Manifestations of an angry hoover
Student house. Two girls, Grace – the organised, sensible one and Gabby – has an attitude and is sarcastic but ultimately does contribute to trying to sort out the disputes.
Two boys, Greg and Graham. Graham tries and fails routinely to say the right thing, Greg seems preoccupied for a lot of the time with something else.
Greta, the letting agent manager. Aged around 53, pristine hair and manicured fingernails, pinched thin mouth with bright red lipstick, glasses and wearing a suit dress.
All in the open pan kitchen and living area, Greg is sitting on the sofa, looking quite vacant, Graham is sitting on the arm of the sofa, fiddles with his phone sometimes or his fingers. Grace is standing, arms folded, looking tense, occasionally pacing or reshuffling her position, anxious habit of chewing her nails; Gabby is standing near the bin, concentrating on peeling a tough orange, appearing unconcerned and not acknowledging Greta as an authority figure. Greta stands clasping a file and a clipboard, flicking through the papers irritably. She is out of place in the student home, which looks as if the tenants are in the process of moving out, three bin bags filled with miscellaneous house items near the door, two boxes filled with plates and cutlery.
Throughout the scene the girls get increasingly irritated with the boys.
Greta: It is evident from the condition of the carpet that none of you have vacuumed the rooms.
Graham: Oh.
Greg: Ah.
Grace: I see.
Gabby: I say.
Greta: I am speaking specifically of the floor situated within the designated areas which you all encompass and fester in your own squalor.
Gabby: (Sarcastically) Fester? Good golly I say! Squalor?? Pip poo pooray!
Grace: The hoover doesn’t work properly.
Greta: (Ignores) By the mirror near the door in one room I can see shrivelled up contact lenses violently discarded. As if flung carelessly from the eyes to the floor with no prospects of nearing the bin!
Gabby: Yes, I do like to live my life on the edge. Violent disposals of contact lenses really give me the thrill I crave. Which way shall they fly this time? Who knows!
Grace: Stop being such a wordy wanker Gabby, you aren’t even witty.
Gabby: Correct. Alas.
Grace: GABBY! Greta, please hear our side to it….
Greta: (Interrupts) I found a single false eyelash embedded in the white sheepskin rug, reminiscent of a lost and abhorrent caterpillar amidst a snowy field…
Gabby: That’s rather poetic, I’ve gone all tingly now.
Grace: The hoover doesn’t work properly.
Graham: Do girls pull out their old eyelashes to replace them with the false ones? I don’t understand. Where do your normal ones go? (To Greg) Girls are so bloody weird.
Greg: Errrrrrrrr……………
Greta: Upon further inspection I crouched right down and could almost INHALE the hob-nob crumbs that were trodden deep within the fabric.
Gabby: Interesting. Were they plain or chocolate coated, pure curiosity drives me to ask of you?
Grace: I can assure you Greta, we forbid food intake outside the perimeters of the kitchen. Plus, the hoover isn’t working properly.
Gabby: Now I must confess. I used to brush my teeth in the bathroom. Some may depict that as a form of consumption cos I like to swallow the toothpaste. I buy the one that’s for 5-10 year olds, it tastes like cherries.
Graham: That’s really very disgusting. Are you aware your teeth are probably plastered with plaque? That toothpaste isn’t strong enough for someone of your age.
Gabby: Are you aware your teeth are really lonely cos no one’s ever poked a tongue in between them? They’d probably enjoy a cheeky bit of cherry to cheer them up. Lonely Graham never popped no cherry. No sir-ee.
Graham: Wow. Er… that was a really weird thing to say. Especially as I am the only one who has had a bash at a relationship this year. So fuck you Gabby.
Greta: (Speaks over them) Make up stains! Blusher exploded on the floor! The remnants of paper from a hole punch – scattered, scattered! Mouldy English muffins in the top cupboard, toenail clippings down the side of the bed, suspicious hair trimmings scattered on the toilet seat and clogging up the shower plug, matted hair extensions left under the bed, golden syrup smeared onto the chest of drawers –
Graham: I thought I managed to lick all that off?
Grace: Are you a dog or something?
Graham: (With a hint of pride) it was a practical solution to an impractical situation. There had been an accidental spillage. We had limited supplies of golden syrup for our pancakes and it was like nectar from the gods in my hungover state. I needed to lick it off for … medicinal purposes.
Gabby: You’re fucking retarded you are.
Greta: (Heatedly) This really isn’t progressing! I get the feeling none of you are listening to me. It is most troublesome to have zero co-operation with the residents. It’s exasperating having to talk over you all. A little reciprocation wouldn’t go amiss.
Awkward silence.
Graham: (Loudly whispers) She’s really quite loquacious isn’t she?
Grace: Subtle.
Greta: Can ANYONE explain to me why this place is so… repulsive, to be polite? Mr (Checks form) Tenworth – Greg? Could you?
Greg: Errrrrrrrrr………… (Looks blank and shrugs)
Awkward silence.
Greta: This is the occasion where I inspect the premises to see it has been left in a suitable condition for the next inhabitants. I haven’t yet checked the inventory form in your file to see what damage is your fault and what was pre-existing, but I don’t even think that will be necessary…
Grace: Greta, please. We were never given an inventory form.
Greta: (Curtly) Excuse me?
Graham: We asked for one four times at the beginning of the year and were told that one would be posted through the door. You were there the last time I went to ask, weren’t you Greg?
Greg: Errrrrrrr…………..
Greta: I refute such a suggestion! It is compulsory one is filled in at the start of the tenancy; therefore we certainly would have provided you with one.
Gabby: We asked several times and you can check with my mum, I asked her to call up too and point out how we still hadn’t received one, plus to mention the broken hoover.
Greta: What is allegedly wrong with this blessed hoover?!
Graham: It sort of goes sizzle sizzle suckle ca-splatty splonk… (Trails off)
Greta: (Flustered) Well! Why did you stop asking for a form if you knew it was of great importance?
Grace: (After a few seconds of stunned silence) I… suppose… we hardly thought it was our prerogative Greta!
Graham: Yeah. Right Greg?
Greg: Errrrrrrrr…………….
Gabby: My mum said that if the agency was competent they’d have known the condition of the house was atrocious when we moved in so you couldn’t pin that on us…
Graham: And that you would replace the hoover so we could at least have the utensils to clean…
Greta: (To Grace, defensively) Your mother questioned our competency?
Gabby: (Lost her cool edge) No! Well!? Ah! She questioned more… she pondered the normality of moving into an abode and then discovering tissues soaked in blood underneath the mattress…
Greta: Well! I say! Perhaps… perhaps some poor silly sausage who lived here last had a very nasty nosebleed! It is most unsympathetic not to see how in their moment of great distress, bleeding profusely from the nose, they may have forgotten to discard their tissue…
Grace: We seem to be digressing here.
Greta: Whose room was this in anyway?
Gabby: Greg’s!
Greta: (Turns to Greg) and did you lodge a formal complaint, Mr Tenworth?
Greg: Errrrrrr……………. Nuh uh.
Grace: For God’s sake Greg, can you articulate anything today? What is your problem?
Graham: Come on mate!
Greg: Sorry, what? Huh? (Notices everyone is looking at him and goes a bit red) Sorry. I am… royally hungover. Devastatingly.
(Everyone groans)
Sorry.
Gabby: That’s nice and stereotypical.
Greg: Sorry. I’m scared if I open my mouth too much a little bit of sick will dribble out. (Everyone groans again) Sorry.
Graham: Did you see Hannah last night? I think she went out.
Greg: What? No……. why? No……
Graham: Bet she did. (Bitterly to himself) Sluuuuuuuuuuut.
Greta: Did you lodge a complaint at the condition of your room Mr Tenworth?
Greg: Sorry. I mean, errr… no. No. No I didn’t.
Grace: (Through gritted teeth) I did ask you too Greg.
Greg: I was going to, but then Jeremy Kyle was on! And then I momentarily forgot, for several months.
Greta: So there is no evidence to suggest these accusations of bloody tissues are true?
Greg: Oooh, two seconds! Wait!
(Walks out of the room, and everyone waits in anticipation. Struts back in holding a sandwich)
I made this last night and just remembered it! Yay!
Graham: What’s in it!?
Greg: Bacon, tomato and olives. I dunno why olives?!
Graham: Nice mate! Black or green?
Greg: Green!
Grace: I’m going to hit you both. Is there any evidence?
Greg: Oh yeah. Well… well I guess not. Except the post-traumatic stress I suffered? No… that isn’t funny. Naughty me.
Graham: I did write about it in a text to my girlfriend.
Gabby: That would count? Call her now!
(Everyone looks expectantly at Graham, who goes red.)
Graham: We are… no more. She probably deleted my texts.
Gabby: Yikes. Sorry. I did know that.
Graham: So she wasn’t out where you were Greg?
Greg: (Makes strange movements and noises) Uh…uh….. I thought I was going to sneeze.
Greta: So you can confirm that this problem is of your own making, as you all failed to bother to fill in an inventory.
Grace: Failed to bother?! That’s hardly fair… I bothered a lot!
Graham: She was overcome with bother! Bothermania! Botherbastic!!
Grace: (Irritated) Thank you Graham.
Graham: (Confused) I’m just trying to help?
Greta: I would be mortified and humiliated if I lived like this, absolutely humiliated…
Gabby: How can we honestly move past this scenario? Please! We listened to your rules, we used white tac on the walls, we put the bins out every Sunday, and pleaded with the hoover to gently suckle, even a little!
Graham: I’m pretty sure I prayed to it once or twice.
Greta: I’ve had enough of these excuses. Pass me this infamous hoover. Come on! I can promise you that it is absolutely fine, in perfect condition. Come on! Pass it to me!
(Pause.)
(Aggressively) Pass it!
(They all look to Greg who shrugs and gets up to pass the hoover which is down by the side of the sofa to Greta. She snatches it off him rudely, and plugs it in at the nearest socket)
Greg: (Trying to make a joke and lighten the atmosphere) Ah! Careful! Don’t manhandle Henry! He didn’t mean to upset anyone… look at his happy smile! Happy Henry!
Greta: Thank you for your advice Mr Tenworth. I am going to demonstrate to you the exact skills necessary to turn on a hoover, then use the hoover accordingly, and then turn off the hoover. Can we all follow this?
(The students mumble assents)
I am going to flick the switch now. (Flicks switch)
(Silence, as they wait expectantly.)
Graham: Err...
Greg: Um…
Grace: Erm…
Gabby: Ah….
Greta: Yes, sometimes it takes a few seconds for the hoover to begin; it’s expected of such machinery. I’m going to switch it off and on again, a little trick I’ve learnt, to speed up this process.
(Silence. Painful seconds pass, during which everyone starts fidgeting uncomfortably. The hoover then begins to makes odd choked noises, followed by a high pitched squeaking. Greta backs away from the hoover but then realises what she has done and attempts to appear in control)
(Fast paced)
Graham: Ummmmmmmm…. It sounds like the Tardis!
Greta: (Strained in between the choking noises which are getting louder and more violent) Yes! All impeccably normal so far!
Gabby: Really?
Greta: (Shrilly) Yes!
Greg: No that thing is definitely having a heart attack right now. We ought to call an ambulance.
Grace: Maybe I ought to turn it off at the wall…
Greta: NO! Step away from the plug! It will be fine! Give it time!
Graham: (To Greg) Christ, I think she’s about to pop instead.
(The hoover starts vibrating and juddering around, little wisps of smoke appear from the sides.)
Grace: Aaaaaaaah!
Gabby: Woaaaah…. This is madness!!
Greg: This! Is! Sparta
Grace: SHUT THE FUCK UP GREG! Please Greta, surely you’ve seen now…
Greta: No! I have not seen anything! This hoover has evidently been tampered with, it’s surrounded by tomfoolery, but I refuse to believe it does not work! You are all lazy, lazy beings who are trying to excuse your lack of cleanliness!
Gabby: This is a long winded way of excusing it don’t you think?
(The hoover’s getting louder and louder, and everyone is clearly anxious, moving around helplessly, flapping arms and making non-committal gestures to turn off the hoover or get close to it)
Graham: Call 911! Call someone! Jesus? Buddha! Gandhi?! Anyone who can calm the fury of Henry the hoover!
Greg: This is not helping my delicate state, someone stop the smoke!
Gabby: Oh my God, this is really scary!
Grace: Greta!
Greta: Enough hysteria! Let me look at the nuzzle! I’m sure there’s just a blockage! Let me see! (Dashes at it quickly and grabs the nuzzle) I’m sure it’s absolutely –
(A huge puff of dust explodes directly in Greta’s face and the hoover makes a splendid loud bang, Greg throws sandwich in air in panic)
WOAAAAAAAH!
Graham: OH MY GIDDY AUNT!
Greg: OH!
Grace: AH!
Gabby: EEEEEK!
(The hoover slowly dies down and stops spluttering. Everyone stands still in complete horror and shock, not saying anything. Greta stands frozen, nuzzle in hand, coughing slightly, dust covering her glasses, face, clothes)
(Silence. Greg slowly stoops down, piecing together the bits of his sandwich from the floor around him, as quietly as he can blowing the dust off the olives and eating them)
Grace: (Hesitantly) Would you…… would you like…. a tissue… to clean… your glasses?
Graham: I think you got a little bit of dust on them there…
Greg: Perhaps we could use a hairdryer to blow the dust off your clothes.
Gabby: Or I could just flap away the dust (starts flapping with her hands)
Grace: I could try and pat it off (Starts patting Greta’s arms vigorously)
Greta: No! I say! Ah!
Graham: You’re just spreading it and making a dust hurricane!
Gabby: Maybe if we all do it at the same time it will shift it… or wait I’ll use the tea towel (Grabs the tea towel from the side) Here we go! (flaps it towards Greta) Is this helping? Is this?
Greta: Stop! Stop! Please!
Greg: Urrrrrghhhh I’m going to be sick get out the waaaay (Bolts out the door)
Grace: (Still patting Greta down) NO! I just cleaned the loo!
Greta: Cease the pattering! Stop – patting – patter no no no! Terminate with immediacy! (Grace backs away holding her hands up)
(Quietly and calmly, with menace) In all of my 23 years in this profession I have never met such sickening behaviour. I have been a victim of assault; I have been used and physically abused by a contraption that has been rigged for humorous effect. Why oh why do I subject myself to mingle with such primitive people?!
Graham: Shall we just cut out the middle man and fling off our clothes, and frolic nakedly as our fellow monkey companions do? Evolution clearly failed me, I’m filling out a complaint form to Darwin
Greta: (Taunting) Chuckle and jest away mister, chuckle chuckle chuckle! Your sharp wit may be the only thing that prevails for you in this lifetime the way you’re going. You survived the snotty and spotty days of adolescence only to enter into a new stage of existence, pawing away at mummy and daddy’s money. I am sure you wasted endless hours of education rolling around in your own filth like bloated pigs. All instead of nourishing those tiny buds of decorum that blossom with age, blossom with the prospects of entering into the world of maturity. You all drowned those buds, drowned them with cider, with liquor, with Smirnoff sodding ices!
(Tries to brush off the dust in stiff vigorous strokes but it causes her to splutter and cough. The students unwillingly snort in amusement. She rearranges her glasses, picks up her clipboard, and walks to the door, turning round to say)
Wake up children. You are not smart, you are not original, your hedonism is not justified by your youth. Believe it or not we were all your age once and I certainly did not use it as an excuse to expose my bosom and bottom and binge on beverages! Who’s going to support you through life? Say hello to the abyss!
Gabby: Hello! Sorry.
Greta: I am jolly bitter. How can I not be? Knowing you are all representative of the generation who will be responsible for MY generations’ treatment when we’re old and withered and need nice care homes. Goodbye comfort! Hello muck and impertinence! OH! (Opens door, says with back to audience) You shall hear from me….soon. (Leaves)
(Pause. Everyone shudders.)
Graham: Does anyone else have the urge to go and get in the shower and scrub away the filth that is being young and cripplingly useless? I mean I feel properly dirty right now, trapped in a perverse dichotomy between being a clueless toddler and an intoxicated sexual predator. If any of you need me I’ll be in my room in the foetal position, but knock before coming in so I can put on a clean nappy.
Grace: What, aren’t you going to say anything to Greg?
(Greg walks in)
Greg: What to Greg?
Graham: (Struggling) Umm… did you… do you… do you want to make a banoffee pie later then eat it.
Greg: A strange but sensational suggestion!
Gabby: (Under her breath) Coward.
(Graham shoots her a look and leaves the room.)
Grace: All this bloody fuss for nothing? All we asked for was a letter through the letter box! You put the letter! Through! The box!
Greg: Well I always thought that was a funny thing to ask cos we don’t have a letter box.
Grace: Yes we do? Of course we do?
Greg: No we don’t! Once I was leaving for a night out and it came to my attention I might possibly be really drunk. I started to worry I’d lose my keys because everything mysteriously runs away from me when I am inebriated.
Gabby: That or you fling it all about while gyrating on petrified 1st years.
Greg: Anyway I tried to post my keys back through the letter box so I would know for sure I’d have them at the end of the night, but I couldn’t find the letter box on the door! So I took out my keys, and I lost them.
Grace: There are so many things wrong with that story, you incessant moron. We have a bloody letter box!
Gabby: Perhaps the booze limited your capacity for perception.
Greg: Sorry. I know I’m a right dick when pissed, I tried to cut down, except it then became apparent I had no charisma and chat when it came to girls. Fucking girls. I’ve really fucked up this time. Fuck.
Grace: Don’t bother talking about it. Graham knows already. We all know really. Sarah was out with Hannah and texted me when she saw you two intertwined in a spit sharing embrace.
Greg: Oh! You all know! Woe! I exist in a self created bubble of doom and desolation!
Gabby: It’s a bit much isn’t it Greg? Graham’s first ever girlfriend, the one who he told he loved and I think he meant it at least 40% of the time.
Greg: Perhaps Greta was right. Perhaps all our thoughts and fears and obsessions and woes and shit are really pathetic and irrelevant, and we are caught up in a hyped up bubble that makes very little sense now and even less sense later.
Gabby: Well I’ve been worrying about that since I left the womb.
Greg: I feel so crap about what I did, but how do I assess how important it really is? Have I made a mark for a lifetime?
Grace: Let’s stop talking about it anyway if you aren’t going to sort it out properly, it’s so frustrating being around people with the social skills of a sour skittle. How shall we fix the hoover?
Greg: He’s a man, he’s squash it all down into the depths of his unconscious and it will all come hurtling up when he watches a Disney film alone. I personally enjoy the tormented journey of Pinocchio in his desires to become a real boy. Although the benefits of being made of wood are spectacular, I’d have no problems getting hard with a wooden willy.
Gabby: Give a shit about your erectile dysfunction! The hoover! Come on, let’s show everyone we are grown up and deal with this! What’s the plan?
(Pause)
Greg: Ummmmmmm……….
Grace: Ahhhhhhh……
Gabby: Hmm……….
(Pause)
Greg: It’s really dusty in here still.
Gabby: Yeah, it definitely is. It’s a health hazard.
Greg: Maybe we ought to vacate the premises for a while, it’s the grown up and sensible thing to do. For health reasons.
Grace: Yes, perhaps you’re right. Health reasons.
Gabby: It’s being mature, considering our health. All of our studious efforts would go to waste if we fell into a dust coma.
Greg: Shall I call my mum and ask what we should do?
Grace: Brilliant plan! Shall we go buy ingredients for the banoffee pie in the meantime?
Greg: Yes, I do sort of owe it to Graham the poor sod. It can be a ‘sowwy I’m a little shit’ gift from me to him. Let’s go.
(They all move towards the door picking up bags and keys.)
I reckon we aren’t that bad you know. Greta probably hates her job and is jealous of us and our glorious youth. We’ve hardly done permanent damage while having a good time. Unlike this stupid hoover, we’ve survived without exploding. (They all leave through the door.)
(Graham walks into the room after a moment, his eyes are red and it’s clear he’s been crying. He looks around, sees there is no one there and slumps down on the sofa. Sighs, sits sadly as the lights go down.)
