Hard Labor

“Hard Labor”

Written By: John Magallanez
Edited By: Amanda Williams

CAST

KYLE- 30’s

ANNA - 30’s and Pregnant

ANNA’S MOM - 60’s and has a southern accent.

ASIAN NURSE - 30’s and has an Asian accent

BLACK DOCTOR - 40’s

(Anna, Kyle, and Anna’s mom are in a hospital room. Anna is on a stability ball)

ANNA

(Anna is holding her hips while bouncing up and down on the stability ball.)

ANNA’S MOM

Well, I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.

(Anna’s mom walks out.)

ANNA

(Anna breathes out of her mouth and nods while continuing to bounce up and down on the stability ball.)

Baby, can you turn on my pregnancy playlist?

KYLE

No problem, baby.

(Kyle turns on music. Salt and Peppa’s “Push It” starts playing.)

ANNA

(Anna starts moving her hips to the music while on the stability ball.)

(beat.)

ASIAN NURSE

(Asian Nurse enters.)

Hey, Salt-N-Peppa, we need to check your heart rate now.

KYLE

(Kyle turns off music. Places the ipad on a chair.)

ASIAN NURSE

(Asian Nurse starts to wrap a strap around Anna.)

ANNA

(Anna nods and continues to breath out through her mouth.)

ANNA’S MOM

(Anna’s mom peeps in the room with her hands folded.)

ASIAN NURSE

(Asian Nurse giggles as she pats Anna’s belly.)

Oo going to be a BIG baby-baby, huh?

ANNA

(Anna starts having a contraction. She starts moaning.)

ASIAN NURSE

(Asian Nurse looks at monitor.)

Ooo looks like you’re having a contraction.

ANNA

(Anna’s moaning quiets down.)

… No shit!

ASIAN NURSE

(Asian Nurse giggles as she leaves the room.)

ANNA’S MOM

You know, those orientals have such bad manners.

ANNA

Bye, mom!

ANNA’S MOM

I’ll be in the waiting room.

(Anna’s mom walks out.)

ANNA

(Anna stands up and leans on Kyle while she puts her arms around his shoulders.)

Squeeze my hips!

KYLE

(Kyle leans forward, pushes his butt back, and starts to squeeze Anna’s hips.)

ANNA

(Anna rocks side to side and stares into Kyle’s eyes without blinking. She starts moaning in a low voice.)

KYLE

(Kyle looks uncomfortable and is trying to avoid eye contact.)

ANNA

(Anna pulls his chin so she can look in his eyes. She continues to have a low moan.)

KYLE

Uh, doctor?!

ANNA’S MOM

(Anna’s mom peeps in the room with her hands folded.)

BLACK DOCTOR

(Black Doctor walks in holding a chart.)

Looks like Anna’s cervix is about 10cm now.

(Black Doctor looks at his chart.)

Should be just another...eh... 1 to 8 hours.

KYLE

But you didn’t even look at her!

ANNA

(Anna pulls his chin so she can look in his eyes. She continues to have a low moan. She points at her eyes with her index and middle fingers and then points at Kyle’s eyes.)

Hip squeeze!

BLACK DOCTOR

(Black Doctor ignores Kyle and walks out while looking at his chart.)

KYLE

Doctor!?

ANNA’S MOM

Oh, Anna, I didn’t know your doctor was black.

ANNA

(Anna looks at her mom while still holding on to Kyle.)

Yes, Mom.

ANNA’S MOM

Well, I just didn’t know.

(Anna’s mom claps and folds her hands.)

You know, it’s lovely how we treat them now.

ANNA

(Anna looks at her mom while still holding on to Kyle.)

Yes, Mom.

ANNA’S MOM

You know it wasn’t always that way.

ANNA

(Anna looks back at Kyle.)

BLACK DOCTOR

(Black Doctor walks in.)

ANNA

Yes, it’s so lovely how we let black people be doctors, now!

BLACK DOCTOR

(Black Doctor ignores Kyle and starts walking out.)

KYLE

Doctor!

BLACK DOCTOR

(Black Doctor gives the finger.)

ANNA’S MOM

Well, I’ll be in the waiting room.

(Anna’s mom walks out.)

ANNA

(Anna takes a deep breath.)

Playlist!

KYLE

(Kyle tries to reach his ipad to turn on music but Anna won’t let go of him. He starts rocking her towards the ipad on the chair. He presses play and Salt and Peppa’s “Push It” starts playing.)

ANNA

(Anna squeezes Kyle’s chin and cheeks.)

ANNA & KYLE

(Start dancing to the music.)

(Blackout.)

Jew-ISH

 Below is a scene I wrote for Second City. 

Please enjoy:

“Jew-ISH”

Written by: John Magallanez

Edited by: Amanda Williams

CAST

JOHN- 30’s

AMANDA - 30’s and Pregnant

(A living room.)

JOHN

What about the name “Abraham”?

AMANDA

Too Jewish.

JOHN

Whoa! What’s wrong with Jews?

AMANDA

Nothing's wrong with Jews, but we’re not...Jews.

JOHN

Jesus, you do know I’m Jewish, right?

AMANDA

Yeah, that’s the thing, John. You’re Jew-ISH.

(Amanda makes a “sort-of” hand gesture.)

JOHN

What do you mean, “Jew-ISH”?

(John mimics Amanda’s “Sort-of” hand gesture.)

Note the kippah! I’m Jew-

(John points to the kippah on his head.)

AMANDA

-ISH

(Amanda makes a “sort-of” hand gesture.)

JOHN

What? Cause my mom’s not technically a Jew, so I can’t be? This is who I am now, Amanda. This is what I believe.

AMANDA

Yeah, but is it though? I mean, I’d have no problem if that’s what you really believed. But do you really think that you’re Jewish?

JOHN

Amanda… Note the kippah.

(John points to the kippah on his head)

AMANDA

It’s a yarmulke!

JOHN

Well, we chosen people call it a “kippah”.

AMANDA

Have you even been to a synagogue with your “chosen people”?

JOHN

Yes...where do you think I got the kippah? Note!

(John points to the kippah on his head)

AMANDA

Yes, note the kippah! But have you ever been to a Jewish service?

JOHN

Yes...Well, no, but it’s only cause, I’m not practicing right now.

AMANDA

But you’ve never been practicing! You’ve never practiced! You wouldn’t even know how to practice! You’ve never even had challah bread that wasn’t a part of a hoagie!

JOHN

Hey! It’s not my fault challah bread is delicious on a hoagie! And are we seriously talking about practice? Practice?

AMANDA

Enough! I want answers. Three weeks ago, you came home wearing that damn “kippah”, with a My First TORAH, and started binge-watching Woody Allen flicks. And when I asked about it, you just yelled, “I’m a born-again Jew!” Which never made any goddamn sense, because you were raised Baptist!

JOHN

Oyyy the kvetching!

AMANDA

Stop! No more yiddish! And no more kippah!

(Amanda reaches for the kippah on John’s head)

JOHN

Noyy! I mean no!

(John holds the kippah with both hands.)

AMANDA

(Amanda pulls John’s ear lobe with one hand and his kippah with the other. Then gasps.)

AMANDA

Oh, you’re..

JOHN

Ow! Yes...I’m balding.

AMANDA

Like, bad!

JOHN

Yes, I know.

AMANDA

(Amanda covers mouth in shock.)

Oh my God, do you have cancer?

JOHN

No! No, I’m just balding...

AMANDA

It’s like you got naired! 

JOHN

...

AMANDA

 

 So, that’s why you’ve been pretending to be Jewish?

JOHN

Yeah, I just, I saw the bald spot at work a few weeks ago. I was in denial. We haven’t even had our kid and I’m already going bald! I even left work early and I stopped by the temple near by. I thought maybe I was being too vain about this whole thing and needed a little religion, but then I saw this sweet kippah for sale and thought maybe I could fake it. And I also remembered that I love Woody Allen’s Bananas movie… So, you’re right, I’m not a Jew. Okay?  I’m not even Jewish. I’m just bald.

AMANDA

-ISH.

(Amanda makes a “sort-of” hand gesture)

...Hey, what about the name Woody?

JOHN

Meh, too Jewish.

(Blackout.)

Trust Me, Life is Worse than Star Wars Episode 1

Life is like a bad telling of Star Wars.

For instance, instead of being set a “A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away....” Life is RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

As you grow up, Life tells you to stop being a motherfucking Jedi, because not so secretly, you never were. 

Worst of all, instead of having a Darth Vader that turns out to be your father. You have a father who turns out to be your Darth Vader.

Father: "Luke... I am your daddy issues."

Trust Me, Comedy is Honest

I haven't been putting in the time like I used to for stand up. You can tell by how healthy and clean-shaven I look. And despite my better functioning liver, not performing in a while is going to hurt me on stage.

I've probably wrote this before, but I believe stand up comedy is honest.

By that I mean, you can't cheat the stage time. And you definitely can't cheat or steal the jokes... unless you're rich, you have sleazy car-salesman-like charisma, or most decidedly, you're a Honduran with a fake stage name.

But the point is, comedy is fair. (And not that fake fair the YMCA teaches. Let's be honest, the kid with his right shoe on his left foot shouldn't get the same amount of playing time as everyone else.)

You put the time in, you do well. You don't, you do poorly. Simple arithmetic.

Audiences don't care if you're new, they don't care if they loved your old material, they don't care about your bullshit credits, an audience only cares if you're funny RIGHT NOW.

So, when I get back at it, whether I do poorly or not so poorly, the feedback will be honest. And it's easier to grow from honest feedback.

Shortly after an Open Mic performance.

Me: " Well, that didn't go so bad.."
Audience: "Yes, it did go that bad, and you should feel bad, scrub."
Me: "But I did my best."
Audience: "We don't want no scrub. A scrub is a guy who can get no love from me... ect (TLC)"

What have I been doing you asked???

Advice To My Fellow Artists:

Quit any job that puts you down creatively.

I don’t mean that the job puts down your creativity.

I mean that the job finds creative ways to put you down.

Like adds trap doors and shit. 

That’s just straight bull.

You shouldn’t have to put up with that!

You’re an “artist"!

Trust Me, I Found a Therapist

I've been feeling crummy lately. 

So I finally decided to go see a doctor. 

Not just any run of the mill doctor (is that an actual saying?), 

but a licensed clinical psychologist.

I know what you're thinking, 

"Crazy!" 

(I know, right! I'm literally mentally ill)

It's funny how nobody needed to ask me why I decided to go.

Maybe my friends and family realized something was wrong when I stopped answering my phone calls (for the past five years).

Also, I guess I'm more open about my feelings than I realized.

Which must be a bummer for everyone following me on Twitter.

Anyways, I decided to go to the Chicago Depression and Anxiety Clinic (for obvious reasons). I called the clinic about a month ago, but they never returned my calls--I guess business is just that good in non-summer Chicago. I found it surprisingly hard to set up an appointment. With all of these out-of-work psychology majors, you'd think you'd see at least a couple people on each corner, soliciting advice for a nickel,  Lucy (from the Peanut's gang) style. Good grief!

Looking for a psychologist made me feel like I was a creepy single guy looking for an online date. I even started getting picky about who I called. I didn't want a therapist that was too young and textbook, but I also didn't want a therapist that was too old and dusty. But every time I would make a call, I'd either get no response at all, or the psychologist would tell me that his or her schedule was booked. I started losing confidence that I was even going to find a therapist. Then I would see some psychologists online who had degrees from Harvard and specialties in trauma, and I started thinking that they were just way out of my league. But my friends would remind me that there aren't any leagues, and it's all about my personality...disorder.

I went through a phase where I tried to help myself using self help books. That didn't work because I'm not much of a "reader" (and SparkNotes couldn't help me this time). Finally one psychologist, who was booked, set me up for a blind therapy session with one of her friends, Dr. Peppermint (Note: Dr. Peppermint is not her real name, I just don't know if the doctor-patient confidentiality is a two way road.)  

Last Wednesday was my first session. The building was cold, dimly lit, and made of 93% linoleum. It was an environment that ensured repeat customers.

In contrast, Dr. Peppermint's office was cozy. She had a nice leather couch, some baby-sized Milky Ways, and the essential cold AND hot water cooler. Our first session was nice and painless. She asked me questions for about 45 minutes:

Why are you here?

I have a lot of anxiety and I'm depressed. 

Are you manic?

No.

Schizophrenic?

No. 

PTSD?

No.

An alcoholic?

Define alcoholic...

Do you need alcohol to wake up in the morning?

No, but by that definition I'm a coffee-holic. (Fake laugh)

Do you want to hurt anyone?

No. (Hmm...)

Have you ever planned how to kill yourself?

I'm not much of a "planner."

Do you like your family?

Yes.

Do you have a good relationship with your mother?

Yes, we don't talk much.

Does anyone in your family have a history of anxiety?

My dad's a Dallas Cowboys fan.

Do you like your job?

Oh, it's terrible. (Tangent...)

I actually want to be a comedian... (Suddenly, she has a lot to write down.)

How do you feel at malls?

I get uncomfortable.

Why?

Because, for some reason, I think other people worry that I'm going to steal or do something bad. 

So you think other people are judging you?

Yes, people suck! Good call, Doctor Pep!

45 minutes later...

"Well, it seems that you're depressed and have anxiety."

Oh, maybe that's why I'm here... at the anxiety and depression clinic. Another good call! 

Dr. Peppermint went on to explain Cognitive Behavior Therapy, and I went on to pretend as if I haven't read about it in my collection of failed self-help books. My next session is Monday. I'll keep you updated unless it gets too personal (in that case, I'll save it for the stage).

In all seriousness (good paragraph opener), I have a lot of hope for these therapy sessions. Depression and anxiety are issues that have reoccurred throughout my life and it's time for me to address them properly. I realized how selfish it is that I haven't before. I'm terrified of these sessions and I'm not sure why. I hope I can stay as patient with myself as my friends and family have been with me. Maybe I'll even start answering my phone! :) 

Trust me, I learned a lesson

I was a mess this past week. My writing was horribly depressing, I stopped working out, and no matter what I did, I just couldn't get back on my normal poop schedule. I'd been too nervous thinking about my first tv/radio appearance. I kept imagining the absolute worst. But as bad as I imagined, nothing could prepare me for how awful this experience truly was...

Yesterday, I was on the [for the sake of professionalism,
I removed the name of the show] show and wow, what a God-awful experience that was. The host is a right-winged nut. Just a manipulative jerk who exploits people on the air and then immediately kisses their butt to save face. He was such a coward that he would turn everyone's mic off the second someone would disagree with him, then he'd put words in their mouth, and claim to win the one-sided conversation. He made Sheri Speede, a veterinarian and founder of the Sanaga-Yong Chimpanzee Rescue center, sad by describing, in excruciating detail, the horrific ways people beat chimpanzees and after she left, he falsely claimed that she was angry and said chimpanzees taste like chicken. He got mad at me because I told him that he was being too harsh on an elderly guest and cut my mic for the majority of the show. He would lie about doing noble things like paying homeless people to be extras on his show. I know this because, after the extras were properly embarrassed, they would whisper to me, "Yeah, we're really not homeless." Then he would pretend things were going on in the studio, like two guests were fighting, and he staged all the phone calls so he could look quick witted and always in the right. He treated his staff poorly and would often yell at his producer between each take. He's everything I despise in people all clumsily packed into a freak wearing hypno-glasses. But I'll spare you guys of how I really feel. And thankfully, I really did learn a lot of lessons from this experience: 

Saying "no" is the most empowering thing you can do.

When I first arrived at the studio, I was asked to put on a costume. For a second, I was convinced that I had to do it. Then I said, "Oh no, I'd rather not.." So the producer politely backed off. But what if I didn't say no? I could have put myself through the most humiliating experience in my life, and all because I didn't know I had a choice. So don't be afraid to say no, because it's always an option.

Stick to what you're comfortable with

In his book, The Secrets of Good Communication, Larry King writes that one of the secrets to successfully representing yourself (on radio or television) is to make sure you're comfortable with what you're doing. If not, then return the clown costume and leave before your parking meter gets too expensive.

Avoid negative thinking

You have to go in with the right attitude and I'm sure mine could have been better. Also, even though my interview was important to some of my friends and me, it could never make or break me. My two hours of nervously smiling in the background of a tv show won't change the course of civilization. Unless the world does, in fact, revolve around me. In that case we're all doomed!

Do your research

I didn't do enough research on the 
* show. I asked a couple people about the show and listened to a couple segments, but I really had no idea what to expect. That was my fault, and probably one of the reasons I've taken this experience so poorly. So know what you're getting into or else, one Tuesday morning, you'll find yourself on tv, watching videos of a guy with a bubble wrap fetish, next to a nurse covered in fake blood, all before you had your morning coffee. And that's always a bummer. 

Say "Yes" to every job? 

If I've learned anything from Ryan Seacrest (and oh I have!), it's that you take every job you're given. One of the first comedians I worked with, Alex "Kool-Aid" Ansel, told me that you should take every gig you're given and if you're wrong for the show, that's the booker's fault. Which is absolutely true, sometimes you can be wrong for the show, but now I realized that a show can also be wrong for you. If it is wrong for you, then I think it's time to awkwardly say, "Oh... no, thank you,", moonwalk out the door, and bail to go get a cup of coffee (Cause coffee.) 

Know what you're worth!

I was first told this by Larry Garza, of Comedia A Go-Go fame. He has a duo comedy act with one of his friends (I'm assuming their friends, but maybe they hate each other), Regan. When a producer tries to book them both as the headliner, but only only offers enough money to cover one of them, Larry will politely decline and offer to have only one of them do the show (or maybe offer the show to his Uncle, Jesus "Who Farted" Mendoza). He knows what his act is worth and whats worth his time. It's not greedy or selfish. He rightfully values his time. If you know what you're worth, then nobody can ever undervalue you or what you do for a living. I still don't know what I'm worth, but now I know that I'm worth more than -$42.00 in parking fees.

But I don't know anything. All of these lessons are ideas that I'm constantly evolving as I figure out what I'm doing with my life. If nothing else, I truly learned that nothing compares to being on stage for me. I don't mind going to open mics, because there is a lot of value in honing my craft. I'm motivated more than ever to get better at stand up. 

And that's how John Magallanez, got his poop schedule back.

Peace

PS: I truly am thankful for the opportunity and I wish I could have done more with it. Thank you again to Elijah King and UDC entertainment for allowing me to be a part of something like this. Even if it didn't go so well, I appreciate the chance to try something new.