Scene: The GeekMan’s front door. The scene begins when some people arrive at the door and begin knocking. There doesn’t seem to be a response.
[knock, knock-knock]
“Mr. GeekMan? Mr. GeekMan, it’s Uncle Sam. Are you at home?”
[old woman voice from inside]
“Geldman? There’s no Geldman here, sonny. Now go away, unless you’re here to give me my eight o’clock Ben-Gay rubdown and bunion massage.”
[/old woman voice]
“Mr. GeekMan, is that you?”
[little boy voice from inside]
“My grandma’s very sick, mister man. You better go and get tested for E. coli right away before you get sick and die. Like my grandpa did, cause he was stupid like you.”
[/little boy voice]
[more knocking]
“That’s not funny, Mr. GeekMan. We know you’re in there. Stop playing around and open this door so we can talk like civilized people.”
“Who says I’m civilized? Maybe I’m a crazed, rabid llama wearing a full-body human-suit made out of fried jellyfish. Maybe I’m in here plotting to take over the world by inventing rubber hair replacements for middle-aged men in Shri Lanka. You better run. I’m not civilized. I might eat your spleen!”
“Mr. GeekMan…”
“For that matter, who says you’re civilized? From what I can see through this peephole you look more like forked-tongued, shark-toothed mafia collection bruisers to me…”
“Mr. GeekMan, please. You know very well who I am and why I’m here, so stop stalling and open up. We have a lot to discuss and I’ve got a lot of other people to fleece… errr, I mean ‘tax’ today and I’d appreciate it if you would stop these shenanigans and let me do my job before I call my superiors and order you to be audited.”
“All right, all right. Bureaucratic paper-pusher. No sense of humor…”
[sounds of many locks, chains and bolts being undone]
“That’s better Mr. GeekMan. Can we come in?”
“Before I let you in, would you mind telling me who your friends are?”
“Oh, sure. This is Mr. Hugh Ohmemore, Mr. Sid Deetax and Miss Stakesullcostya. The two big guys in the back are with the ‘We Break 4U’ moving company and I believe you already know Mr. Quarterly.”
“Moving company?”
“I’ll explain once you let us in. You are going to let us in, aren’t you?”
“What if I say ‘no’?”
“You know that nice homeless man who talks to himself and hangs out in front of the train station every morning with no teeth and a paper cup? The one who smells like year-old urine and stale beer?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ll be his love-bitch.”
“Uncle Sam! Old buddy, old pal! Don’t just stand out there like a stranger; come on in! Can I get you a Fresca?”
“No thank you, Mr. GeekMan. We’re just here to collect what you owe us so if you’ll just stand aside, we’ll take what’s ours and be on our merry way.”
“What? Wait a minute; I just dropped off my tax stuff this morning and I know I sent checks in those envelopes. Big, fat, bank account hemorrhaging, ‘I’m going to need to sell blood and body parts to cover this’ –type checks. How could you be here already?”
“I can’t divulge all our secrets to you Mr. GeekMan. Let’s just say we’ve had our eye on you for some time and leave it at that, ok?”
“…”
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. It’s just that when I clear my throat it sometimes sounds like ‘son of a bitch’. Ignore it.”
“Hmmm… That was ‘humor’. I recognize that.”
“Alrighty, then. Why are you here Uncle Sam?”
“To collect what’s due. According to our records, you made a small sum of money last year and, since you’re a Freelance Graphic Designer, we get roughly 99.9% of your yearly gross. After looking into your bank accounts we knew you wouldn’t be able to pay us so rather then let you pawn your fabulous geeky toys in order to raise cash, we’ve decided to simply come to you and help ourselves to your most prized possessions in lieu of payment. This saves you the hassle and embarrassment of a full-fledged audit and helps get the money your government needs to run properly into its coffers faster. Wasn’t that thoughtful of us?”
“Oh crap. Uh, why are those two moving guys looking at my home theater speakers?”
“Correction. ‘MY’ speakers, Mr. GeekMan.”
“Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I can’t owe that much, can I?”
“Oh my, Mr. GeekMan. This is only the beginning! Your front and center speakers belong to me now, the rear speakers and subwoofer are going to the State, and Sid here gets your DVD player and TV.”
[GeekMan is in complete shock]
“I think it was very generous of us to leave Miss Ex-Boxx in your care. Don’t you agree?”
“Wait a minute! I can pay you! Don’t take my baby away! How much do I owe?”
“You can see for yourself right here on this document…”
[paper shuffles]
“Holy horse jockey with hemorrhoids! I can’t pay this much. Dammit man, Bill Gates couldn’t even pay this!”
“I thought as much. Ok boys, grab our new stuff.”
“Oh. My. God. Not my home theater. Please, anything but that…”
“Sorry Mr. GeekMan, rules are rules.”
“You bastard. Do you expect me to pay?”
“No, Mr. GeekMan. I expect you to cry.”
Scene ends: GeekMan is crying on the floor of a now desolate and empty apartment.
