Class was unusually full this evening, more people decided to show up than normal. Arriving fashionably late, three students received the luck of the draw as far as orientation went. Stuck at the front of the room like the teachers' pet, neither of the three wanted to be in such close a proximity with one another. People smell, people fidget, people are people. It's just the way it is sometimes. Kassidy sat to one side, Chris to the other, Elia (the noisy rambunctious one) sat dead center, cramped but accepting. Chris had a long day, he was not really at all enthused to be here or endure the imminent lecture, practically falling asleep. Elia was ecstatic and rather squirrelly, sweating from humidity created from the heavy breathers in the room, and a long night of drinking hard liquor with the “boys” as he bragged to every gal and fellow, ineffectually trying to raise his popularity level. Frankly, for a man with a hangover, he held himself well, composure that is. Sure, he could be loud and enthusiastic at times like a child playing in the sandbox with their favorite toys, tolerable nonetheless.
Sadly to say Kassidy drove from Portland through the heat of the traffic and could be fairly claimed as irritable, though with the endeavor from a lengthy drive finally over she was content to sit down and take a veritable load off, even if it meant sitting next to two crackpots.
Coincidentally with all three arriving late their instructor was running behind to boot. With the capacity for this small, stuffy, artificially lit room at its maximum, students were eager to “dip out” as the Millennial term goes, luckless for it was the week of finals and not one, not a single one was ballsy enough to risk ditching class and suffer the repercussion: an automatic F.
Bored, so very bored, not really doing a hell of a lot, sitting twiddling thumbs and tapping foot against the carpet at a steady beat. Elia looks up at the ceiling, hearing a vibration, ZZZZ … ZZZZZ … ZZZZZ that reminded him of a streetlight outside his old apartment complex that made a peculiar noise such as this until the bulb burst in a flash like fireworks on the fourth of July. Ahh, that's what it is he relieved his neck from craning and focused his sight on Chris. To Elias dismay he witnessed his classmate Chris face down, drooling, asleep like the roofies were good. Continually the phone in front of Chris vibrated, reverberating throughout the desk. Elia in fear of his peer missing a call and partially, partially afraid whether Chris was breathing or not, it didn't look like it, might he be dead Elia thought.
Elia- Like a Dung Beetle rolls its meal, Elia nudged Chris in the arm with his forehead, “Hey, hey man, your phone.”
Chris- Chris only groans, “Uhhhhhhhh....”
Elia- Elia impatiently prods Chris with his elbow, “Wake up you lazy bastard, your phone, pick it up.” Elia pushes said phone closer to Chris.
Chris- Chris turns his face toward Elia without raising his head and looks at him behind squinted eyelids, “Can't you see, you buffoon, I am trying to sleep, a catnap you hear, before the teach gets here.”
Elia- “Yeah, but your phone man, someone is calling.” Disappointed he shakes his head, the nice guy he is received the brunt of the situation. Elia thought, people these days, you try and help them out and they just turn and spit in your eye.
Chris- Reluctantly Chris replies, “Alright, alright already … get off my back.” He answers the call, “Hello?”
Elia- Elia mutters under his breath with contempt, “Ne'er-do-well.”
Chris- “What? I just paid my bill a month in advance, you nincompoop.” On the other end of the line, the soul deprived car salesman and kin of Hades was making damn sure what was due was paid.
Chris- Chris exasperated, “No, no, no frigging way, thirty-six payments still? I just paid the first. I swear on my grandpappies grave, you're a wacko, a nut-job, crazy I tell you,” enunciating his words to get a clear message across to the evidently deaf salesman, “CRAZY!” And, with the force of an avalanche slams his phone down screen first on the desk. Bitter, awake, and attentive now for his personal space, bubble popping, adjacent classmate Elia to pester.
Elia- “What kinda car you driving around Chris, a pathetic Prius or something, you an eco-friendly kinda guy Chris, my mother is, always trying to do good for the environment.” Elia looks at Chris, Chris annoyed at the sound of Elias' voice try's to ignore him, “So, what is it Chris, a Prius, eco boy?”
Chris- “No, no way in hell, not a worthless Prius, I drive a Fiat Abarth 500,” he said as if it were the most prestigious car on the market.
Kassidy- Kassidy chimes in, “A Fiat, that little itty bitty clown car?” She asks, laughing with her hand draped over her mouth and avoiding eye contact.
Chris- Offended, Chris lashes back, “What, what the heck do you two drive? Nagging at my car,” hurt but proud as any male over his automobile he said snarky, “it has spinners.”
Elia- Elia was exhausted from listening and not speaking for a minute, with cheer in his eyes he said, “Mine has a turbo, well when I make the sound effects, see I whistle like so …(Whistles)–”
Chris- Chris cuts Elia off in the middle of his objectionable improv for a turbo, “You a fool or something, daft? What is it, tell me, your car?”
Elia- “A Honda civic,” Elia said proudly, “dilapidated from years of exposure to elements, has some gloss still left on the ruby red paint job where the sun didn't fade it. Oh, and–has a black hood bra strapped on the front to deflect rocks from chipping away its timeless coat. Bugs are the worse, trying to expunge it from the vinyl–”
Chris- Frustrated, Chris did not give a lick about the minutia of Elias car, “In other words a C-L-U-N-K-E-R,” he said long and drawn out, inflicting pain to Elias pride. “Ricers, mines Italian and it is supercharged.”
At this point classmates were intrigued, eavesdropping on the threes constant bickering. The conversation was loud and was starting to become controversial, Japanese car owners against Italian car owners, Kassidy had yet to render her vehicles make and model.
Kassidy- With sass Kassidy straightened up as if interested now in the discussion, “I have a Mercedes S class, top of the line, all the bells and whistles,” there is always that one pretentious individual that likes to rub it in your face that you are poor and they are not, “it's sleek, a crispy silver like a koala bears pelt. And, oh, so, desirable.” She was bemused at the mental image.
Elia- Putting her down like a rabies ridden mutt, Elia mentioned, “Bet you are in debt up to your ass on that one, my car is paid off,” he said dignified. “Can't beat that, right Chris?” Elia pokes Chris with a finger, “Oh, that's right, you have THIRTY-SIX payments left.” Chris bites his lip and snarls.
Chris- “Keep it shut Mr. Civic.”
Kassidy- Kassidy, tired of the boys squabbling, “Well, actually I've done rather well gambling you see, I can count card better than most. In the evenings when I don't have class and when my other job isn't requiring that I be there I am down at the casino taking the Indians money right from beneath their nose, they don't even catch me I am that good.”
Chris- “What is your job?” Chris asked inquisitively.
Kassidy- “Sales, I work sales at the Mercedes dealership in Portland off Hawthorne near the old dusty bar where all of the drunks linger in the street.”
Elia- “Oh cool, I know that one, my paused to go there sometime back before I was born, the bar that is. They have a dealership near it now?”
Kassidy- “Yeah, opened six months ago. You should come by, I can get you a good deal on a newer car.”
Elia- “Really, nah, I cant, Old Faithful: my Honda. She has never done me wrong, I can't trade her in for another car, that's just perverse.”
Kassidy- “Sorry, you can't trade your Honda in I am afraid, I saw it out in the parking lot, that thing needs some TLC.”
Elia- “That supposed to be an insult?”
Kassidy- “No, the truth usually hurts.” With that remark she made Elia whimper.
Chris- “Forget it, your cars are trash. Lets race for pinks? That is unless you are too chicken, Bawk Bawk Bawk.” He flopped his arms like a chicken daring to fly off a hen-house.
Kassidy- Sure of herself and not frightened to put her car on the line, “Race, against your toy car and Elias beater?”
Elia- “It's not a beater, OK, it looks that way, but its reliable I swear.”
Chris- “Mine may be small but it runs forever, never tires. Just because yours is a sedan doesn't mean jack. Elia, we racing or no, you ain't got nothing to lose seeing how your cars the next best thing to the Flintstones vehicle.”
Elia- “You know, screw it,” he throws his hands up in the air. “I am going to race to show you two who the superior is.”
Kassidy- “Fine, just don't cry when your left in the dust.”
Chris- Chris, tired of waiting for the teacher said, “Hell with it, hey everybody in the class,” he stands up and projects his voice for all to hear, “outside, let's go. Kassidy, Elia and I are going to race for pink slips.”
Elia- “The teacher isn't showing,” speaking to the class, “come to see the spectacle, make sure somebody gets this on video!”
Kassidy- Kassidy only shakes her head with that expression girls make when “boys will be boys.”
The entire class jumped from their seats, colliding into one another, flipping desks, chairs, books, the short kid trampled and left behind, all trying to crash through the door at once, following in the threes wake. Out the door they went, running down the stairs to catch up, disrupting other classes and students in the quiet spaces trying to study. The sound of thirty whippersnappers and sixty feet save the classmate who was on crutches–I am not doing the math for that–like a great stampede.
In the parking lot the three line up their vehicles. Ready to go, Elia has his stick shifted into first, Kassidy's Mercedes was an automatic, she put it in drive, Chris had his Abarth's steering wheel clutched by hands as white as bone, music from the early hip-hop era bumping with a sub as large as his car wedged in the back. A gangly student with unkempt brown hair and eyes the color of worn dollar bills volunteered to be the flagman to commence the race. He yells with a raspy voice from extensive years of stealing cigarettes from his father and smoking like a chimney, “Are you ready?” He raises the makeshift flag made from his underpants and hooked to a bowed branch off the old oak out front of the campus. Elia nods, Kassidy nods, Chris is already nodding to the bump of the base dropping hard and rattling his license plate.
“From this end of the parking lot,” they were near the big sign by the highway, “to the other and back, you see that employment division down there,” he points, consecutively the drivers bobbed their heads like a hog digging for apples in a trough.
“No damn bumper cars you hear? Let's keep it clean, and one of you is walking home with two new cars and the one you're driving.” The classmates standing around start going crazy, screaming at the top of their lungs in a chorus, some yelled for Chris to win, some bellowed for Kassidy to triumph, no one shouted for Elia to win.
The drivers rolled their windows up except Elia, his driver side window was frozen down in the door, his track busted and he couldn't afford to fix it due to the outrageous prices charged for school books. It was alright in his mind, they could all hear his improvised turbo as he whistled at passerby. The lanky flagman dropped his britches to signal the commencement of the race, classmates were hollering and shotgunning beers, a group of boys near the back was gambling. Kent being the intellectual of the lot handled the books, did not bet and took most the money as a fee. Clever guy.
Chris shot from the starting line, Kassidy at his tail trying to snatch the lead. Elias Honda had no get-up and go, so he just putted out of first and was grinding gears into second. Slow and steady wins the race, slow and steady wins the race, slow and steady wins the race, a mantra he uttered thrice.
Kassidy gave Chris the middle finger like many drivers before, she passed him on the straight stretch and ripped her E-brake to drift the ass end in a U'e. Elia dead last but creeping up on Chris, Chris hit a pothole, broke a rim and received a flat tire before he could make the turn. Elia- Elia began whistling his imagined turbo's compressor spooling up, stops midway and yells at Chris, “Whose car is a beater now!” Cursing his luck Chris smacks his head against the steering wheel, knowing damn well he lost his Fiat.
Kassidy in the lead heading down to the finish line where the flagman stood with no underwear, the term “going commando” comes to mind if you are accustomed to such slander. But there was a squirrel, oh no, a squirrel, a cute lovely squirrel, scampering into her path. As a child Kassidy nurtured a squirrel with a busted up leg back to life, the squirrel was her best friend. With wistful memories fresh in her mind she could not harm this poor, naive, wide-eyed little feller. She swerved to avoid the vermin, crashing into a parked Ford Ranger, tan and baring a pinstripe down both sides, unfortunately, totaled now.
The least smug of the three ambled along like an old lady gone out for her mail at the post office, Elia stops to check and see if Kassidy is well enough and finding out that she is he darted back to his battered Honda got behind the wheel, slapped his seatbelt on because his mamma told him never to drive without one, and slowly but surely won the race.
Author Notes: The first skit I have written, came into class one day and was told we had a final project with free rein and needed to be performed in front of the class, got put in a group and they decided since I am a writer that I should write a skit for them to act, as our final project. And here it is, thanks and enjoy.