Scene: Cafeteria.
Tables, chairs, and potted plants are overturned, forming two parallel rows with a clear space of 10 feet separating the rows. People in camouflage are entrenched on the far sides of the rows. Think “gun battle in a restaurant” of any action movie of your choice. There is a considerable amount of food debris covering the floor and the tables.
FAR TEAM, composed of 5 people, is on left side.
Zoom to right side. There is SARGE, PRIVATE 1, PRIVATE 2, and PRIVATE 3 with their backs against a table.
Enter ALBERT in suit, stage right.
SARGE: Albert, get down!
SARGE grabs ALBERT and pulls ALBERT down. Two apples and an orange bounce off the table as ALBERT hits the floor.
ALBERT: [sputtering] What’s going on here?
SARGE: It’s a war out there son! You can’t just waltz into a war zone!
ALBERT moves to get up. SARGE pulls him down. Meanwhile PRIVATE 3 rips open a milk container, looks over the table, and throws it. He is hit with two grapes and a banana, and falls over, not moving.
PRIVATE 1: Sir! Johnson is down!
SARGE: Foo. Fine solder, he was. He deserved better than to get taken out by grape shot.
ALBERT peeks at far team. Far team throws a candy bar at ALBERT. ALBERT ducks. SARGE lobs a sandwich back. ALBERT looks scared. SARGE sees ALBERT’s expression, and sympathy crosses his face.
ALBERT: Why us? Why now?
SARGE: Food war is heck, Son. Just remember, it’s us or them.
A woman enters far stage left carrying a tray with food on it. She walks down between the tables, looks side to side, rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
FAR TEAM throws a pie at the woman. It hits her on the side of the head. She falls, twitches, and lies still.
PRIVATE 2: Sir! They’ve got custard!
FAR TEAM throws pie at PRIVATE 2.
PRIVATE 1: Incoming!
Pie hits table, splashes over and hits SARGE. SARGE grabs ALBERT’s arm and collapses.
SARGE: I regret… that I have but … one hour to give to my lunch room.
Sarge stops moving, eyes open.
ALBERT: NOOOO!
ALBERT grabs a bunch of grapes, an apple and two pears. He leaps up and starts throwing them at the far side. The far side tries to hit him with a few shots, but duck behind the tables to avoid the onslaught.
ANNOUNCER: OK, everybody! Lunch is over!
Everybody gets up, dusts themselves off, and exits stage far right.
ALBERT: [addressing Sarge] Good one, Sarge!
Dissolve to Gas Station.
Rightie-o, then.
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