Sometimes I write things

An establishing shot of Jack Nelson Ford, angled low to make the bright blue cloudless sky seem enormous, dwarfing all beneath it. Then everything is black and white and gray, also picture quality has suffered. Slow, grayscale pans across the interior of Jack Nelson Ford, complete with floor model 2005 Excrucians and sullen, dead-eyed salespeople.

Ferdinand’s voice: “Jack Nelson Ford. A place where people come to buy cars. Why do people buy cars? What are cars for? Where do cars come from? These are just a few of the questions that will be answered during this orientation video.”

What we’re seeing is revealed to be Ferdinand’s POV; he’s looking around through a small handheld camcorder, his “first draft” camera. When he lowers the camcorder, picture quality is no longer VHS, but it’s still grayscale thanks to his color blindness.

“See, one thing we don’t have here is an orientation video. I know when I joined up last month I got very little training, and I really think it would be in our best interests to have a good, comprehensive training program, make sure everyone is, like, on the same page.

“For instance, what if something breaks? A windshield or something. I don’t know about you, but I would have no idea how to clean it up. I don’t know where the brooms or dustpans are. I wasn’t told.”

One of the dead-eyed salesmen grunts. “Yeah, I think you would have benefited from orientation.”

“Would this be like those commercials you shot?” another salesman asks.

(Slam-cut montage of clips from several horribly miscolored Jack Nelson Ford commercials. In them, the sky is colored alternately green and purple, and all the cars are the same sickly yellowish shade.)

“Good question. No,” Ferdinand says, smiling and enthusiastic. “This will be longer and better.”

A series of noncommittal grunts wafts through the group.

“Oh, and hey,” Ferdinand says. “I just remembered there was something else I wanted to talk to everyone about, and since everyone’s here, it’s a good time. You know when we go out on test drives, right? We go out, turn left, and head down Highway 9 for a bit, and so on?

“Only I’ve been hearing, like, complaints from local merchants, about the number and volume of Excrucians that have been going down that stretch of road. People are talking, I’ve heard some complaints, and I’m sure we all want to be on good terms with our neighbors, good fences make good neighbors…”

“What?” someone in the back interrupts. “What are you talking about?”

“Well,” Ferdinand says reasonably, “imagine you’re a fragile tropical plant, and it doesn’t take much to shock you. You see a candy-apple red 2005 Excrucian go down the highway, okay. Then you see a canary yellow 2005 Excrucian go down the highway, and you’re like, what? I thought 2005 Excrucians were red! This one’s yellow! Oh, harsh world, I don’t understand! I must die now, to demonstrate my discomfort!

“So you understand how it would be better for everyone if instead of turning right out of the drive and going past the plant nursery, on test drives we all turned left and went towards the industrial park…”

“Let me get this straight,” says the gray-haired, dead-eyed salesman who thought Ferdinand would have benefited from orientation. “Highway Nine, that six-lane highway out there, with a frontage road and everything, that eight thousand cars per hour drive down, that’s the road we’re talking about?”

Ferdinand winces, but nods.

“Because different colors of cars, these scare plants, to death?”

Ferdinand, reluctantly, nods.

“Who was telling you this?”

“Local merchants,” Ferdinand said. “Employees at the nursery down the street. I’m just passing along the word, you know?”

Freeze frame, superimposition of Ferdinand’s character sheet, and the ten-bubble track between DEVOTE LIFE TO PLEASURING DATUR AND FATHERING MANY CHILDREN and LET HER DOWN GENTLY (last seen at 60% of the way to LET HER DOWN GENTLY). The seventh circle is filled in, with appropriate pencil-scratching noises.

The dead-eyed salesman looks like he has more to say, but he stops short when he sees something behind Ferdinand. Ferdinand notices this and turns to his supervisor, Jack Nelson, owner of Jack Nelson Ford and newly-minted State Senator.

“Ferdinand!” Jack beams through tight, botox’d lips.

“Mr. Nelson, hello,” says Ferdinand. “I was just talking to everyone about test drives…”

“Yes, I’m sure you were. Whatever he’s said,” Jack calls out over Ferdinand’s shoulder, “do it! You hear?”

A grumbling chorus of “Yes Mr. Nelson” rises from the dead-eyed sales staff.

“Ferdinand, come with me to my office,” Jack says, and leads the way.

“Yes sir,” Ferdinand says cheerily.

“Brown-noser,” one of the dead-eyed sales staff mutters.

Inside Jack’s office. Jack’s office is oddly generic, as if he’s never spent much time there. The only accoutrement worth mentioning is a ten-gallon cowboy hat on a shelf.

“Ferdinand, I’ve got big news,” Jack says. “Just think about this. Don’t answer right away. I’ve got great news. Congratulations!”

‘Ha ha,’ thinks Ferdinand, ‘this is excellent! Jack has decided to fund my documentary about kindergarten!’

“As you know, I’ve got some new responsibilities,” Jack says. “I’m not going to be here much, I’m going to be at the capitol most of the time.”

Ferdinand nods.

“And that means someone is going to have to take over the day to day responsibilities here,” Jack continues. “Don’t answer right away. Think about it.”

Ferdinand is confused. In addition to funding Kindergarten, Jack is offering…? “What do you mean?”

Jack picks up the cowboy hat. “I’ve been hearing very good things about you, Ferdinand. You’ve sold more cars in your first month than anyone else on staff. And I love those commercials. I want you to be my next Regional Assistant Sales Managing Director. I want you to wear the big hat.” Jack offers the hat to Ferdinand.

Ferdinand is genuinely surprised. If he’s going to be making Kindergarten, is he really going to have time for a heavier workload at the showroom? “But I don’t understand,” he says.

Jack proffers the hat more insistently, and Ferdinand takes it. “I know it’s a lot to think about,” he says. “Don’t answer yet. Take a few days. It’ll mean a lot more money, more benefits, more responsibilities…”

“But isn’t my plate already going to be full…”

“Don’t answer yet!” Jack interrupts. “Think about it. Just think about it.”

Ferdinand is nonplussed. “Okay,” he says, a little dubious.

Jack claps him on the back. “We’ve got something in common, you and I.” With a wide grin Jack walks him out of the office.

As they walk, pan down to Jack’s feet. Under his sharp blue suit, he’s wearing one orange sock and one green sock.

Split screen: Alvin Wasserman talking to Donald “Donnie” Bellmore III, the Democratic candidate for the open seat. Alvin’s been thinking about Donnie’s problem (his necroexhibitionism; a tendency to expose himself to dead bodies). Alvin’s been doing some quick polling, asking people whether they’d willingly vote for a necroexhibitionist candidate. The response has been an overwhelming no. Donnie asks whether Alvin used his name. Alvin says no, he used Jack Nelson’s name. Donnie questions the ethicality of that.
Alvin says politics is dirty. Alvin also says that it’s a secret that’s bound to get out. Donnie wants to know what he suggests. Alvin suggests pulling a switch. Donnie runs, Donnie gets attacked by the GOP for exposing himself to dead people, Donnie drops out of the race and Alvin steps in as the candidate. Alvin goes on the record as saying he had no idea about Donnie’s reprehensible habits.
Donnie doesn’t understand. Alvin explains it again, more slowly. Donnie gets it. Donnie doesn’t like the idea; it seems dishonest. Alvin can respect that.
Alvin tells Donnie he’ll need another campaign manager; Alvin is going to run himself as a third-party candidate. Donnie doesn’t understand. Alvin explains it again. Donnie gets it. Donnie isn’t pleased. They wish each other luck.

Ferdinand sits down across from Datur. They’re in the Magic Beans, Datur is looking fragile and expectant. She’s also looking around nervously, like a dire wolverine might pop up and attack her at any moment.

“So I’ve got good news!” Ferdinand says.

“Yes?”

“I talked to Jack and the sales staff, and they’re going to change the route of the test drives. No more Excrucians going past the nursery!”

Datur reacts as though Ferdinand had thrown a wet sponge at her. “What?”

“Remember, you were saying that the different SUVs going by were killing your plants… what?”

Datur is shaking slightly. “Don’t we have something else to talk about?”

“What?”

“Ferdinand, I told you, I’m pregnant!”

Pause.

“What?” asks Ferdinand, as if this were not only the first time he’d heard Datur was pregnant, but the first time he’d heard the word “pregnant.”

Datur bursts into tears.

“Whoa, you’re crying,” Ferdinand says. He leans over and puts his hand on her arm, and coos for a bit. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll work out whatever the problem is, we can do that. You want a napkin?”

Datur gradually subsides, and yes, she would like a napkin.

Ferdinand dashes over to the napkin stand and grabs some napkins. Also some sugar packets.

The sugar packets cause Datur to start sobbing all over again, and Ferdinand holds her and comforts her and tells her it’ll be all right and offers to get her a cookie.

“What are we going to do?” asks Datur.

“First things first, let’s get you a cookie.”

“Okay.”

“What kind of cookie would you like?”

Datur wants something nondairy. Soy.

“Soy.”

And low-fat.

“Soy, low-fat.”

Maybe ginger…

“Let me write this down…”

Datur starts sobbing again.

“Cancel the cookie,” Ferdinand says, once she’s calmed down a bit. “Okay. Let’s take the problem and put it into small, manageable pieces. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“So what’s the first piece?”

“I… oh… none of your friends like me,” Datur says with a half-sigh, half-whimper.

Smash cuts:

Alvin in his office, addressing the camera.

ALVIN: You know that girl, Datur? I have to say, I really don’t care for her. She really rubs me the wrong way. I just, I just don’t like her.

Cassie and Millie, behind the counter at the Magic Beans.

MILLIE: So what do you think of Datur?

CASSIE makes a sour face and shakes her head.

MILLIE: Yeah, me too.

Andrew, sitting in his basement, reading Guide to Hunting Druids.

ANDREW says nothing.

Back to Datur and Ferdinand.

“Well,” says Ferdinand.

Pause. Superimposition of Ferdinand’s character sheet, with the ten-point track, but no changes are made and there’s no freeze frame. Sound effect: rolling dice.

“That’s so untrue,” he tells her.

“Really?” she asks anxiously.

Smash cuts. These are all three in grayscale:

Alvin in his office, addressing the camera.

ALVIN: You know that girl, Datur? I –

(jump cut)

ALVIN: — really –

(jump cut)

ALVIN: — like her.

Cassie and Millie, behind the counter at the Magic Beans.

MILLIE: So what do you think of Datur?

CASSIE smiles and gives a big thumbs up.

MILLIE: Yeah, me too.

Andrew, sitting in his basement, reading Guide to Hunting Druids.

ANDREW says nothing.

Back to Datur and Ferdinand, back to color.

“I just…” Datur grips Ferdinand more tightly. “I didn’t get that impression at the game.”

“At the game?” Ferdinand asks, confused.

“I felt sort of like I was intruding,” she says. “I brought aspic, and no one ate it. It didn’t set, it was all runny.”

“You were at the game?” Ferdinand appears to have completely blocked out her visit.

“That’s when I told you I was pregnant…” Datur says. Her eyes have, somehow, grown even wider.

“What?” asks Ferdinand, as if this were not only the first time he’d heard Datur was pregnant, but the first time he’d heard the word “pregnant.”

Datur bursts into tears.