My First Screenplay

I've been hearing a lot about film lately, so I thought I'd write one. How hard could it be?

I No Longer Heart My Upstairs Neighbor, Who Never Hearted Me Anyway (A Tragedy Based On a True Story)

Fade in to laundry room, which contains only one washer and only one dryer, and which is in the basement of the apartment building next door to Laura’s apartment building, and which is meant to serve both buildings, which themselves contain a total of at least 10 apartment units, some of which are double occupancy.

Close-up of washer, which totally sucks even when you don’t fill it to capacity, and this is obvious because when you open the lid after a cycle, all of your clothes are in exactly the same place as when you put them inside, and clearly you are the only item that’s gotten agitated in the last 30 minutes.

But the playwright digresses.

Cut to Laura, who looks tragically amazing framed in the doorway against the late afternoon light as she enters the room, despite having carted her awkward laundry bag thingy down the stairs and into the basement of the next building after a long run and some puttering around in the intense heat of the farmer’s market, at which the Chair Massage Guy, who is always there, and who was pretty much the reason for her visit (well, that and the heirloom tomatoes), was noticeably absent. She also looks tragically amazing despite contemplating the three (three!) loads of laundry she has to do, and the fact that it’s a race against the clock because she has plans for the evening.

Justin Timberlake’s Cry Me a River plays in background.

Laura walks over to the washer and opens the lid. Close-up of washer innards from above reveals wet clothes. The last items placed in the washer are still on top. Laura wasn’t there for the loading procedure (since these are not her clothes), yet she is secure in this knowledge, and the mere sight of the wet clothing evokes for her a moment of Pavlovian, classically conditioned, agitation. Laura was a psych major, and she recognizes these things.

Closer inspection reveals quarters poised in the washer’s coin-op mechanism, waiting for the owner’s next load. Even closer inspection reveals a basket of whites to the left.

Laura doesn’t know who’s stuff this is. Could be anyone’s. They could have gotten side-tracked. Maybe they’re yammering away on the phone. Laura utters some expletives to herself. Improvisation here (regarding the expletives) is OK. As she dumps out the owner’s quarters, places them on top of the basket of whites, and pulls the wet clothes from the washer, Laura wonders who will play her when this becomes a major motion picture. Maybe Scarlett Johansson. Laura notes to herself that whoever plays her must be extremely facially expressive, due to the lack of actual dialog so far.

Cut to stairway back up to Laura’s apartment, about 10 minutes later. Laura runs into her favorite upstairs neighbor ever, “X”, who is coming down with, OMG, some whites.

Laura: Uh-oh.

X: Hello. What.

Laura: Um, I think I just took your laundry out of the washer.

X: OH. I had quarters in there, for my next load.

Laura: Oh! *helpful look* I put them in your basket!

X: That’s. So. Rude. I can’t believe you did that. I’m always punctual coming back to the laundry room.

Laura (VOICEOVER: Then where the f*ck were you?), out loud: Sorry! I didn’t know it was you! Would you like me to spring for the next load?

X: No. It’s not that. That's not the point. I just can’t believe you would be so rude.

Exeunt X, who keeps going down the stairs, screaming some expletives herself. X eventually comes back up the stairs, making a point of slamming her door and stomping around up there for a couple hours. Laura worries about a possible return of the Dreaded Oscillating Fan.

--Fin--