(A car dealership. SARAH is waiting when JERRY walks up to her.)
JERRY: Hey.
SARAH: Oh—hi! I need to buy a car.
JERRY: No, you don’t.
SARAH: Excuse me?
JERRY: You do not need to buy a car. A car is the last thing you need.
SARAH: No, I actually do need a car.
JERRY: You know there isn’t going to be a world anymore after tomorrow, right?
SARAH: Well, they’re estimating that it might not—
JERRY: That’s because they don’t want mass panic and looting, but trust me, by Monday, our planet
is just going to be one burning ember in the Universe.
SARAH: Do you work here?
JERRY: Sadly, I do.
SARAH: Great. Can you sell me a car? Brand new. Like, never been owned ever. Out of the box if you have it. Do they come in boxes? I want one—pristine. Ridiculously expensive. Totally non-practical.
JERRY: I can’t do that.
SARAH: Why not? You must make commission, right? Well, trust me, at this moment, I am a big, fat pile of commission. I mean, I don’t know how much longer you’ll have to spend the commission, but—
JERRY: I can’t sell you a car, because it wouldn’t be right. You don’t need a car.
SARAH: First of all, everyone needs a car. Cars are essential. Second of all, if you’re wondering if I have a car, the answer is ‘Yes, I do,’ and it’s piece of crap, because I’ve never owned a new car in my life because I’ve always been really frugal and now I feel like an idiot because I have all this money and what good does it do me? Like, what was I saving it for? SO—I’m buying a new car. And I’d like the payment plan. I’m guessing you can’t deny me my rights to a payment plan just because the world might end. And if the world does end, I won’t have spent all that much, and if it doesn’t end, I’m going to keep the car anyway because I need to stop being a loser. And once I get the car, I’m driving to a beach. And then I’m getting a hotel room on the beach and THAT is where I’m going to be when this comet hits.
JERRY: That sounds really nice, but if you think it’s going to make you feel any better about the fact that you’ve wasted your life, you’re wrong.
(A beat.)
SARAH: Is there somebody else here I could speak to?
JERRY: No, I’m the only one. Everybody else went home to die with their families.
SARAH: You don’t have a family?
JERRY: No, I do. I just don’t like them.
SARAH: I’m sorry.
JERRY: You’re not the only one who’s wasted their life, you know.
SARAH: I wouldn’t say I wasted my life, and I’d really like it if you would stop saying it.
JERRY: So what would you say then?
SARAH: I would just say I didn’t live my life to its fullest potential because I was saving up to quit my awful job AND were it not for this—unexpected…ENDING of everything—it would not have been a bad plan. My plan was not a bad plan. I just should have—indulged a little bit more in addition to saving so much. I needed balance, but I mean, that’s normal—most people need more balance.
JERRY: I sure as hell do. I’m the number one seller in my district and that is literally my only point of pride. Like, for my entire life. Isn’t that terrible?
SARAH: Well, we’re people. We’re normal people. We’re not mountain climbers. Not everybody gets to scale K2 and have THAT be what they feel good about. Some of us have to feel good about the normal things.
JERRY: Actually, I am a mountain climber.
SARAH: Are you kidding?
JERRY: No, it’s really weird that you picked that example, because I actually did try to scale K2.
SARAH: Seriously?
JERRY: --And a few other places.
SARAH: How did it go?
JERRY: Oh, it was bad. I almost died. I pretty much almost died every time I tried to climb anything bigger than a hill.
SARAH: But you look so—fit.
JERRY: Not at all. I just wear clothes really well. In my everyday life, I eat nothing but chocolate and bacon fat. Not even the actual bacon. I just drizzle the fat on everything.
SARAH: This isn’t going to end with me getting a car, is it?
JERRY: Why don’t you do something better for yourself? Like, connect with a distant relative or make amends with an old friend.
SARAH: This from the guy who’s sitting in a car dealership refusing to sell people cars instead of being home with his family.
JERRY: The guy who’s sitting in a car dealership happens to be a lousy husband and a lousy father and that’s why his lousy family is lousy and why they don’t really like him all that much and vice versa.
(A beat.)
SARAH: Funnily enough, I had a lousy father too.
JERRY: No lousy husband?
SARAH: Just some lousy boyfriends.
JERRY: You got lucky then.
SARAH: What makes you so lousy?
JERRY: Well, you already know I’m in poor health. So playing baseball out in the yard or teaching kids to ride bikes isn’t really my strong suit.
SARAH: All right.
JERRY: I also get ideas. These—big schemes. Like mountain climbing. Bungee jumping. Bear wrestling.
SARAH: They let you—Sorry, go on.
JERRY: --I have this need for excitement, and so I go and do all this insane stuff, and it always ends badly, and then I come home, and I’m a jerk to everybody, and I keep wanting to say ‘Well, at least I tried’ but it just—doesn’t feel good enough. I only make it halfway up the mountain. I chicken out before I jump. I sucker punch the bear when he’s not looking and I get disqualified. This job is the only thing I’ve ever really been good at, otherwise they would have fired me a long time ago for taking so much time off.
SARAH: I’ve never taken time off. They stopped counting my sick days when I went over a hundred. They tried to force me to take some, but I never get sick and I hate lying. I was in perfect health until my doctor found the cancer.
JERRY: Cancer?
SARAH: About a week ago. I felt a pain. I went to get a check-up. They did some x-rays. I have cancer—everywhere.
JERRY: Oh my—I’m so—
SARAH: Well, don’t be sorry. If the world ends, the fact that I have cancer won’t really matter, will it? I’ll just go with everybody else. I’d say that seems nice, but saying it seems nice seems sort of selfish, doesn’t it? That I feel better about not dying alone?
JERRY: Well, we’re all going to die alone. It’s just that some of us die at the same time.
SARAH: I guess that’s true. Anyway, I made up my mind last week to get the car, and then the news about the comet hit, and I thought, Well, I better get a move-on.
JERRY: Are you scared of dying?
SARAH: If it’s the comet, no. If it’s the cancer, yes.
JERRY: Why don’t you just take a car?
SARAH: What?
JERRY: I mean, it’s not like anybody’s going to care. Even if nothing happens, what is it, right? It’s just one more car. Everybody should get to drive a nice car at least once.
SARAH: I don’t know, I’d feel…I can always bring it back. I mean, if everything turns out—we could call it a test drive. Just…a two-day test drive.
JERRY: Right. Sounds good.
SARAH: Do you need me to…fill anything out? I mean, some sort of agreement?
JERRY: Yeah, actually, I do.
(JERRY holds out his hand with the pinky finger extended.)
Promise to bring the car back?
(She pinky swears him.)
SARAH: I promise.
JERRY: And if you don’t?
SARAH: May I die of cancer.
JERRY: I can live with that.
(He takes a set of keys out of his pocket.)
I was actually going to drive this one home. It’s my favorite car on the lot. You can’t miss it. Bright red. Candy apple. Drives like butter spreads.
SARAH: Do you have it in blue? (Slight pause.) I’m kidding. If I take it though, what are you going to drive home?
JERRY: I told you, I don’t think I’m going home.
SARAH: You should you know. You should always go home. Go home is probably the best advice you can ever give anybody.
JERRY: I told you, I’m an asshole. What would I do if I went home?
SARAH: Maybe you could tell your wife and kids that you just made a dying lady really, really happy.
JERRY: I don’t think one good deed makes up for a lifetime worth of shit.
SARAH: Yeah, and one good day at the beach doesn’t make up for a life at a desk, but you gotta start somewhere, right?
JERRY: I think it’s a little late to be starting anything.
SARAH: Then maybe just say you’re sorry?
JERRY: To be totally honest, the idea of doing that…scares me.
SARAH: You wrestled a bear and saying ‘Sorry I screwed up’ scares you?
JERRY: You haven’t met my wife.
SARAH: Did I mention what I do for a living?
JERRY: No.
SARAH: I work for a publishing company. Books, basically, I deal with books. And the trademark of any great book is the ending. People can forgive you for anything but a bad ending.
(She takes the keys from him.)
Go home. Nail the ending. That’s what I’m going to do.
(She starts to go, then stops and turns around.)
Hey?
JERRY: Yeah?
SARAH: You want a ride?
(He thinks about it.)
JERRY: Yeah, actually. I’d love that.
(They leave together.)
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