- April 25, 2003 - No Shame Iowa City
"At the End of the Day, What Are You Going to Be? A Mr. Hawkiss or a Penelope? Yeah. Me, Too"
by Bullfrogs and Tea!
(Paul Rust and Sarah Neilson)
LIGHTS UP. PARKING METER stands center stage, holding an empty parking meter in hands. PENELOPE enters, inserts a nickel, sets it for six minutes, and stands stage left.
MR. HAWKISS enters stage left.
MR. HAWKISS: Penelope?
PENELOPE: I’m right here, Mr. Hawkiss.
MR. HAWKISS: Oh, Penelope?
PENELOPE: Mr. Hawkiss, I’m right here.
MR. HAWKISS: Why, it certainly is a shame that ol’ Penelope isn’t here.
PENELOPE: Mr. Hawkiss!
MR. HAWKISS: Aw, Penelope! There you are! At first, I thought you were an old-timey hammock.
PENELOPE: No, I’m not. I’m Penelope.
MR. HAWKISS: I was about to lay on you in the shade of two oak trees, sipping sun tea through a straw.
PENELOPE: I’m not a hammock.
MR. HAWKISS: Perhaps on a lazy Sunday afternoon, I would fall asleep on you.
PENELOPE: No.
MR. HAWKISS: (convincingly) I’d have a big, straw hat on?
PENELOPE: I don’t care. I’m not a hammock.
MR. HAWKISS: Very well. So, Penelope, have you found me a parking meter yet?
PENELOPE: No. I haven’t.
MR. HAWKISS: You haven’t?! Why on earth did I even hire you as my trusty girl-assistant then?
PENELOPE: Because you needed assistance… and I needed extra credit for your Physics class.
MR. HAWKISS: Aw, yes. And it says here in my imaginary grade-book that you’re only one parking meter away from receiving the full ten extra credit points.
PENELOPE: Then I’ll be valedictorian of my class.
MR. HAWKISS: And you’ll be able to get into that prestigious college.
PENELOPE: Stansbury.
MR. HAWKISS: The Harvard of the West.
PENELOPE: I hear their cafeteria is like an International cafeteria - foods from around the world. Like oranges and Pepsi. (beat, feeling defeated) Fine. I’ll do it. (points to Parking Meter) How about that parking meter over there?
MR. HAWKISS: It looks like a glorious specimen. Go for it.
Penelope slowly inches towards the parking meter — fists raised for vandalism. She licks her lips nervously, then stops.
PENELOPE: I can’t do it.
MR. HAWKISS: What?
PENELOPE: I can’t vandalize this parking meter and steal it for you, Mr. Hawkiss.
MR. HAWKISS: What?! How on earth?! What in the ---?!! Hammock?!
PENELOPE: I can’t do it, Mr. Hawkiss! Geez, I don’t understand! Why do you even need so many parking meters for an in-class Physics experiment anyway?
MR. HAWKISS: (poorly lying) Uh, right… Physics experiment… yeah. (nervously clears throat)
PENELOPE: This is for an in-class Physics experiment, correct?
MR. HAWKISS: Um, yes. Of course. Of course, it is.
PENELOPE: Don’t lie to me, Mr. Hawkiss.
MR. HAWKISS: I ain’t no lyin’.
PENELOPE: Mr. Hawkiss…
MR. HAWKISS: I ain’t no lyin’…
PENELOPE: Mr. Hawkissssssss.
MR. HAWKISS: I ain’t no lyin’…
PENELOPE: Mr. Hawkisssssss.
MR. HAWKISS: Fine! Fine! I admit! This isn’t for an in-class Physics experiment!
PENELOPE: I knew it! (pause) Then, what is it for? Why do you got a thing for parking meters, Mr. Hawkiss?
MR. HAWKISS (as an aside): Why? How could she ask me something like that? How could anyone…not…understand that nothing. NOTHING captures the essence of human existence as purely, as genuinely…as…as frighteningly…as a parking meter. I don’t need to write iambic pentameter about the futility of the human condition. I could struggle my whole life to say what a parking meter conveys in one warning: Two Hour Time Limit. Live your life as though these were your last two hours on Earth. That’s what parking meters command. And yet…to no fault of the parking meters, we waste those hours feeding them our money. Do we spend our hard-earned coins trying to get somewhere? Trying to move on? Trying to blaze our own trails and find our freedom? No. We stop. We choose to stop. And we pay to stop. We PAY to keep ourselves in the same place, to STOP our lives from ever evolving. And that, as the parking meter so passionately puts it, is a Violation.
PENELOPE: Well, that’s all very well and good, Mr. Hawkiss. But it won’t convince me. I am not vandalizing this parking meter for you. I can’t do this anymore.
MR. HAWKISS: Why not? Why can’t you?
PENELOPE: Because it’s illegal.
MR. HAWKISS: That didn’t stop you with the first 17 parking meters! Or have you forgotten them, Penelope? Do you need to see them? I have them in that garbage sack in the van. Garbage saaaack!
PENELOPE: I just can’t do it anymore.
MR. HAWKISS: Why not?!
PENELOPE: I can’t because… Because. (aside) Well. I guess I need a better reason for him than "it’s just wrong," but…People need to know where they are. People need to think about why they’re going where they’re going. If they have to pay to stay there, there’s a better chance that they’ll think about what their motivations are for being somewhere. I know I…get lost a lot. And I’ve ended up in places I wish I had never seen. The warnings, Time Expired, Violation, a Nickel for Six Minutes. The things that remind us where we are…and what our limits are, what we’re ready for and what we’re not…The city needs those things. He can’t keep them for himself. He can’t vandalize the one means of stability that everyone in this town understands.
MR. HAWKISS: Very well, Penelope, but your words are falling on ears that are very, very deaf and very, very pointy. So, listen, I’m going to give it to you straight: We both need things. You’re 10 points away from Stansbury and I’m one parking meter away from a happy life. (pause) So smash the parking meter, Penelope.
PENELOPE: No.
MR. HAWKISS: Smash the parking meter.
PENELOPE: No.
MR. HAWKISS: Smash the fucking parking meter, Penelope!
Penelope quiets… and waits.
PENELOPE: You’re the one who will always be stopped.
Penelope exits. Mr. Hawkiss is left standing onstage alone. Beat. He slowly approaches Parking Meter and caresses its’ outer frame.
MR. HAWKISS: This parking meter is a symbol of… some kind, I’m sure.
LIGHTS DOWN.
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