One Saliva Bubble



INT LUCKY BUCK'S SALES OFFICE - MORNING

WALLY NEWTON, a forty year old milquetoast salesman, wilts under the
stern finger of his boss, militaristic, ramrod-stiff LUCKY BUCK.

LUCKY BUCK
Before you fall out for chow, you
yellow-bellied, jelly-spine, you march
directly out there, soldier, engage the
enemy, and DON'T let them look under the hood.

WALLY
(quivering)
But, but the engine --

LUCKY BUCK
Mister, the only BUT I want to hear
from you is, "my butt's out there
selling that vehicle". Move out!

WALLY
Yes sir, Lucky Buck.

Wally heads directly out the door. The door closes. Lucky Buck
watches him go.
INTERCUT:
LUCKY BUCK'S POV

Wally moves to the Couple, engages them in a conversation we don't
hear. The Husband points to the hood. Wally nervously glances back
at Lucky Buck, who stares at him. Wally pulls his neck in and opens
the hood. Lucky Buck shakes his head in dismay, mutters ...

LUCKY BUCK
Mister, you are one sorry piece of poop.
CUT TO:
INT. RAMBLER HOOD

Empty. No engine.
CUT TO:
EXT. COMPANY "B" - DAY

A large, imposing, 30's style, concrete office building.

CUT TO:
INT. COMPANY "B" - DAY

The lobby reception area; blue carpet, blue walls. Two EMPLOYEES
pass by the RECEPTIONIST, all wearing standard company issue yellow
uniforms that sport a big blue "B" on the lapel.

Looking through the glass front doors we see HORTON THURSBY, a man
who from a distance you might mistake for Wally Newton, until you
get close enough to feel his radioactively terrifying aura of
twisted, homicidal power. His eyes are like black, malignant
bumblebees
. His sport coat is a hundred decibels. The doors fly
open as if to flee from him and he enters without breaking his
juggernaut stride. The Receptionist, who on the face of it appears
she could give him a run for his money, looks up as he reaches the
desk.

HORTON
Horton Thursby.

RECEPTIONIST
I'm sorry, there's no one here
by that name.

HORTON
(extremely ominous)
What did you say?

RECEPTIONIST
I s-s-said, no one here, that name.

HORTON
Because that's my name, tubby.

RECEPTIONIST
(nailed to her chair)
W-who shall I say is calling?

HORTON
(leaning in very close)
Horton Thursby.

Panicked, she rifles through her appointment book and slams her
finger down when she finds ...

RECEPTIONIST
Uh-huh, I s-s-see your name right here.

HORTON
I have appointment with Mr. Biggs,
bean brain.

RECEPTIONIST
Indeed you do, of course you do, you
certainly do, he's expecting you, he's
set aside the time to --

HORTON
(a finger in her face)
That's enough.

RECEPTIONIST
(nods vigorously, can't look at
him, points)
Ma-Mr. Thuraby, if you'd like to take
the Ex-exec-executive Elevator --

Horton's already making a beeline for the elevator; its doors zip
open and shut behind him as he enters.

bean brain- ptasi móżdżek
bumblebee- trzmiel
dismay- przerażenie, konsternacja
homicidal- morderczy
imposing- imponujący, wspaniały
jelly-spine- bez kręgosłupa
juggernaut- moloch
make a beeline- iść najkrótszą drogą
malignant- jadowity, złośliwy
mutter- mruczeć, mamrotać
ominous- złowrogi
quiver- drżeć, dygotać
ramrod (-stiff)- sztywny jak kołek
rifle through- przeszukiwać
stride- krok, marsz
tubby- pulchny
wilt- opadać z sił; więdnąć, usychać
yellow-bellied- bojaźliwy, tchórzliwy


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