AUTHOR'S NOTE: I will preface this with a synopsis and a warning. First the synopsis: This play is a dark comedy about a guy who is going to commit suicide, but decides to soften the blow by sending out a two weeks notice of his intent to kill himself to his friends and family. It's meant to be funny, so if you find it funny, don't feel guilty for laughing.
Now the warning: I realize suicide is a touchy subject, and not one that should be taken lightly. However, I'm of the opinion that nothing is exempt from being made fun of. If you know someone who has attempted/committed suicide, or if you yourself have attempted/committed suicide, I feel for you. I really do. But reviews along the lines of "You shouldn't joke about suicide" will be completely ignored. Thanks for your understanding. On with the show.
ACT I
SCENE 1
(Small apartment, present day. The apartment is sparsely furnished, with a couch, liquor cabinet, coffee table, kitchen table, and chairs. There is an entrance to a bedroom and a bathroom upstage.
DAVID enters from R., holding an envelope, completely numb. DAVID tosses the envelope onto the coffee table and crosses directly to the liquor cabinet. He opens it, pours himself several stiff drinks and guzzles them immediately. After this, he takes a bottle and a glass, crosses to the couch, flops down, and stares into the distance.)
DAVID
I can't believe it. I honestly can't believe it. What the hell is going on right now?
(DAVID pours himself another strong drink.)
My whole life. Gone. I invested my whole life into that business, and it burns down. And on the day that I was going to file for bankruptcy.
(DAVID looks around, and notices the scrapbook on the table.)
Ah, yeah. I was looking at that the other day, wasn't I?
(He picks up the scrapbook)
"David's Business Adventure." Assembled by Lori Cavanaugh.
(He opens the scrapbook.)
"Here's to your new adventure! Good luck! Love, Mom." Thanks, Mom.
(He turns the page.)
The first day I opened the business. March 14, 20 years ago. I was a lot skinnier then, wasn't I? Happier times. There was a moment there where I thought I wasn't going to make it, but it all worked out well. For a while, anyway. There's my lovely and supporting wife, Elizabeth, happy as always to stand by her man. I'm... I'm not quite sure what she's doing in that picture.
(He turns the page.)
Oh yes, the expansion. Bigger building, more employees, a record number of customers. I can't believe how quickly that business grew. The Key to the City! I completely forgot that I had that. I don't think I have the physical key anymore. I think I lost that when I moved out. Oh God. There was so much going for me. What happened?
(He turns the page.)
Oh, right. The giant super center opened up across town. It offered lower prices than I could afford to offer, and all of my customers went over there. Never mind that everything in that place was garbage. It was cheap, that's all that mattered. Even my loyal customers left me for the cheaper prices. The tipping point, as some might say, for the worst downward spiral in my life.
(He turns the page.)
Yeah, here it is. Loss of customers leads to a loss of revenue, which means I need to raise my prices to stay afloat, which makes me lose more customers. The only thing I don't understand is...
(He turns the page.)
...is why my mom included my divorce proceedings in my small business scrapbook. As if looking at the rise and fall of a life's worth of investing wasn't bad enough, let's throw in the dirtiest divorce in the history of the term. Thanks, Mom.
(He sighs)
The bitch took everything: my house, my kids, my savings, my spine. Everything went to her. Completely and totally destroyed my life. It was nearly impossible to rebuild myself in the midst of all of that negativity, but somehow, I did it.
(He starts to turn the page, then turns back.)
Remind me to throw that out.
(He turns the page.)
A quick run of luck, and here we are today. Bankrupt. Out of business.
(He closes the book.)
I have nothing left. Absolutely nothing. I'm not even sure I'm going to get any insurance money out of the deal. I remember not buying insurance when the building first opened, because it was too expensive for me, but I don't ever remember buying it after moving to the building. Ah, fuck. Life has been bleak for a while. I just have no idea where to go from here.
(He rises, pauses, and laughs.)
Look at me. I'm going crazy, sitting here, recapping my life like I'm in a fucking play. "David crosses the living room to the liquor cabinet and pours himself another drink because his life is totally miserable." Yeah, that sounds about right.
(He does his stage direction, grabs a bottle of liquor, and sits back down on the couch. He drinks the liquor throughout the rest of the scene.)
Sometimes I wonder what the point is. Look at me. I'm well beyond my prime. 52 years old, no future ahead of me, no family, very few friends. I swear, it's enough to make a man want to kill himself.
(Pause.)
So. It's really come to this. Suicide. Might as well. I've done everything I can do, and it's so pointless to try and start over. What can I contribute to the world? A lot of pissing and moaning, then I can start collecting Social Security, and then I'll die alone in this place, eventually swelling up and having my intestines spray out like a decomposing pinata. There is nothing left for me. I have to quit while I'm ahead.
(Pause.)
But as desperate as this situation seems, I guess there are still some people who care for me. My parents are still around. I have a few employees I still talk to. As worthless as I am, I guess I'm still worth something to some people. I mean, they all know me as this happy-go-lucky guy, it would be devastating to be smiling one day and dead the next. Maybe... maybe I can still work with this. Maybe there's some hope for me yet.
(Pause.)
Nah. It's sad to see an old man like myself try to jump back into the real world. There's nothing I can do. I hate being a burden. But I'm probably more of a burden if I kill myself. If only this were as easy as quitting a job. All I'd need is a two weeks notice of resignation, then coast for a while until that time runs out.
(Pause, then realization.)
That's it. I'll send a letter of resignation. A two week's notice of intent to suicide. It'll ease the sting a little bit, give them plenty of time to prepare themselves, and it buys me a little time to plan everything out and make it perfect. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll draft a letter of resignation.
(He grabs stationary and a pen.)
I have to make this professional and presentable. If something's worth doing, it's worth doing perfectly.
(He begins to write:)
"To Whom It May Concern:
In 14 days, I plan on killing myself, thus resigning from the rat race of life. I've come to the realization that I no longer have anything to contribute to this organization, and have thus made the decision to vacate my position. It is with a heavy heart that I must do this, but for the betterment of the human race, it is a decision I must carry out. Thank you for your many years of support, and good luck in future endeavors.
Sincerely,
David."
(He puts down the pen and proofreads.)
There. That sounds professional enough. I'll just make a few copies of this and send them out in the morning. For now? I'm feeling a little tipsy. I should head to bed. I have a busy day tomorrow.
(He rises, pauses, and laughs.)
"I have a busy day tomorrow," he said, as he replaced the booze in the liquor cabinet and headed toward the bedroom. He flicked off the lights in the living room and collapsed into bed, passing out immediately because he has nothing left to contribute to life. Curtain.
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