fuckin WORK!

Lights up on a table with manila folders piled high.  We hear the din of machinery.  A door opens, and the din grows much louder.  Two men enter.  The younger man is holding a clipboard, the older man sits by a table going through the folders.  The younger man closes the door.

THE BOSS

In my mind, you got a job to do, you do it.  Simple.  No bullshit.  I mean, if you know the job entails that you got to come in on weekends, and you take the job, and you know this, you gotta come in.  I don’t wanna hear you got this to do, you got that to do.  I’m sorry, but that’s none of my business.  My business is I got work here that needs doin.  And now you tell me you don’t wanna come in, and you don’t and I get the job done with what I got here, then what the hell do I need you for? You’re not here.  The job got done.  Who the fuck needs ya?

 

THE ASSISTANT

My son’s birthday.

 

THE BOSS

Hey, you coulda come in the morning, put in some time—

 

THE ASSISTANT

He was five.  Big day for him.

 

THE BOSS

Look, nobody wants you to not go to your son’s birthday party, but the job’s gotta get done.

 

THE ASSISTANT

I know, but I couldn’t leave.

 

THE BOSS

The old days, you didn’t come in on Sunday—

 

THE ASSISTANT

—you didn’t come in on Monday.  Yeah.

 

THE BOSS

See my point?

 

THE ASSISTANT

Yeah.  I do.

 

THE BOSS

These motherfuckers, they don’t know how good they got it.

End of Excerpt

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