THE MEAL MAKES THE MAN
In his dressing room backstage, Scott Hunter is sitting on the bench wedged into his locker digging through his dark blue duffle bag. His associate and sometimes friend Craig Massey is standing over him.
Rooting around, Scott gets more and more agitated.
Scott Hunter: Whipped cream and licorice! I forgot to pack my pre-match snack for tonight!
Scott doesn’t have a match tonight.
Craig Massey: You don’t have a match tonight.
Scott ignores Craig.
Scott Hunter: This is terrible. I get so cranky when I have the munchies. And sleepy. I can’t sleep during a match! That would be ridiculous! Those ring mats are not comfortable to sleep on. I learned that the hard way.
Scott thinks back to a time when he was choked out on one of those mats. It was a memory that brings back so many feelings, so many doubts and inadequacies. He wonders if that moment in time was formative in deciding who he has become as an adult. It was just last week though, so that doesn’t make any sense. This does not stop Scott as he looks off wistfully into the distance.
Scott Hunter: That was a sad day…
Craig Massey: What was a sad day?
Craig looks at him questioningly, but Scott’s ever piercing gaze into the ether cannot be interrupted. Indeed, a slightly sad expression crosses his face.
Scott shakes the moment off and stands up, frowns and places his hand on his hips like Peter Pan with a stomach ailment. He thinks about a Peter Pan joke he could make here, but then decides that it would never, never land.
Scott Hunter: This will never work. My stomach hurts, I’m cranky and irritable, and my right pinky toe is swollen to three times its size. I haven’t had anything to eat in almost forty-seven minutes. I need to find a snack soon or my health could be in danger.
Craig Massey: I don’t know if you know this, but people usually go much longer than that between meals. If you ate something less than an hour ago, you would be just fine without a pre-match snack. Also, let me once again reiterate… YOU DO NOT HAVE A MATCH TONIGHT. Of course, there’s a match about to happen right now between people you’ve lost to in two straight weeks..
Scott waves him off. Craig can be so annoying.
Scott Hunter: Why would you bring those two up?? You know that’s a sore subject with me, alongside subjects such as antibacterial sponges and tangelos. What even are those things?? You don’t know! Nobody does! Also Craig, you don’t have to actually be booked for a match to have a pre-match snack. Do you know why? Because it’s the law. You are putting yourself in legal jeopardy, so I think you should never mention the aforereferenced wrestlers to me ever again, and then, go and find me some Combos. Cheddar cheese please.
Craig Massey: Aforereferenced? That’s a pretty big word for you. And where the hell am I supposed to find Combos around here?
Scott Hunter: I think I saw a vending machine next to Lindsay Troy’s office. It had Combos and like, two hundred DVD copies of Mean Girls. Have you seen Mean Girls, Craig? It’s so good. Danny Devito, I love your work. That’s classic Damien right there. You go, Glen Coco! Ha! So good.
Craig Massey: Classic… what?
There’s an uncomfortable silence between them as Scott stares a very empty, brainless and shallow hole in Craig Massey’s head.
Craig looks at him, feels a sigh come out of his face, then rubs his temples.
Craig Massey: Fine, I’ll go and find you a pre-match snack. I really don’t get paid enough to deal with this.
Scott is taken aback.
Scott Hunter: You’re getting paid for this?
Craig Massey: Did you think I was hanging around with you because we’re friends?
Scott stares at him and a flood of sadness overtakes him. His bottom lip starts to quiver and he has a puppy dog eyes expression on his face. He is reminded of the time in elementary school when he told Emily Farthauser that she was pretty and she told him to eat glue and die. The glue was delicious, but to this day it still hurts his feelings an awful lot. Finally he blows air from his mouth and wills himself to be strong.
Scott Hunter: I can’t say that didn’t hurt. You have wounded me today, Craigery, but I forgive you. I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding. It’s very important that two people know where they stand with each other so that they can move forward in their relationship. There’s just one matter that needs to be cleared up.
Craig shakes his head, annoyed.
Craig Massey: And what’s that?
Scott Hunter: Where do we stand on those Combos?
Craig doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. Scott begins tapping on foot, his arms crossed over his chest.
Craig Massey: Fine, I’ll get your damn Combos. But then I’m leaving. I have other matters to attend to this weekend besides fetching your baked snacks.
Scott points an angry finger at Craig.
Scott Hunter: First of all, there’s no need for that kind of language. And secondly, by baked snacks do you mean they have the pot in them? Because I am drug free. I am a devoted proponent of just saying no, which was a phrase invented by the famous cabaret performer, Nancy Reagan.
Craig opens his mouth as if to speak, then changes his mind, turns and heads out through the door to the hallway beyond. Scott follows him and pokes his head through the door, watching as Craig rounds a corner.
Scott Hunter: Cheddar! Don’t forget!
No response, so Scott smiles, satisfied. He steps back, rubs his hands together…
Scott Hunter: Sweet! I’m getting Combos.
Scott starts whistling.
Scott Hunter: Life is a cabaret old chum, come to the cabareeeet-and-also-don’t-take-druuuuuuuugs….
And shuts the door.
We then cut to the ringside area.