For six months...I couldn't sleep.
INT. COPY ROOM - DAY
Echo " I couldn't sleep...I couldn't sleep...I couldn't sleep..."
Jack, sleepy, stands over a copy machine. His Starbucks cup sits on the lid, moving back and forth as the machine copies.
With insomnia, nothing's real. Everything is far away. Everything is a copy, of a copy, of a copy.
Other people make copies, all with Starbucks cups, sipping.
INT. JACK'S OFFICE - SAME
Jack's P.O.V. : A bin full of newspapers, Starbucks cup and FAST FOOD GARBAGE.
When deep space exploration ramps up, it will be corporations that name everything: The IBM Stellar Sphere. The Microsoft Galaxy. Planet Starbucks.
Jack, sipping stares blankly as his BOSS enters, Starbucks cup in hand, and hands a stack of reports.
Gonna need you out-of-town a little more this week. We've got some "red-flags" to cover.
It must've been Tuesday. He was wearing his "cornflower-blue" tie.
(listless management speak)
You want me to de-prioritize my current reports until you advise of a status upgrade?
Make these your primary "action items". Here are your flight coupons. Call me from the road if there are any snags.
Jack's boss slides the stack of reports on Jack's desk and leaves.
He was full of pep. Must've had his grande latte enema.
INT. BATHROOM - JACK'S CONDO - NIGHT
Jack sits on the toilet, CORDLESS PHONE to his ear, flips through an IKEA catalog. There's a stack of old PLAYBOY magazines and other catalogs nearby.
Like so many others, I had become a slave to the IKEA nesting instinct.
Yes, I'd like to order the Erika Peccary dust ruffles...
Jack drops the catalog on the floor.
MOVE IN ON CATALOG - ON PHOTO of COFFEE TABLE SET...
If I saw something clever like coffee table sin the shape of a yin and yang, I had to have it.
INT. LIVING ROOM / DINING AREA / KITCHEN
The Klipske personal office unit, the Hovertrekke home exer-bike. Or the Johannshamnh sofa with the Strinne green stripe pattern...
The office unit APPEARS. Then the exer-bike APPEARS.
Even the Rislampa wire lamps of environmentally-friendly unbleached paper.
THE LAMP APPEARS. PAN OVER to wall...
I would flip through catalogs and wonder "what kind of dining set defines me as a person?"
A dining room set APPEARS. Jack, the cordless phone still glued to his ear, walks INTO FRAME and continues. Jack opens a cabinet with plates in it.
I had it all. Even the glass dishes with tiny bubbles and imperfections, proof they were crafted by the honest, simple, hard working people of...wherever.
I was holding.
We used to read pornography. Now it was the Horchow Collection.
Jack closes the cabinet. He rummages through the refrigerator. It's practically empty. Jack takes out a jar of mustard, opens it and uses a butter knife to eat it.
INT. DOCTOR'S OFFICE - DAY
Jack, eyes puffy, face pale, sits before an INTERN, who studies him with bemusement.
No, you can't die from insomnia.
What about narcolepsy? I nod off, I wake up in strange places, I have no idea how I got there.
You need to lighten up.
Can't you, please, just give me something?
Red-and-blue Tuinal lipstick-red seconals.
(overlapping with above)
No. You need healthy, natural sleep. Chew some valerian root and get some more exercise.
The Intern rushes Jack to the door. They step into the...
The Intern walks away from Jack, picks up a chart.
Hey, come on. I'm in pain.
You wanna see pain? Swing by First Methodist Tuesday night. See guys with testicular cancer. That's pain.
The intern moves into the other room. Jack stares after him.
The Disappearing Jobs
3 years ago