Script: Waiting

Harry: What are you doing?

Bill: Waiting.

Harry: Waiting?

Bill: Yeah.

Harry: What for?

Bill: What do you think I’m waiting for? This is a Bus Stop!

Harry: Hey, don’t get bent out of shape, okay? It’s also my front yard.

Bill: Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.

Harry: Yeah.

Bill: Well I’m just waiting for the bus, okay?

Harry: That’s fine. But there’s just one thing.

Bill: What’s that? Did I step on something? A flower bed or something?

Harry: What’s that?

Bill: Yeah, what’s that?

Harry: You have those golf clubs there. And those are mine.

Bill: What? What are you talking about? These are my golf clubs.

Harry: Oh yeah?

Bill: Yeah.

Harry: I think I know my own golf clubs when I see them. Those right there are mine.

Bill: Uh, no they’re not. These are my golf clubs.

Harry: Now listen here, buddy.

Bill: Yeah, what?

Harry: You’re not going to stand here and tell me those are your golf clubs, when I know for a fact that they’re mine!

Bill: Well you’re mistaken, mister!

Harry: No I’m not.

Bill: You are. You’re mistaken. Look, maybe they look like yours, but…

Harry: They don’t just look like mine. They are mine.

Bill: So what? You can prove that?

Harry: This is bullshit. I’m calling the police.

Bill: Suit yourself.

Harry: But you are not getting on that bus.

Bill: Oh yeah? Who says?

Harry: I said.

Bill: You said?

Harry: Yes. I said.

Bill: Yeah, well the bus is coming in just a couple of minutes, and I’m getting on it.

Harry: The hell you are.

Bill: I am.

Harry: The only way you’re getting on that bus is if I get my clubs back first.

Bill: Are you crazy? You want me to give you my golf clubs?

Harry: They’re not yours, so stop saying they are.

Bill: Mister!

Harry: Get serious! Nobody rides the bus with golf clubs.

Bill: Oh yeah?

Harry: Yeah.

Bill: Well I do.

Harry: You just stole those golf clubs from the back seat of my car, which is parked right over there in my driveway.

Bill: Did you see me?

Harry: Well, no.

Bill: Then how do you know that I did it?

Harry: Because they’re my golf clubs, goddamn it. That’s how I know…and you know it too. So why don’t you stop screwin’ around? I don’t know why you took them, and I don’t care. Here, just look in that pocket right there.

Bill: Why?

Harry: Right in there. Open that zipper, and take a look in there. My scorecard from this morning is right in there. I shot a 78 at Prairie Hills. Go ahead, look.

Bill: Look mister, I’m just minding my own business here, waiting for the bus to come, and you’re bustin’ my chops.

Harry: You know better than that. Do I have to knock you on your ass to get my clubs back, or what?

Bill: Whoa now. Wait just a minute. Here… (Opens the zipper compartment on the golf bag) See? Nothing.

Harry: What?

Bill: Nothing. There’s nothing in there.

Harry: What? You already cleaned my stuff out of it, didn’t you?

Bill: Son of a bitch.

(Marie enters.)

Marie: Hi honey. I’m back. What’s going on?

Harry: Marie, I want you to go in the house and call the police. Right now.

Marie: But why? What’s the matter?

Harry: Because this guy stole my golf clubs. That’s why.

Marie: What?

Harry: I said this guy stole my golf clubs.

Marie: But honey, they’re right there in the car. (Marie points to the car.)

Harry: What? They’re in your car?

(Marie walks back to the car and checks. She nods and points.)

Marie: Yeah.

Harry: Oh my God.

Marie: Don’t you remember, you took my car this morning instead of yours?

(Harry backs away from the bus stop.)

Bill: So, mister…can I get on the bus now?

Harry: Oh, uh, yeah, yeah. Sure. I uh…I’m sorry about this.

Bill: Yeah, well…

Harry: I guess I got a little confused.

Bill: I guess so. But, hey, they’re really nice clubs, aren’t they?

Harry: Yeah. Yeah, they’re great clubs. Great clubs.