A serial play written by Gail Taylor for Pretty Kitty Publishing (copyright, 2014).
HEATHE AND JANE ARE STILL SEATED AT THE ROUND TABLE. A BROWN-PAPER BAG IS ON TOP OF THE TABLE, BETWEEN THEM. A BOILED EGG IS ON TOP OF PLASTIC WRAP.
HEATHE SUGGESTIVELY EATS A STALK OF CELERY DURING THE FOLLOWING MONOLOGUE.
JANE FINDS THIS WEIRD. YET, SHE IS UNDAUNTED.
I have a question for you, Jane. Do you want to work here? You want to work here? If you want to work here, Jane, then you must do everything they tell you ... everything they tell you ... to do. You must, or they will never let you leave.
You must enjoy this life. But is it really utopia? Reading theses and dissertations, meeting with students from all over the world, who come from the most remote villages, whose futures are predetermined, most of whom will fritter-away their time partying, or not.
Some of them will make it, but more of them won't. And when they do fail, they will not feel failure. Not in the same way as some here feel it, though. I am talking about ... Well, you know.
Do you understand?
There are many who come here for the beautiful trees, the clean water, the pure air, and they stay long enough to be exposed to our teachings. And then, they leave, Jane. Leave.
Jane, you are still here.
You did not leave.
You never leave.
Why don't you leave?
You must want something.
Or, maybe what they are saying is accurate, and you have lost your intellectual faculties.
But surely, you do not stay because this is utopia.
This is not Cambrigde, Jane.
You can ask Willard about that, if you're still here.
Who is comparing DUI to Cambridge?
And who is Willard?
You, you act like this is Cambridge. Writing papers, putting your name on literature reviews.
My work. Help me understand why I wouldn't put my name on my work.
Ah, see. There you go. Your expectations. You must be having the time of your life at a place where no one expects someone like you to be seen.
Congratulations, Jane! Good for you! And now, you are invited to leave DUI!
What? I don't understand.
I thought you wanted me here. I thought you employed me to do your research.
I thought you would guide me through my monograph, my own research. What is this about?
What have you done?
Listen to yourself.
What are you saying? Do you know what you are saying?
Is everything an absolute with you -- people?
LEANS IN CLOSELY TOWARD HEATHE. SPEAKS IN A SERIOUS TONE.
People who work hard, research, go places you long-ago wrote off, and long-ago left in flames?
You know, as well as I, that those people will never listen to people like --
Thank you, Jane.
Your monograph will make an excellent 'searchit.com entry, thus helping us to educate the next wave of graduate school-losers.
You did a good job, a great job, kid.
(To be continued.)