Four people are gathered about a conference table. Jack Haitch comes into the room, clearly late, and sits at the extreme end of the table.
Jack Haitch: So I see you were waiting for me. That’s as it should be. Now we can get started.
Sally: We’re waiting for Doug.
Jack Haitch: Worst boss ever. Little Doggie's late again, huh. How inconsiderate. Is he a Jew?
Bob: You were just late yourself.
Clarence: It happens.
Jack Haitch: Well yes, “it happens” – nobody said “it” doesn’t “happen.” But golly, thanks so much for that helpful clarification, Clare. If you have any other tasty morsels from the vast picnic basket of your life’s wisdom, just do feel free to share it with us all. Like maybe, “Surfin's tubular.” Jack Haitch is so glad you’re here to share your insight with these poor stupid plebes.
Clarence: That’s not really what I—
Jack Haitch: Yeah, right. Whatever.
Bob: (to Clarence) I think Jack Haitch ought to tone it down a little, don’t you?
Jack Haitch: I’m right here, you know.
Bob: You make that very obvious.
Jack Haitch: For a lefty you’re awfully judgmental.
Bob: I’m not a “lefty.”
Sally: I was almost late – traffic was really bad.
Jack Haitch: (to Bob) No, wrong, I’ll tell you what you are, pinko, and you’ll like it, see?
Bob: Just watch your mouth.
Jack Haitch: Or what, tough guy? – you’ll give me a hard look? I’m trembling. Hey, look, everyone, I’m quaking with terror because Bob might raise his voice.
Mike: (to Bob) Never mind him – he gets like this sometimes. There was this one conference (chuckles and shakes his head) – it was like Fellini on crystal meth.
Jack Haitch: Well, thanks, Michelle, but next time I need to be defended by a panty-waist, I’ll call
Bob: Listen, princess, I don’t know what your problem is, but you’d better learn some manners, quick.
Jack Haitch: Again with the threats.
Bob: (to the group) What do you do with someone like this?
Jack Haitch: Did you speak? Did you squeak? S-Q-U-…
Clarence: You know, dude, you make it kind of hard to get along, sometimes. Not everyone’s against you.
Jack Haitch: You’re very wise.
Sally: If you’d give people a chance—
Jack Haitch: Gee, thanks for the homily, Mother Superior. But it’s very hard, you see, very difficult for someone like me to live in this ant hill.
Clarence: A little modesty—
Jack Haitch: The only thing worse than false modesty is unmerited false modesty.
Clarence: I’m sure that made sense, to you.
Jack Haitch: Are you still here, old chap, old pip, old queen? Go back to your sand dune, you weedy gitt.
All: (uncomfortable silence)
Mike: That’s uncalled for, whatever it means.
Jack Haitch: What, not sensitive enough for you, Butch? Can I help it if I’m so much smarter than you morons? Would you like to know what my I.Q. is?
Jack Haitch: How about my penis? It’s also quite phenomenal.
Clarence: Yeah, Jack Haitch, that’s really mature.
Bob: No, let’s all think about Jack Haitch’s weener. (instantly) I’m done.
Jack Haitch: You only said that because I thought of it for you.
Jack Haitch: I dreamed it, that line – this is a dream.
All: (uncomprehending silence)
Jack Haitch: We’re sitting here in a dream, that I'm having.
Clarence: Wow, dude, I’ve heard of delusions of grandeur… So you go around thinking that everyone else is just some sort of imaginary character in your dreams?
Sally: That’s very disturbing
Bob: You’re really a freak, dude.
Jack Haitch: Well, how else do you explain that I get all the good lines?
Mike: You think what you’ve been saying is clever?
Jack Haitch: (beat) Very.
Sally: That’s kind of sad.
Jack Haitch: Save your sympathy for when Hallmark calls.
Bob: (mocking) Was that clever too?
Jack Haitch: You people make me sick.
Clarence: (quietly) Just relax, Jack Haitch.
Jack Haitch: Screw you.
It’s clear that Jack Haitch doesn’t want to play anymore.
Mike: (to Clarence) So did you get that fax I sent?
Doug the boss enters.
Pat: Yeah, thanks -- we're reworking it now.
Jack Haitch: (to Doug) Oh, hi Doug. Oh, Clarence here was bad-mouthing you. He said you were unprofessional but I defended you.