My first attempt in screen writing. Minimal Dialogue. Hihi. January 2011.
Characters:
Sandra - late night customer
Tiff - waitress in roller skates
INT. RESTAURANT - NIGHT
Dimly lit 80s themed restaurant with black and white checkered floors, red cushioned seats, and metal lined tables. No customers except for one lady, Sandra, sitting alone at a table. Her purse is open with some of its contents scattered on the table.
SANDRA
Sighs. Runs both her hands through her hair. Her hair gets caught in her rings and she starts to cry in frustration which makes her heavy make-up run. With mascara running down her cheeks, she puts her elbows and head down on the table and continues to whimper.
TIFF
She kicks the kitchen swing door open with a loud thud and rolls out with two plates of sandwiches in each hand.
SANDRA
Looks up. Her hands are still in her hair. She sits up and stops crying. She glares at Tiff.
TIFF
Stops suddenly when she notices Sandra looking at her. Sandwiches almost fly off the plates, but Tiff manages to catch them. She stares back at Sandra.
SANDRA
Sandra stands up, hands still caught in her hair as if she's in mid-lather. Looking angry, she walks over to Tiff and puts her face just inches away from Tiff's.
TIFF
Tiff is frozen in her spot. A bead of sweat forms on her temple, then slowly rolls down the side of her face. You can hear her breathe heavily and her eyes dart from Sandra's eyes to each of her armpits.
SANDRA
What?
Sandra's eyes widen as she speaks.
TIFF
Tiff jerks her head back and looks disgusted.
SANDRA
Sandra nods up.
Those better be mine. It’s been 10 million years since I ordered.
TIFF
Excuse me?
SANDRA
I said those burgers better be mine.
Tiff glances down on the order slip she’s holding between the plate and her thumb.
TIFF
No, I’m sorry they’re not.
Sandra’s eyes widen then she exaggeratedly looks around the empty restaurant.
TIFF
No, I’m sorry they’re really not yours.
SANDRA
Do you see anyone else here?
Tiff looks down on the burgers. Not knowing what to say or do.
Sandra looks irritated.
SANDRA
Well do you?
Tiff stays still in her spot.
TIFF
No.
SANDRA
So...
Tiff sets down the plates on a table nearby.
TIFF
I’m sorry. These aren’t yours.
Sandra, with her hands still awkwardly in her hair, starts walking towards Tiff.
SANDRA
I want to talk to your manager.
TIFF
I am the manager.
Sandra comes closer and eyes the name tag on Tiff’s lapel. She eyes Tiff up and down.
SANDRA
So you are.
Tiff stands up straight and straightens her uniform.
SANDRA
Then I want to talk to the owner.
Tiff raises one brow and tilts head briefly as if to say “me again.”
TIFF
I am the owner.
SANDRA
Sandra stares at Tiff. A few moments pass. She defiantly walks back to her table, sits, and puts her elbows and head back down. Tiff follows with a pen and a pad, ready to take her order.
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