Improv (or: a quick hit to tide you over)

I went to London today, but everyone had forgotten their lines.

In the morning coffee shop, everything seemed to start OK.

"Tall black americano, to go, please."

"Yes sir."

But then he adds: 

"Anything to eat?"

WhatThe?  That's not in my version.

"Um, no, I mean... You don't normally... you don't ask that, do you?"

"Sorry sir?  A croissant?"

Fuck - it's clear we're operating off different scripts.  No choice - improvise.

"Umm, well no, no thank you young man!"

Exit at haste, teeth grinding.  Young Man?  Bit theatric.  Bit OBVIOUS.  I stumble out onto the street, the set of the building wobbling perceptibly behind me.

Outside, a massive crowd scene, shouting rhubarb-rhubarb-rhubarb at each other, in response to some unseen, fourth-wall direction.

I scramble along the river, the distant cityscape revealing itself a nearby fake - no parallax.  Can't remember a single line, like a waking, sweating, examination dream. 

"Prompter? Prompter!?"

Nothing.  You mean they're ALL doing it?  People just make their lives up as a they go along? 

It was true.  Everyone had forgotten what they were meant to say.  Me included. 

Ad-lib.  I begin rehearsing, out loud, where I live as I walk towards the cab.  I get it close enough.  Thankfully the man playing the cab driver is a pro, and pretends to understand.  But a single, withering look to me off-camera leaves my burning cheeks in doubt about their place on the christmas blooper tape.

On the way home the radio was on.  The DJ - wisely - just sticking to music.  I daren't look out the window... the same three shoddily-painted yards of London backdrop scrolling past over and over again.

I slowly realise that what was actually happening, of course, was that the World was carrying on just as it had before, but I was suddenly seeing things in a different way.

And what I was seeing was that everything was false, everything was made-up.  Our whole lives.  All the World - literally - a stage.  And us the actors.  Not even thesps - bad amdram.  Me, second chump in poorly-scripted sit-tradge.

Except this story, which was true.  Apart from one detail:  It did not happen today. 

It was almost three years ago.  I am better now.

Comments

[pocketpunk]

u should have taken the lovely french pastry item..........sounds like u were suffering from ' morning-after hypoglycaemia '

[An Unreliable Witness]

"A quick hit to tide [me] over"? What do you think I am? Some sort of drug-addled, addicted junkie when it comes to reading the work of the Overnight Editor? Think I can't cope without it, do you? Well, do you? Think I'll be sitting here with a rusty spoon over the flame, burning down the essence of your sentences into a potion that's guaranteed to fry my veins in a heady rush of vibrant wordsmithery as soon as I inject it into my bloodstream? Do you? Do you?

Well, you're wrong. Overnight Editor. I've not got a problem. I can 'andle it.

Ahem.

Right.

More, please. Or else I'll burgle your home and steal your DVD player.

[isabelle]

That's life. Exit, pursued by a bear. Grrrrrr.

[Peach]

am always getting withering off-camera looks these days

[the girl you'll never know]

At least you realize that everyone is improvising, instead of constantly feeling like you're the only one who didn't get the script.

[Callisto]

Drama queen.

[Miles Away]

maybe some people see lines blurring between scripts and actualities...maybe that day there were scripts, but you were the only one within earshot not clued-in...

[clarissa]

I am always screwing up my lines. My character is really much cooler than I appear to be.

[bohémienne]

Really, I think that it's quite possible that you have an older version of the script, without updates. Happens to me all the time. You should speak to the director.

[edvard moonke]

I'm sure I had something deep and meaningful to say here, something about the blurring of reality and perception but then I saw mr unreliable's comment, and it just cracked me up. I too am a hopeless addict.