Betsy Robinson

When I was an actor, I used to write my own material, and even if I didn’t get a role, I invariably was asked where I’d found the material — it gets people’s attention and is full of nuances
(aka, fun to do).

The material in this book is:

• Unusual, funny, sometimes edgy or subversive, sometimes moving

• In many cases, appropriate for any race, any age, and sometimes any gender

• Each piece has a strong action — if you’re invested in your action, you’ll be more relaxed in performance

• Each piece is a full story with a beginning, middle, and ending.

If you decide this is for you, click the “Buy Now” button. You’ll go to a PayPal page. You don’t need a PayPal account — use can use any credit card — but if you have PayPal, you can use it.

There is no charge for shipping (I’ll email you a PDF after payment is processed) or tax.

Take a look. And happy auditioning.

Also Available:

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NOTICE: You may use this monologue, lyric, and sketch for audition and class purposes only, and no public performance, representation, production, public reading or radio, television, internet, or other recording or broadcasting of this copyrighted work is permissible except by special arrangement with the author. For all rights, contact Betsy Robinson at Betsy@BetsyRobinson-writer.com.

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Monologue/1-act Play
BECOMING A MEMBER
Cast: Doris, age 19

Time and Place: Here and Now

Doris is pushed out on stage. Possibly falls down. She is wearing an ill-fitting blouse and skirt which clings to her baggy tights. She is wearing flat black pumps. She looks around her. At the audience. Mortified. Tries unsuccessfully to nonchalantly release her skirt from its static cling. She is gripping a piece of white paper.

Pause.

DORIS
Okay… I’m white. Um. I’m heterosexual. I—
(STARTS TO LEAVE)
really don’t want to—
(AS IF PUSHED BACK ON STAGE)
Okay, okay … I think I would be a really good addition to the Alpha Delta Porca Society because— (CHECKS HER NOTES) Oh, I didn’t finish the “who am I” part. I’m sorry.

Let’s see. Um. I’m a liberal heterosexual—not that I’m promiscuous, and I certainly don’t mind lesbians—in case any of your are. … Lesbians … or promiscuous … or promiscuous lesbians, I really don’t think I can do—

(AS IF HEARING A REPRIMAND)
Okay, okay.

It’s just that I prefer the opposite sex. Boys. Men. Sexually. Although I don’t have a boyfriend just at this present time, but I certainly do hope to have one in the very near future.

(CHECKS HER NOTES)
Uh. I don’t have any undesirable diseases, not that there are desirable ones, but … I wash regularly—I prefer showers—and I guess that just about does it!

(NO RESPONSE)

Okay! Maybe not.
(CHECKS NOTES)

Oh, yes, my extra-curricular activities. Um, I don’t have any just at the present time, but I certainly do plan to acquire a substantial amount in the very near future.

(CHECKS LIST, CHECKING OFF QUICKLY)
Athletic ability: No
Sociability: No
Looks?...

(READING INSTRUCTIONS ON NOTES, RELIEVED)
Oh, I see, you fill out those. Sorry. I didn’t have time to really look at this. Gee, did all of you have to do this when you got— Whoops, sorry, I forgot, no questions. Well, let’s see—

(READS)
“Why I want to be a member.” … Well, who doesn’t?

(WAITS. NO RESPONSE. GOES BACK TO NOTES, FIERCELY)

“My strong points.” (THINKS) Fun…ness. I’m very fun. And I have a wild sense of humor. Well, my mother thinks so. She never joined a society, but people say she has great taste. She told me it doesn’t matter once you get out into the real world. In the real world, she said, it doesn’t matter what club you were in or if you were never an athlete in school; that, say years from now, when we’re all grown with families and jobs, nobody’ll care, but for right now it would make things a whole lot easier if I could just get in this club. See, I would like to be mainstream. Which, as far as I can see, you’re not unless you’re a member of a club.

My best friend, Ophelia, she says her life’s changed completely since she joined hers. Malcolm X Sigma Chi. I thought maybe … But she said, “Don’t even think it, girl.” Cause as you can see … (DISPLAYS HER WHITENESS)

Ophelia says I’m not really white inside, but that doesn’t count when you’re applying to a club. Right? So I thought I’d try here. Cause we’re all white… right? And they don’t make clubs for different colored outside and in people, and even if they did, I’m not exactly sure what my inside color is, so how on earth would I find the right club?

Ophelia says I’m “puce.” … I’ve never seen puce … I think she was kidding.

I don’t like being puce. It’s not mainstream. And they don’t make clubs for them.

My mother says it doesn’t matter. That in the real world, when you go for a job interview, for example, nobody asks if you’re puce.

Ophelia says they don’t ask, but they see it anyway and check it off in a secret box that they never show you, which goes on your permanent secret record for life. Which keeps you from getting into all the really important societies. That this permanent secret record started when they filled out your birth certificate or when you started school or sometime in between.

My mother says Ophelia is full of shit.

I like Ophelia. I like my mother. I would very much like to become a member of this club.

You see, it’s like insurance: Probably my mother’s right—that years from now I will look back at all this and laugh because older people couldn’t care less whether or not I was a cheerleader or what color club I was in.

But my friend Ophelia’s been around. So just in case, in case I do have a permanent, secret record with secret boxes for puce, if you’d just let me into this club, if you’d just check off the right box—

Well, then no matter who’s right, then I’d be mainstream for life … Right?

BLACK OUT

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Song Lyric
(write your own melody)
“The Premenstruational Blues”
(If you come up with a melody, please email me.)

When your head’s in a blither,
Your brain’s in a dither,
And your stomach is somewhat distended,
Your skin is out-breaking,
Your body is aching,
And you find you are so easily offended—

There is but one diagnosis,
One positive, unequivocally accurate prognosis—

(CHORUS:)
You’ve got the premenstruational blues, my friend,
It’s the premenstruational blues.
In conventional lingo
It’s the time when we sing o’
The premenstruational blues.

When your body is lumps
And you’re down in the dumps
And your breasts are two sacks of potatoes,
And you don’t wanna move
Cause you’re stuck in a groove
With the lovely self-hate overweight-ohs—

CHORUS

Sit down,
Cry if you want,
The why’s unimportant to you;
Har-ry
Is locked in the bathroom,
The cockroaches ate your new shoes,
You broke all the dishes
And the two sonsofbitches
Who slipped on your driveway are threat’ning to sue.
No matter the reason,
The month or the season,
It’s the premenstruational blues!

© 2007 Betsy Robinson

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SKETCH
“The First Time”

CAST: Margie and Phil, in their 20s.

MARGIE and PHIL are frozen: Phil is facing Margie. He has his mouth open; he has just asked her a question. Margie is facing the audience.

MARGIE (to audience)I wonder if he knows that I’m a virgin. I heard that guys can tell by the way you walk.
(She walks.)
Can you tell?

I’m the only virgin I know. Except for my sister, but she’s 12. … I’m embarrassed.

He’d never have asked me out if he’d known. So this whole relationship is grounded in misconception.
(turns to Phil)
Phil, this is really embarrassing, but I’m 21 years old and I’m a vi—, vi—, I’ve never done it. Do you want to take me home now?

PHIL (unfreezing) What?

MARGIEIf you don’t want anything to do with me, it’s all right. I’ll understand.

PHILWhat?

MARGIEWe can end this whole thing right now. No hard feelings.

PHILAll I asked was do you wanna coke with your pizza.

MARGIENo. Do you want me to pay for the pizza?

PHILI’ll be right back.
(exits)

MARGIE (to the audience)He’s lying. He won’t be back. What am I doing? I must be insane. I’m out on a date with a strange man, and I hate pizza. … If he doesn’t want me, I’ll go mad.

PHIL(returns with 2 pizzas and 1 bottle of coke, hands her 1 slice of pizza)Here.

MARGIEGee, thanks.

PHILYou wanna sit down?

MARGIE(dropping to sitting position on the floor)Sure.

PHILI meant in the car. I thought we could eat in the car.

MARGIE (getting up)Oh, okay.
(They slide into two chairs, denoting his car.)
That’s more comfortable.

PHILYeah.

MARGIEI would like to get rid of my virginity.

PHILPardon?

MARGIEI want to do it.

PHILYou mind if I finish my pizza?

MARGIESure. Sure. I didn’t mean— Oh God, you thought I meant—! No, no, not right this minute. I meant theoretically — in theory — at some unknown future time with a willing partner, I would really like to—

PHILOkay.

MARGIEOh … I’ve probably turned you off completely.

PHILNo.

MARGIEYou’re lying

PHILI think you’re cute.

MARGIECute?

PHILIs there an echo in here?

MARGIEI’m sorry. I think you’re cute too.

PHIL (eating and grinning)Good.
(offers her coke)
Wanna sip?

MARGIESure.
(sips, to audience:)
I hate coke.

PHILSo it bothers you, the fact that you’ve never—?

MARGIEYes.

PHILHow come?

MARGIEWell, I was fat and sheltered and nobody ever wanted to.

PHILNo, how come you’re so hung up about it?

MARGIEOh. I’m 21. How old are you?

PHIL25.

MARGIEWow. … I guess you’ve—
(gestures “you know—done it.” Phil grins and nods, while eating.)
A lot?

PHILYeah. Does that bother you?

MARGIENo, no, not at all.
(Does a horrified take to the audience.)
How many times have you done it?
(Phil chokes on his pizza.)
Just kidding, ha ha, sorry, I have a weird sense of humor. So how many times?

PHIL (recovering)I don’t know. You want some more coke with that pizza?

MARGIESure.
(She drains his bottle, hands it back to him)

PHILGuess you were thirsty, huh?

MARGIE (to audience)I’m making an ass of myself.

PHILI was really nervous my first time too.

MARGIEYou were?

PHILRelax.

MARGIEOkay … So what’s it like being a television repair man?

PHILS’okay.

MARGIEThat’s good.

PHILI’m giving it up as soon as I sell my screenplay.

MARGIE (impressed)You write movies?

PHIL (being modest)Yeah.

MARGIEWow. I’m not really a waitress. I’m searching for my niche.

PHILGood luck with that.

MARGIEThanks. … Well …

(Phil finishes his pizza, wipes his mouth clean, puts his arm around MARGIE and begins to kiss her.)

MARGIEOh. You’re kissing me.

PHILCorrect.

MARGIEOh.

PHILDon’t you wanna?

MARGIESure.
(kisses him back.)

PHILThat’s nice.

MARGIEI don’t really know what I’m doing.

PHILYou’re doing fine. You gotta relax though.

MARGIEOkay.
(goes limp)

PHILYou gotta relax your mouth.

MARGIE (straightening up)Oh, okay, I get it.
(goes slack-lip)
This better?

PHIL (ignores this, kisses her)You’re very pretty.

MARGIEThank you very much.

PHILYou know, I’ll tell you something about first times — you never forget ‘em.

MARGIEI know what you mean. Like the first time I rode a bike, or lost a tooth, or the first time I-yiey-yiey—
(as Phil stifles her with kisses. Pause. It takes MARGIE a moment to recover. Weakly:)
What?

PHILI didn’t say anything.

MARGIEOh, I thought you did.

PHIL (stroking her hair)You like this?

MARGIEYes.

PHIL (touching her neck)How about this?

MARGIEOh, yes.

PHIL (going for her breasts)How about—

MARGIEPhil!

PHILWhat?

MARGIEI’ll remember you always.

PHIL (lowering her backwards)Me too, Molly. Me too.

(As lights fade)

MARGIEPhil?

PHILYeah, sweetheart?

MARGIEMy name’s Margie.

(Fade to black.)

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