Yeah. You'd rather be broke.
Jen: (ponders)
LA: So for the tenth time, quit your bitching. You need me.
Jen: Christ, not another character-building experience.
LA: Yes indeedy.
Jen: It's built, it's built!
LA: Jeez, I hope not.
Jen: You are *such* a mean bastard. Could you maybe be just a little nicer to me in 2004?
LA: You act like there's some *nice* LA tied up in the closet.
(A loud thumping and crashing issues from a hall closet. Some muffled sounds like someone yelling through a mouth gag.)
LA: Er, anyway, it's time you were going. I've got an 8:30 with some dumbass from Hollywood whose nose job went wrong, then an 8:45 with an East LA dude with two jobs and a son in a gang.
Jen: Okay, Los Angeles. (opening the door) Happy New Year, you freakin' jerk.
LA: Happy New Year, neighbor. (watches her walk away) (yelling down the hall) Uh, I mean, "Go home, ugly girl!"
Jen: (turning around) Nice try, a-hole. I am home.
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