A car in a parking
lot. A young man in a sport coat and
shirt, no tie, sits behind the wheel. An
attractive female in a black dress sits next to him.
Scott: Oh man, that band was great, wasn’t it?
Kat: Yeah, it was
really cool. I’ve never heard like,
trip-hop mixed with all that Latin stuff before. Thanks so much for taking me.
Scott: Oh, no problem. I’ve seen them live like, three or four times, it’s a great band.
totally. (Kat crosses her legs and leans over towards Scott)
Scott: I can totally burn you some of their CDs…if you want.
Kat: Oh, really? That’d be awesome. Hey, put on some music.
Scott: Oh? Yeah, yeah, sure. Something different than was just on. Don’t want to overdose, hah. (Nervously laughs, Kat also laughs and plays with her hair) So it’s only like, 11:30. There’s a pretty good bar down on 12th, if you wanna go.
Kat: Um, sure. Yeah, we could do that. (leans
over a little more) This is a really
nice car. I have a big thing…you know…for
Scott: Really? I mean, it’s a Civic.
Scott: And it’s kind
of old. I mean, jeez. Anyway, let’s go to that bar, yeah? (goes
to start car, engine won’t start). What the hell?
Voice: Hello, OnStar has detected that you’re acting like a pussy. We’ve flooded your engine so you’ll have to make awkward conversation until you make out with the hot chick next to you.
Scott: What? I wasn’t being a pussy.
OnStar: Since we’ve detected no wingman in sight, we’ve taken measures to ensure your night ends well. We’ll be in touch.
Scott: Oh. Well thanks, I guess.
OnStar: Why are you still talking to me?
Scott: Right. (Makes
out with Kat).
Later, on the highway
Scott: I fucking hate
this highway. Everyone’s always cutting
Kat: I thought you said it was on 12th?
Scott: Yeah but it’s
quicker just to cut across town like this.
OnStar: OnStar has detected you’ve got no sense of direction. We’re immediately clogging the right and middle lanes so you have to get off at the next exit.
Scott: What? Why? It only takes like three minutes this way?
OnStar: You’ve taken seven already, and you’ll get there right as it gets crowded, and she’ll go home with someone who runs a hedge fund or something.
Scott: That’s not
Kat: It’s kinda true. I mean, about the crowded thing. I hate feeling too crowded.
Scott: That is
weak. Fine, I’ll just get off here. Jesus, I’m never gonna be able to cut over,
look at those assholes.
OnStar: OnStar has detected you;'re driving like a little girl. Accelerating to unnecessarily high velocities so you look like you actually have a pair.
Scott: (thrown back against seat by velocity,
speaking through gritted teeth) Damn you OnStar!
Later, after last call, the parking lot of a nightclub.
Scott: Hah, well,
what a night. (opens car door)
Kat: Yeah, seriously, I had such a blast.
Drunk Guy: (angry and drunk, to Scott) Hey
faggot, you getting laid tonight?
Scott: Fuck you, buddy.
Drunk Guy: You sayin’ something?
Scott: (to Kat) Let’s just go.
OnStar: OnStar has
detected a sudden bitch-out. We’re
immediately shouting obscenities back at the drunk guy until you learn to
either keep your mouth shut or win a fight.
Scott: I’m tearing this thing out.
OnStar: (loudly) Hey shithead, you wanna fight or just talk to me all night?
Scott: Crap. (Drunk guy leaps and tackles Scott)
Back in car, after
Scott: Am I bleeding a lot?
Kat: Not too
bad. Let’s get you home and I’ll patch
you up. You look kind of hot, all the
Scott: It hurts a
Kat: Really? Doesn’t look that bad.
Scott: It hurts.
OnStar: OnStar has detected you are in need of emergency services, since you can’t close with a drunk hot chick. Immediately calling the Wah-mbulance, crybaby.
Scott: I hate this thing (rips
out OnStar console, tosses it out window).
Kat: Let’s go to my place, it’s really close. (leans over)
Scott: Sure. (she reaches over and puts her hand on his thigh, he smiles) Aren’t you worried I might get distracted?
Kat: Not enough to
stop. (she starts kissing his neck)
OnStar: (from side of road, sniffling) I’m just so damn proud. Contacting all your bros to spread bragging rights, immediately. OnStar signing off.
By Michael J. Weingarth