I was assigned a task this weekend that at first I found to be daunting, but ended up ultimately being extremely therapeutic.
Working Man’s was, at the very last minute, given a week at the Ohio Theater – we frantically filled it with shows – I’m working on monologues to go in between the one acts, in an evening entitled ‘New York in Dead.’
Given my recent frustrations with my jobthing, I decided to make fun of real estate. With no further doo doo, the thing that I just wrote:
A Jumpy, desperate real estate agent is on his cell. He enters quickly, frantically.
It’s a very hot address. Very hot. Brick fire place, granite in the half kitchen. You get trannie trash from the Path but it’s like a two minute walk from the west side high way.
(He motions to us to hold on.)
Yeah, the water. Statue of fucking Liberty, Swear to God. The river. No, you can’t swim in it.
(He motions to us that the person on the phone is a douchebag.)
It was Scarlett Johannassen’s first apartment. For real. Swear to God. No, it’s a true one bed. Okay so the previous tenant erected a divider wall but in terms of square footage – 5,000. Dollars. A month. 4800 hundred, roof top access, a view of the park, luxury amenities, et cetera, etc cetera, no no no wait – 46. 46. I can’t go any lower, I – hello?
(The person has hung up.)
(He hangs up. To us)
Sorry to have kept you waiting. Douchebags move here from nowhere Wisconsin and think they can get a true one bed from less than five. I can tell you’re not a douche bag, though, you know what you want. You know what you need, you know what it takes, I take fifteen percent.
Here we are, Soho, you can’t beat that. This place sells itself, really, you don’t need me, just listen to the space, it’s talking to you, what do you think? It’s currently owned by some Hippie indie theater company but as the world goes, as things happen, they’re loosing their lease. I think it’d be better as your Home or a Banana Republic.
High ceilings – put up a few partitions, you’ve got a living, a dining, an office, a room for your whole goddamn dog, I would kill to live here, like I would literally – Whoopi Goldberg lives upstairs, swear to God. She leaves once a day to go to Balthazar, do you have kids? They could go right over there.
So Where’re you living now? Don’t tell me, Inwood, don’t tell me, I see your shoes, you live in Cobble Hill, no, you just moved here, you Dad pays your rent. I don’t judge. Your first Manhattan apartment is a delicate choice, it’s like picking a lover. I’d choose carefully if I were you, and by carefully, I mean live here, Goddamnit, look at this place, I would kill, I would literally kill – these floors are an artifact, General Robert E. Lee stood here once, Swear to God.
So what do you think? I say picture it. You go out, you’re out, you get drunk, it’s been a long day. You’re at Mercer kitchen, you’re watching Russell Crow throw his blackberry at a waiter, you’re having an appetizer, you meet someone. This person is hot, this person is lonely, you’re lonely, you want to take this person home with you to exercise your right to do it. So do it. And where do you take them? Right down the freaking street. Right here. Like yeah, I live here, where do you live? Now kiss me til I forget myself.
(His phone rings. He answers.)
Yeah. I’m in Soho. I can be uptown in ten. It’s been gutted but it’s a hot address, HOT. You need – yeah, I know what you need. I’ll be right there.
(He hangs up.)
So what do you think? I gotta tell you, I gotta know by today, I gotta, I’m showing it, there are others, everyone wants it, everyone, you’re blind if you don’t see – look at the ceilings, look at the goddamn height – you need this place. It needs to you fill it. You’ve got til the end of today.
(His phone rings. He answers.)