the elevator bard

NOTE:This work was copied straight from Microsoft Word. In the process, some elements of the format have been changed. Forgive me.




***The Elevator Bard***

(Stage is all black as a spotlight follows our narrator, Shane, across down stage right. He wears a brown suit with a hat. The kind of fellow you suspect most people you see on the street to be. He begins talking to the audience in the way you would talk to a person you don’t know, but oddly enough seem comfortable enough to joke with.)
Shane
This is a story of a storyteller. Of course not just not any old storyteller, because there’s a lot of storytellers, and they most certainly don’t have stories about them. But believe me, this one deserves a story told about him. So I’m here to tell it to you. Strangely enough, this wonderful young man didn’t travel the world, or enlighten the minds of children, or anything like that… not to say those are bad things, but he had his audience, and it was great for both parties not matter how small an area he covered. That small area was the Daily building. Which just so happens to be here.

(Snaps. Dim lights up on the set. Center stage there is a large elevator. Its doors are suggested with a light screen attached to a cage door facing the audience. Inside it there is red floor, possibly some fancy wall decorations, and control sprouting from the elevator’s floor. Whenever it goes to its floors we hear various engine and pulley effects that would be appropriate to such a fine piece of work. We’ll address the other point of its travels as it becomes necessary. As for now, surrounding the elevator there are the settings of a lobby. A front desk sits down stage right with a typewriter and telephone topping it off. Opposing the desk on the stage left there is two lobby chairs and a couch. An end table resides at the end of the couch with business-affiliated magazines making their residence. Behind the desk, typing intently, is Eleanor, busy as she will be throughout the show. Shane takes a seat on the couch and begins loitering, reading a newspaper. Our dear Shane continues.)

Now, I have an office on the very top floor in this building. I have a nice, private office with my name on the door, and a wonderfully overstuffed chair. But it wasn’t always like this, I’ll have you know. I used to work on the third floor in a room full of other guys like me who wished as much as I did that they would get that top floor office. Would wish that our boss, old Mr. Crenshaw would retire, or croak, or get the boot thanks to a union or something and we would be next in line. Well, everyday I would ride the building’s only elevator up to the third floor and work on the pages of The Daily with my comrades in arms. And that’s how I met our bard, Stanley Tripdinson.

(Shane exits. Lights go full on set.)


Shane
I’m telling you Eleanor, when the town has a paper like The Times, I gotta wonder how in the world this fly by night paper of ours is just sitting pretty.

Eleanor
Generally speaking, Mr. Johnson, the word ‘ours’ suggests one having some say about the object in question. One generally attains ‘a say’ by putting effort into it.

Shane
You know Eleanor, you’re awfully abrasive for a friend.

Eleanor
In all rights, Mr. Johnson, I am a very good friend to all the employees of the office, but I will not humor false precepts.

(Eleanor shoots a look at Shane, he responds with a simultaneous look in her direction, quickly followed by his eyes evasively returning to his paper. A few seconds pass.)

Shane
Well, that’s certainly a light at the end of the tunnel. So how is old Crenshaw this morning? Riding high on his tall horse of slave labor?

Eleanor
First and foremost, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Crenshaw happens to run one of the fairest businesses for his employees. Second, he has not come in yet, and thus I am unable to inform you exactly how well he is.

Shane
He hasn’t showed up yet?!

(Shane franticly glances at watch. Throws up paper and leaps behind the couch he was just loitering on. Before the papers hit the ground, Crenshaw enters. By Crenshaw’s looks, one assumes he is the exact type of man he is. A pompous, rich, arrogant, self-centered businessman. Possibly a well-kept beard complimented with glasses, a vest, and a pocket watch. Or maybe too work based to bother with vanity. Perhaps then a jacket being held over the shoulder with hastily- done hair. He walks in with force and a strong presence.)

Crenshaw
Eleanor, what’s of the day so far?

Eleanor
Nothing, Mr. Crenshaw, which is worth noting anymore than the usual business.

Crenshaw
Indeed. Well then, I sha…
(Foot glides across a page from Shane’s untidily disposed newspaper. Picks up, glances at it. Almost, but not entirely carelessly, he replaces it.)
An appropriate floor mat, Eleanor! Pass on my compliments to the janitor responsible. I will be in my office. Please ensure disturbances are at a minimum, thank you.
(Passes to the elevator. Presses the ‘call’ button. Waits a moment. Obviously impatient. The arrival bell rings and the cage door opens. Within the elevator stands Stanley. The young elevator boy opens the door and allows in Mr. Crenshaw.)
Top floor!

(The cage door closes. Shane peaks from behind his concealment. His eyes dart around before he feels it is safe to rise.)

Shane
He’s gonna be the death of me!
(Glances at watch again. Dismayed.)
Hope one of the guys punched in for me.
(Moves to elevator and presses ‘call’ button. While waiting, Eleanor’s typing becomes rhythmic. Perhaps 3 beats of typing, and one of her sliding back the paper feed. Shane slowly catches rhythm. Begins whistling, or possibly just singing some generic ‘la-te-das’. Soon after he begins, Eleanor ceases to type. Shane continues a few moments more, realizes he’s lost his percussion section and ends suddenly on the second to last note of his impromptu (or possibly arranged.) musical number. The arrival bell rings, the cage door opens, Shane quickly delivers the final note of his performance, steps into the elevator, and the door quickly shuts behind him.)
Lucky number three, chief.

(We now will come to meet Stanley. Dressed in a classic elevator boy’s outfit, he is obviously on one of his first workdays, if not his very first. Consistently attentive, and speaking with an exaggerated British accent. We see the following conversation conveyed in the elevator. The cage door will remain closed, and the characters within the elevator will be backlit behind the light screen mentioned earlier. Thus, they will be visible, though slightly blurred to give a sense of enclosure. Also, try to time the different traveling time for different destinations of the elevator to have some degree of uniformity. Here’s the tricky part, all this while, the lobby set has been taken off stage. It has been replaced in the stage’s absence of light with several cluttered desks of Shane’s coworkers. Clever, isn’t it? The conversation between these to fellows will ensue after a few beats of silence. Our dear Stanley will never look anywhere but straight forward… ever. That is, until I make any note otherwise. But later, later…)

Stanley
If you don’t mind me saying sir, your performance was quite enjoyable. I didn’t hear all of it, of course, but the ending seemed to be quite an event.

Shane
Oh… well ah, thanks. You missed when I still had my percussion section. I suppose she lost her place on the sheet music. (pause) Say… you new? I ride this elevator pretty much… more often than I like, and I don’t remember anyone… quite like you.

Stanley
Stanley Tripdinson, my sir.
(Offers hand for a good shake. While staring forward, of course.)
I just got this job. It’s treated me well, for the most, so far.

(Arrival bell rings. Shane shakes Stanley’s hand. The elevator boy opens the cage door. Shane begins to step out.)

Shane
Well I’m glad to hear it, Stanley. I hope it stays that way. Just watch out for that ol’ Crenshaw. He doesn’t bite, but he certainly slobbers a lot. Boy, that Crenshaw. I sure wish I had his spot.
(Stanley pauses a moment and looks thoughtfully at Shane.)
Anyhow, like I said, watch out for him.

(Stanley responds as the cage door is closing, completely devoid of his accent.)

Stanley
You’re telling me!

(Shane looks back just as the cage door closes. Stage lights up on 3rd floor workroom. A small time punch machine sits near the elevator, while three cluttered work desk fill the stage. Two stage left, one stage right. Our friendly Shane works at the one stage right. Two of his friends of the office fill the other two desks. Scrap paper litters the floor, while wastebaskets filled to the brim with wadded up papers overflow. Jack, an obvious workaholic sits behind one of our stage left desks working on something that is apparently worthy of his undivided attention. It’s obvious he handles a lot of stress, but is nonetheless a friend of his coworkers and a likeable guy. A loosed tie and thick rim glasses seem to me, appropriate. His desk is obviously used, but still kept as clean as one would expect a true professional to keep his desk. Don sits on the other desk stage left. He is a starch contradiction. A younger fellow, who still is intimidated by the idea of devoting time to actual work. Rolled up sleeves, a completely undone tie, and pencil behind his ear, more so there just to suggest he might use it than he really ever will. His desk is cluttered with various doo-dads that make it apparent that it is used for things other than company business more often than not. Probably sitting cross-legged on his desk with a cup of coffee in his right hand and sporting a letter in his left. As the scene begins, we hear laughter from Don. His letter seems to be the cause. )

Don
Catch this Jack- My brother Jim, you know, the one in Alaska? He says here he was doing the night shift at the wildlife preserve, and he saw a polar bear with a Studebaker door! Just pushing it along across the snow like he owned it. Sounds to me like he did own it! Heh, heh!?

(Jack’s plain lack of enthusiasm and interest in Don’s jokes and stories provokes Don to keep to his own until our dear friend Shane says hello.)

Shane
Hey fellas. What have you wasted the day on so far? Better yet, what should I waste my time worrying about?

(The coworkers quickly offer their respective prospects, which have been resting on their desks.)

Don
Coffee.

Jack
Your time card.

Don
A straw and a purist philosophy.

Shane
(Accepting the coffee.)
And the Yankees take the game.
(Catches Jack’s irritation and quickly seizes the slip of paper from his Jack’s raised hand.)
But Boston has still got next time.

Jack
I’m not going to punch in for you next time.

Don
It’s my turn anyway. But really, Shane. If I can get here on time, you most certainly can. Eh, but who cares, right? So did you hear about my brother? The polar bear with a Studebaker door? Isn’t that great stuff?

(Shane is beginning to make himself at home at his desk. Takes off his hat his jacket and lays them down on his work area.)

Jack
I didn’t know your brother pushed a Studebaker door for a living.

Don
Ha ha. Look at this guy. A regular stand up comic. What a joker!

Shane
Did you guys get a look at the new elevator boy? Stanley, I think. Quite the character. Sounded like he was talking in one of those over the top cockney accents. But I don’t know why he would be…

Don
Isn’t that something? I could have sworn he was going for a Frenchie when I rode with him.

(Don and Shane look anxiously at Jack. He responds dead-pan and without interrupting his work.)

Jack
Thick Irish.

(The two, ahem, less enthusiastic workers quickly begin developing some sort of plot through some generic, yet oddly specific hand gestures with some grunts of agreement or contradiction as well as a few short quips accompanying them. ‘You?’, ‘me?’, ‘than..’, and “but…” come to mind. This is obviously not the first ‘project’ they have undertaken. In the end, with a grand finale of flailing arms and wide grins, it is obvious they have come to the decision that Don will go down stairs. As he approaches the elevator and presses the call button, he is enlightened to a certain fact by the ever-wise Jack, as he looks up from his work for the first time.)

Jack
I’d hate to break it to you Don, but the obituaries don’t write themselves. Though by the effort you put into them, one would probably wish they did.

Don
Ladies and gentlemen, again, I give you the comic.
(An extravagant bow ensues.)
The people who actually read the obituaries are most certainly bursting at the seams.

Shane
Jack, there dead. There isn’t much of a rush for ‘em.

Jack
There’s always a chance, and if my memory serves correct, you were the author of “Downtown Ghosts. More than a shadow of truth.” That article that made the 3rd page two weeks back.

Shane
(Another extravagant bow similar to his partner’s before him.)
Check mate.

(As this conversation ends, the elevator Don has been waiting for finally arrives. He steps in to the elevator.)

Don
Lobby.
(Shoots a grin to Shane)

Stanley
(In heavy French accent.)
Oui, oui sir. To ze lobbay.

(The doors close, and the two remaining employees meet each other’s eyes darting. Jack admits a chuckle while Shane is nearly rolling with laughter. His dialogue is choked through the childish, extremely childish, laughter. )

Shane
Done in by the weekend! Crenshaw’s not going to stand for that! Not that does much standing! Get it?! Standing?! Ha!

(Jack has long ceased to be amused. Shane slowly falls out of the hilarity triggered hysteria and sat down to begin working. Just as his last bit of laughing ends, loud and fun laughter is heard. It’s that of Don. Quickly, the elevator door opens and Stanley delivers a punch line through Don’s laughter. Jack and Shane cannot help but stare at this point.)

Stanley
And he zayz- ‘wi wood oo buy a chikin, when the iz a dock on ze countre?’

(Don and the elevator boy shake hands, the door closes, and he continues to laugh as he makes his way back to his desk.)

Don
He’s great! I’d never give him a day off if it were my say!

(Black on stage. Shane enters the spotlight, and becomes our narrator once again.)

Shane
So that’s how we met Stanley. Now like I said, this story is about Stanley. So based on some common sense, you’d think you’d be seeing a lot of him… Not quite the case. You see, Stanley, in himself, is not a story. Neither is what he did, so I suppose I have been a little misleading. This story is more so about what happened thanks to the guy. Hope that clears up any misunderstanding. Anyhow, to continue. So my buddies and I, not to mention the rest of the 3rd floor and the building had grown to love Stanley. And fortunately, we discovered that Don’s idea of our elevator boy’s future was far more accurate than mine. It had been about a month since he was hired and everyone still got a kick out of him every time they came up the ol’ Daily building chute. Everyone, of course, except ol’ Crenshaw. The old cootie remained unaware of the hunk of entertainment that pulled the lever everyday to take him to his office. Stanley knew enough to keep things ‘professional’ with the boss, and everyone else knew better than to tell him about the storyteller. Now at first, this was all fine. Stanley made you laugh on your way up, maybe he’d convince you to go down to the lobby for no real reason other than to hear about the baseball who was convinced he was a basketball and the comedy that resulted, or maybe he just showed you what it would be like if you had had an old sea captain for an elevator boy. All fine, right? Well… it was… for a time…

(During the narration, we have had our set return to the lobby. As usual, Eleanor is busy at the desk, and we find Shane loitering on a couch with a paper. We hear the elevator arrival bell ring, and see Don stumble out of the elevator chuckling with a cup of coffee in his hand.)

Shane
Don? What are you doing in the lobby? They finally broke down and put a coffee pot upstairs, remember?

Don
Yeah… yeah… but Stanley didn’t have a chance to finish this morning…
(sets his coffee down on Eleanor’s desk. Continues to tell story with his hands.)
alright get this… so this guy-

(We hear a door open and close offstage. Shane and Don shoot a glance stage left in unison. Shane repeats his flying leap behind the couch, Don springs behind Eleanor’s desk, Crenshaw enters, Eleanor hands him Don’s coffee, he mumbles a ‘thank you’, presses the elevator call button, steps on when the door opens, the door closes. All seamless. The men both peak from behind their concealments, and breathe a sigh of relief. Both obviously still slightly shaken by a close call. Shane presses the elevator call button. The door opens. )

Eleanor
Gentlemen.

Shane/Don
Eleanor.

(The duo steps on the elevator. We hear Stanley as he closes the door.)

Stanley
He didn’t see anything.
(The two breathe another, more complete sigh of relief.)
Did you ever hear about the blind man who thought he could see? Well- Oh. It seems we’re at the third floor.

(Shane steps off. Don remains and replies without hesitation.)

Don
I need the 12th.

(Stanley continues.)

Stanley
Oh. Well then… This old man, a blind old man, lived all his life blind. But it so happened that throughout the entirety of his life, no one had happed to bother telling him he was blind. Naturally, because he thought he was normal, he was happy as he could be despite his lack of vision. One day, after such a life, a doctor came to town. He told the blind fellow he could give him sight. The old man was confused what he meant, but was eventually convinced to try what this man said, despite his lack of understanding of what he was missing. Well, after the doctor had performed a few actions, the old man could indeed see. Can you imagine his joy? His life, which this blind man thought was full, was made joyful through seeing what he had never seen. Do you feel like that sometimes?

Don
I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve had vision since birth.

Stanley
But have you really seen life? Not life in an office… just… life? Perhaps you should, because I daresay you’ve never experienced life like you’ve wanted.

Don
You know… you’re right. I mean, I’ve spent how long now behind a desk in an office… I use to write poetry you know… and do sketches… of anything! What happened to me?

Stanley
What are you going to do about it?

Don
What do you mean?

Stanley
Can’t you guess?

Don
Do you mean I should just stop working and do what I want?

Stanley
Is there anything else to do?

(There is a beat of Don in obvious self-debate. He comes to a conclusion.)
Don
Stanley, you’re right! You’re absolutely right! Take me to the lobby I’m getting out of this place right now!

Stanley
The lobby sir.
(The elevator door opens. He offers the exit with his arm to Don.)
May the wings of fate take you where you desire to go.

(Don shoots Stanley a glance as to say ‘thanks’ and rushes out of the elevator. The elevator becomes dark like the stage surrounding it. We hear Shane’s voice. As his monologue continues, the stage lights come up on the third floor office. The scene change had been made during the elevator scene. Jack and Don are at their respective agendas. Jack’s office work and Don’s crossword puzzle. Shane is standing just down stage of his desk. )

Shane
That elevator had become a cocoon. Dull office workers were going into that elevator, staying in, then coming out as these poetic butterflies that couldn’t stand the prospect of an office any longer. Stanley was doing something he hadn’t before. People that would ride up and down that chute everyday and worked just fine, probably better, were now just up and leaving. Not many people were left on old floor number 3.

(Shane sits at his desk thinking. Several moments of silence pass. The occasional cough or the noise of a typewriter is all that stirs. Don is obviously troubled by the silence. Glancing around the room, he belts out a decisive yell. His two comrades look complacently at him, and all three then return to their various tasks. A few more seconds pass.)

Don
Wow… it’s almost creepy how quiet this place is.

(The stage goes dark again outside of a spotlight on Shane as he walks downstage.)

Shane
He was right. It was, and it was getting more so as the days went by. People were dropping like flies. Everyone, everyone, was leaving.

(Shane walks offstage and the lights go up. We are back in the lobby. No one is there. Shane comes on stage. Realizing the absence of Eleanor makes him go to her desk to investigate. When he reaches her desk, he finds a note. Begins to read.)

Shane
Mr. Crenshaw- My deepest apolo-

(Shane begins a sentimental moment as he reads the note when he hears a door open and close. He freezes. Crenshaw enters occupied in some periodical and presses the elevator call button while giving his speech.)

Crenshaw
Eleanor, I have far too many papers to take care of today for any visitors and far too few ink cartridges for my pen to sign everything I need to. Please have some ink sent up, visitors kept out, all calls held, except any bank men that need me, but only if they’re on assignment from the national. Understood?

(Crenshaw has completely neglected this entire time to so much as glance toward the desk and stands facing the elevator. Shane, not knowing how to respond, replies in the most feminine voice that he can possibly muster.)

Shane
Yes, Mr. Crenshaw.

Crenshaw
Good.

(The elevator door opens. Crenshaw steps in and is soon gone. Shane, relieved, continues with the note.)

Shane
My deepest apologies, but I was recently enlightened to the idea of my lack of purpose in my life by our elevator boy. I highly recommend you converse with him seriously upon one of your trips to your office. I am honestly surprised with as much as you see him he has yet to convince you likewise. My thanks for your fair employment, and best wishes. Signed, Eleanor… What in the world is happening? Everyone is leaving me in this dump... everybody…
(The elevator opens and out scrambles Jack, obviously in a hurry. Shane is horrified that he is could be losing his last ally. Jack continues towards the door throughout the conversation.)
Jack! You can’t leave me!

Jack
What are you talking about?

Shane
You can’t just run off! You know more than anybody you can work and still have a life! You can’t just leave!

Jack
Shane, my wife is in labor! I have to go! Punch out for me!

(Jack has made it off stage. Shane goes from horrified to celebratory. )

Shane
You never said anything about your wife being pregnant!.. You’ve never said anything about a wife!

Jack (Off stage.)
We’ll catch up later!

(Stage goes black outside of the spotlight on Shane.)

Shane
He had a wife… I went back to my office. I went to punch in but Jack, ever enduring, had been a pal and taken care of it. I didn’t punch his card out yet. I decided I was going to when I left. He probably would have said it was bad ethics, but hey, he had a baby to worry about. And a wife. Nothing really needed to be done, well, things did, but none of them ever would be done now, so I kicked up my heels and took a nap. It was by far the most useless nap I have ever had. No rest was involved. All that went on was that I had a dream… and what a dream at that.
(Behind him, we see a scene unfolding. The lights are light enough to see, but dim enough to show the surreal atmosphere of the dream. All stage is clear save the elevator. In the elevator we see Stanley sitting on some sort of throne. As Shane’s monologue ensues, people are entering and sitting on the floor before the elevator and continue to do so. Stanley is apparently telling a story, but we do not hear it.)
I saw Stanley. He was in his elevator… telling some kind of story on a throne of a sort. And, and there was a crowd of people there. Just listening to him. Slowly, more people started to come in. Don came in. So did Eleanor. All the people from work, filing in and resting on the floor. Everyone was there but me, Jack, and Crenshaw. But then, I did see Jack.
(Jack walks across the stage. He and Stanley quickly exchange waves, and the same then occurs with Shane.)
He seemed to be… leaving… And then, then I saw Crenshaw too. He was last.
(Crenshaw continues as Shane says he does.)
He came and sat down in the very front. He was like a nine year old… Sat and rocked as he listened to the story. I was so confused. I couldn’t understand what Stanley was doing. I was on my way to ask him just what he was up to, and-
(Stanley has thrown his hands in the air as a finale. His crowd reacts. The stage lights are thrown to full brightness and quickly dropped to complete darkness. The darkness remains through the scene.)
I woke up in my office. We had apparently had a power outage.
(Through the next bit of dialogue, we hear noises of waste baskets crashing, Shane’s stifled mutters from his stumbling, that sort of thing.)
I stumbled around for a few moments trying to get my bearings, but I quickly realized I wasn’t getting far. So I headed back to the desk and went back to sleep.

(After a few moments of quiet darkness, we see a candle being carried in from stage left. When the candle is lit, the stage is dimly lit so we can see, but that our light source in not strong in the 3rd floor office. The candle’s holder is old Mr. Crenshaw. When we see him, it is obvious much has changed with him. He has gone from grumpy and busied to casual, cheerful, and apparently a bit absent minded due to his obvious excitement. )

Crenshaw
Hello? Is there anyone here?
(He finds Shane sitting, asleep, at his desk.)
You there! You! Wake up!

(Crenshaw knocks his employee’s feet off the desk. Shane awakes with a slight startled yell, which startles Crenshaw, who accidentally blows out the candle. Shane speaks with a sleepy drawl. He is obviously a bit disoriented.)

Shane
Crenshaw?

Crenshaw
No! I’m not your conscience! I’m your employer!

Shane
Why in the world did we hire an embalmer?

Crenshaw
Employer!

(Crenshaw lights a match and the candle once again. When the candlelight comes up, we find the pair staring at each other. Shane is obviously rather nervous.)

Shane
Oh… Hello Mr. Crenshaw… Hey… What’s with the candle?

Crenshaw
Power outage. I can’t seem to manage to find a janitor. Can’t imagine where he could have gotten away to.

Shane
Umm… Yeah. Me neither.

Crenshaw
Well, at any rate, I happened to have some plans upstairs. There is apparently, for whatever reason, a fuse box on this level. I came down the fire escape looking to find it and see if I could get this place up and running.

(Shane moves off stage left.)

Shane (Off stage.)
Fuse box, eh? Let’s see… Bring the candle a little over this way. This looks like it could be it. Hmm… Locked.
(We hear some banging offstage.)
You have a key?

Crenshaw
Perhaps…

(The banging ceases.)

Shane
Never mind. Now for a little Johnson magic touch. And-
(A quick flash of light and the lights fade back to the candlelight level. A few more bangs, a pause, than a finale slam. The lights rise to normal level. Shane reenters with satisfaction in his stride.)
Well, problem solved.

Crenshaw
Very good. Quite an impressive show. Now that I think about it, this was a bit of a waste of time, though. Sometimes I’m very silly like that.

(Crenshaw is on his way to the elevator. Shane stops him to talk.)

Shane
What do you mean by that?

Crenshaw
Hmm? Oh, well, I was actually just on my way out when the power went down.

Shane
But you’d just have to get them back up tomorrow, right?

Crenshaw
Gratefully, I’m afraid you’re wrong. I in fact won’t be here tomorrow.

(Shane is becoming frantic at his realization as to what has obviously happened to his employer.)

Shane
You mean, uh, you’re finding yourself sick?

Crenshaw
Oh, quite the opposite. I’m just now finding a cure, a cure to a sickness I’ve had for quite some time. A bad rash of an empty life! I’m off to Europe with my wife so soon as I can make the arrangements.
(Walks to elevator and presses the call button.)
My wife has always wanted to see… Umm… Some place in Europe. Can’t seem to recall the name…

Shane
Wait! You have a wife?

Crenshaw
Of course I have a wife.
(The elevator arrives. Crenshaw steps in. Shane dashes in after him. We have now, an elevator scene. The scene outside is being transformed into the lobby.)
Lobby, Old friend.

(Stanley is now a foreigner of some sort, with an untraceable accent. Shane is exasperated with this new situation.)

Stanley
But of course, sir.

Shane
But how long you going to be gone? Who’s going to run the place?

Stanley
Oh, where are you going sir?

Crenshaw
Oh, I’m off to Europe with my adoring wife.

Shane
Why does everyone suddenly have a wife?!

Crenshaw
You two are married?
(Stanley and Shane both look strangely at Crenshaw.)
You have wives, I mean?

Shane
No, it’s just a figure of speech. Neither one of us are married.

Stanley
Excuse me sir, but I have six wives.

Crenshaw
Congratulations!

(The elevator makes it to the lobby. Crenshaw shakes Stanley’s hand and steps out. Shane follows, amazingly frustrated.)

Shane
Look here, Crenshaw. You leave, and your company is going to utterly keel over! You need to put someone in charge while your gone.

Crenshaw
That’s a good point…
(Thinks for a moment. Fishes in his pocket, fetches his keys, and continues to toss them to Shane. He heads stage left.)
Everything you need is in my office. Top floor.

Shane
You mean you’re giving me say over the Daily til you get back?

(Crenshaw has made it off stage. He pokes back in for a moment to deliver his final message, and departs.)

Crenshaw
On second thought, just keep it. Good luck!

(Shane is now alone. Exasperated, he presses the elevator call button and sits on the couch. A few seconds pass. We hear the arrival bell, the door opens, and Stanley awaits his passenger. Finding none, he cautiously steps out.)

Shane
Stanley, have a seat.
(Stanley sits on the empty reception desk and waits for Shane to say something.)
Stanley, you have single handedly destroyed this paper. Do you realize that? I have just been proclaimed the king of a dead empire. All of my would-be subjects have left, and all I have now is a bard. An elevator bard. Well, congratulations. But you have to tell me, I am the king now you know, how you got them all to leave. I know it was you. But how?

Stanley
That’s simple, your majesty. They didn’t enjoy their lives here in the office. They knew, somewhere, there was something that would make them happy, but since it wasn’t in the Daily building, they had yet to see whatever it was. So I told them.

Shane
Told them what?

Stanley
I told them all enough about how wonderful and beautiful and adventurous life is, that they wanted to know how to find out about the things I was telling them. And I told them. ‘Leave the office,’ I said.

Shane
And so they did. But, why didn’t you get so far with Jack and I?

Stanley
You two were happy. Jack, he’s a workaholic. He was happy here because he was productive here. And you, well, I’m not sure why, but you somehow broke the mold and could be… not happy… just, content. You were holding out for your gold at the end of the periodical rainbow. You wanted Crenshaw’s spot. Remember? The first time we met.

Shane
I guess I did, didn’t I? So, I wanted something no one else in the office really did? Didn’t Jack want the same spot?

Stanley
Jack wanted a secure workspace. With a baby, now, he certainly has it.

Shane
Good point.
(beat)
Well, thanks Stanley. You’ve done well. Now if you please, I need a lift to the top floor. I need to get to work, you know.

Stanley
Of course.

(Stanley steps into the elevator. All lights down but one a spotlight on Shane.)

Shane
So that’s it. That’s how Stanley Tripdinson got me into where I am today. First thing I did when I took control was to put a new section in the paper. A sort of, artistic section. Stories, poems, those sorts of things. Next, I promoted Stanley to president over that department. He was a bit reluctant to drop the elevator routine, but I insisted I needed him, if anyone to be in charge of a section concerned with stories. Besides-I needed a staff. I had learned from the past. After that, I gave Jack a call. It was a girl by the way. Anyway, he got a little mad when I told him I didn’t punch out for him. After I told him he was my new co-president for the Daily, he harped on me for my sarcasm too. When I finally convinced him though, he was pretty happy. I offered to just let him split the profit with me down the middle and he didn’t need to do really anything, since I owed him for all those punch-ins. Jack though, he wouldn’t have it. He works at home now. I hired Don back as soon as I found him. He does the paper’s crosswords. Crenshaw took his wife to Europe, just like he said he would. Apparently, Eleanor wanted to see Italy. I guess he couldn’t leave the business altogether, through. He writes our ‘round the world’ weekly section. For the most part, you can see the former staff of the Daily from my office window now, sitting in the park across the street from us, just… enjoying life. They always wave and send in poems and sketches to Stanley’s department. I run the paper now. Stanley did just what he meant to do… make everyone in the Daily building happy… in whatever way they would be. Stanley, took apart the place piece by piece, and everyone is better off. And thus, I give you the power, of a story.
(Curatain.)