Post Office

Post Office

EST: EXTERIOR OF A POST OFFICE

This appears to be a rather ordinary U.S. post office.

INT: SORTING ROOM

Sorting mail inside the post office we find BARRY and DALE. They are postal employees, wearing their regulation uniforms. This back room has postal office-y things on the wall, including a framed photograph. More on that later. 

 

BARRY:

Hey, Dale. Here’s a good one. 

 

Barry starts to read from a postcard. He uses a mocking voice.

BARRY (CONT’D):

Dear Susan… we’re having a great time in Pittsburgh. Wish you were here. Love, Glenn. 

Back to his normal voice...

BARRY (CONT’D):

Having a great time in Pittsburgh? Pittsburgh?

DALE:

Pittsburgh’s not so bad, Barry.

BARRY:

Are you kidding me? Pittsburgh? It’s the rusted-out, coal-stained armpit of America. The hookers there are literally covered in soot. Like, actual soot. From a factory that stopped making anything in 1962.

DALE:

Stop it. Remember how much fun we had in Pittsburgh at the convention?

BARRY:

Dale… that was horrible. The hotel bar was literally a homeless guy outside the door.

DALE:

You literally don’t understand the word literally.

BARRY:

I literally do. Because I literally bought half a bottle of Beam from the guy. The only part of that whole trip that was even mildly amusing is when Pete from Denver literally rubbed his genitals on your face while you were sleeping.

DALE:

Wait, what?

BARRY:

Oh yeah, man. It was hysterical. 

Barry points to the framed photo on the wall.

DALE:

Sweet Jesus, is that my forehead?

BARRY:

Yes sir. That is your forehead. And THOSE are Pete’s genitals.

DALE:

How long has that photo been up there?

BARRY:

I don’t know… twelve years maybe.

DALE:

I thought it was Lyndon Johnson.

BARRY:

Lyndon Johnson would never let Pete from Denver do that to his forehead.

DALE:

I don’t know. I thought maybe he had something weird going on with Lady Bird.

BARRY:

Nope. That’s YOUR forehead. Those are Pete’s genitals. Literally.

 

They go back to sorting mail.

 

DALE:

Alright, here’s one.

 

Dale starts to read from a postcard. He uses a mocking voice.

DALE (CONT’D):

Greetings from Mexico!

Back to his normal voice...

DALE (CONT’D):

Talk about armpits.

BARRY:

Now, see, I actually like Mexico. And I know for fact that you do, too. Three years ago. Gary’s wedding. Cancun. We had a great time. 

DALE:

YOU had a great time. I had bad guacamole. 

BARRY:

Oh, that’s right. They had to drain the pool. Yeah. That wasn’t good. Especially for all the families. You know, I actually felt kinda bad when Gary rubbed his genitals on your face while you were sick in bed.

DALE:

Oh, come on! Seriously?

BARRY:

Yeah. Yeah. You don’t remember?

DALE:

No. No I do not remember Gary rubbing his genitals on my face while I was sick in bed, Barry.

BARRY:

Well, here. Maybe this will refresh your memory.

Barry pulls out his wallet and lets the photo holder cascade out of it.

DALE:

Barry! What the hell, man? You keep a picture of me in your wallet with Gary’s genitals dangling over my forehead?

BARRY:

I got tired of looking at my wife and kid. In that order. 

They go back to sorting mail. 

BARRY:

Well, I can’t even read THIS one. It’s just a bunch of weird lines.

Dale looks at it.

DALE:

That’s Chinese, Barry.

BARRY:

Well then why does it show some big wall?

DALE:

Because it’s the Great Wall... of China.

BARRY:

I thought that was in Minneapolis. 

DALE:

Allow me to use your favorite word. You, Barry, are LITERALLY the dumbest person I know. And this is LITERALLY the only job you are qualified for. Which LITERALLY makes me want to go home and kill myself.

BARRY:

Whatever, you only know about it because you had a Chinese bride. Say, Dale, which website did you get her from? Excuse me, which website do you get HIM from?

DALE:

It was an innocent mistake. 

BARRY:

And tell me, Dale, how did you finally discover this little “mistake?"

There is an uncomfortable pause. Dale looks rejected, and sighs.

DALE:

He rubbed his genitals on my face.

BARRY:

Yes he did, Dale. Yes HE did. 

Barry pulls out his phone and turns it to Dale. 

BARRY (CONT’D):

And I was hiding in your closet with my cell phone.

DALE:

You were what?

BARRY:

I was changing the subject. Oh, look! Here comes the boss. Literally.

The BOSS walks in to the room. He’s hold a briefcase in one hand, and a large roll in the other. He places his briefcase on a table.

BOSS:

Gentlemen, how goes it on this fine Thursday morning?

BARRY:

Good. Good. Same old. Same old. Bills. Bills. A few postcards here and there.

BOSS:

Well, it’s summer. People are traveling. We’re going to be getting a lot of those for a while. And, uh, speaking of summer, did you guys have fun at the team picnic this weekend?

DALE:

Oh yeah. Great time. Thanks for putting that together.

BARRY:

Dale, you drank a lot out there. I mean, A LOT.

DALE:

Oh, man. Did I really?

BOSS:

Not to worry, Dale. You were in control. You actually get really funny when you’ve had too many.

DALE:

Well, OK. Just as long as I didn’t do anything embarassing.

BARRY:

Naw. You were fine. Besides, you slept in a hammock half the time.

There is a pause.

BOSS:

And then I rubbed my genitals over your face. Here look.

The boss unrolls a giant poster so that Barry and Dale can see it.

DALE:

Oh, come on...

--- END ---

About: This is something I wrote back in 2002. It was much dirtier in its original version. I was 22-years-old and my mind was in a filthier place. Not that it’s much better now. But I discovered it on a hard drive and re-wrote it to be more PG-13.