Read the first four installments of plays here, here, here, and here.
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Child Care
CHILD: Are you working?
YOU: Yeah.
[Beat.]
CHILD: Are you still working?
YOU: I am.
[Beat.]
CHILD: How bout now?
YOU: Yes. Want to watch Frozen again?
[This conversation repeats until your CHILD gets a job and has a child of their own, inheriting the role of YOU with their child taking the place of CHILD, and so on from generation to generation until a pandemic sterilizes the human race.]
Diagnosis
[YOU feel a tickle in your throat and stop typing mid-sentence.]
YOU: I think—
SPOUSE: You don’t have it.
[YOU suddenly feel a little hot.]
YOU: But what if—
SPOUSE: You don’t have it.
[A part of YOU would rather have it, and know YOU have it, than be plagued with this tortuous uncertainly. Another, more primal part of YOU would prefer not to contract a potentially fatal illness at all.]
YOU: WHAT IF I HAVE IT AND IT’S JUST NOT AFFECTING ME VERY MUCH YET AND THERE AREN’T ENOUGH TESTS SO WE’LL NEVER KNOW WHAT I SHOULD DO??!
[Beat.]
SPOUSE: You don’t have it.
Checking In
YOU: Hello?
COWORKER: Hey.
YOU: What’s up?
COWORKER: Just checking in.
YOU: Oh, okay.
COWORKER: What’s new?
YOU: Nothing. Just trying to get this stuff done.
COWORKER: Same.
YOU: Alright.
[YOU can hear the sound of your COWORKER typing over the phone as clearly as if they were still in the cubicle next to you. It is oddly comforting. No one makes a move to hang up.]
Tantalus
SPOUSE: Is that granola bar from the emergency supplies?
YOU: We’re pretty much quarantined right?
SPOUSE: We’re not sick. Grocery stores are still open.
YOU: I will buy more granola bars.
SPOUSE: We really shouldn’t make any unnecessary trips.
[YOU reluctantly return your snack to the quarantine stockpile cabinet. Your emergency All-Natural Low-Fat Peanut Buttery Choco-Chewy Fruit ’n Nutty granola bars will forever remain tragically just out of reach.]
Conference Call
COWORKER: Let’s give the others a little bit more time to join before we begin.
[The line beeps, indicating someone has joined the call.]
COWORKER: Did someone just join?
[Beat.]
COWORKER: Hello? Did someone join the call?
[Beat.]
COWORKER: Hello? Who’s on the line?
[Beat.]
[YOU go to the kitchen to fix yourself something to eat. When you return, your COWORKER is still interrogating the PHANTOM JOINER, and will continue to do so for the rest of the day long after you hang up.]
Lunch
SPOUSE: Lunch?
YOU: I already ate.
SPOUSE: Without me?
YOU: I have a lot to do. I just grabbed lunch when I had a chance.
CHILD: Lunchtime!
SPOUSE: Someone already ate.
CHILD: Without me?!
YOU: Yeah. Sorry . . .
[Your SPOUSE takes your CHILD to the kitchen to have lunch. YOU lied about having had “lunch” earlier. Since being confined to your home, YOU have been unable to go more than 15 minutes at a time without absentmindedly feeding yourself.]
Cross Talk
YOU: Hello?
COWORKER: Got a sec?
YOU: What’s up?
SPOUSE: What?
YOU: I’m on a call.
SPOUSE: Are you talking to me?
YOU: I wasn’t. But now I am.
SPOUSE: Shhh, I’m on a call.
YOU: Oh, sorry.
COWORKER: Still there?
YOU: Yup.
CHILD: Hey!
YOU: I’m on a call.
CHILD: What?
YOU: I’m on a work call.
CHILD: Me too.
[Your CHILD cradles their toy phone as if it were a baby in mockery of YOU.]
COWORKER: Hello?
YOU: I’m here. Sorry about that.
COWORKER: You know what? We can actually just handle this over email.
[Your COWORKER hangs up. This pandemic-induced social distancing will one day end. You will go back to work. But things will never be the same. YOU know now there is little to no need to ever have to speak to your COWORKER S. They will nevertheless insist that YOU do and it will forever haunt YOU.]
Pet Care
[Your DOG sits expectantly staring at YOU as YOU try to work.]
DOG: (Whines)
YOU: What?
[Beat.]
DOG: (Barks)
YOU: I have to work, buddy.
[Beat.]
DOG: (Whines)
YOU: What do you want? Please do whatever it is you do all day when I’m at work.
[This conversation repeats until a pandemic compounded by breathtaking incompetence wipes out humanity and dogs inherit the earth.]