BoGart and BerGman

Content Warning: Explicit Language

This one-act play was submitted as part of Catalyst’s 2020 Writing Contest. To view more submissions from the Writing Contest, please visit utcatalyst.org/writing-contest.

Authors Note: During the first week of quarantine, a friend and I challenged each other to write one fictional piece per day in a different genre. We ended up writing about 30 pages each—everything from Platonic dialogues to court transcripts. This was the play I wrote for the final day.

A Play in One Act

SCENE: The equivalent of a house on an alien planet.

SETTING: BoGart is carving a very small figurine at a high table stage right. BerGman is sitting in a cozy armchair close to the center of the stage, sipping from a steel cup and reading something. Behind the armchair is a cabinet. At stage left is a bundle of wires hooked into two helmets in front of two chairs surrounded by unusual machinery. On the wall stage left is a door. In the background is something which obviously shows that they are aliens on another planet—a sign saying so, for instance. 

(BoGart and BerGman work quietly for a solid minute. Suddenly BoGart looks up.)

BoGart: Shit.

BerGman: What? (Pause. Suddenly, she looks up in realization.) OH. Shit.

(Both drop everything and scamper to the helmets. They begin to throw wires around, plugging things in and getting tangled.)

BoGart: Shit. Shit. Shit.

BerGman: Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

BoGart: Quick, quick, quick. Pick up your helmet.

(They each pick up a helmet in a rush to put one on, but right before they do, they each take a look at what they have in their hands. They’ve picked up each other's helmets. BoGart shakes his head and BerGman gags. They look at each other for a beat and then thrust the helmets out at arms length for the other to take. They put them on and frantically start messing with the wires.)

BoGart: C’mon. C’mon. (Sparks fly. Wires fly. A green rubber ducky is hurled from the chaos into the audience. Microphone feedback builds.)

BerGman: No, you idiot, not that one!

BoGart: (loudly) What? I can’t hear you!

(BerGman suddenly holds the end of a cable in the air triumphantly and brings it down into a plug point. The microphone feedback goes dead silent as the satisfying sound of an amp being plugged in is heard. They both sit back in the chairs and breath a sigh of relief.)

BoGart: Do you want some alien chips?

BerGman: Oh, no thank you. Could you bring me my alien pina colada?

BoGart: Sure thing. (Dragging a cable hooked into the back of his helmet, he walks to the cabinet and pulls out a bag of chips. The bag should indicate obviously that it is not from Earth—perhaps by saying so, for instance. He walks to the armchair, picks up BerGman’s steel cup from the floor, makes a feeble attempt to mop its contents from the floor back into the container, and then brings the cup to BerGman, who is staring straight into the audience.)

BerGman: Thank you. (She takes a sip, still staring in wonder.)

BoGart: (following her gaze) Do you think they know?

BerGman: (pause) What?

BoGart: Y’know. That we’re watching them. (BerGman looks at him.) I don’t know. It’s just—

(Suddenly they both snap back to looking into the audience.)

Both, simultaneously: Oh, oh, oh, oh!

BoGart: Yes! BerGman: Shit! 

BoGart: Did you see that? Did you see that? Hoo whee. The arms on that one.

(They sit watching the audience intently for a bit.)

BerGman: (looking away to take a sip from her cup) Nah, they can’t.

BoGart: What?

BerGman: They can’t know. (She sees BoGart’s confusion.) That we’re watching them.

BoGart: How can you be so sure?

BerGman: It’s simple science, BoGart.

BoGart: Like what.

BerGman: I shine an alien flash light at you. You see it. There’s no way for me to know you saw it.

BoGart: (looking down at his chest as if the light were hitting him right now) Wouldn’t you see me when the light hit me?

BerGman: No, no. Well, yeah, but I meant, y’know. Long distance and all. Like uh… you’re in a forest far away. 

BoGart: Oh. (He starts eating the chips as they both stare out at the audience.) BerGman?

BerGman: Yeah?

BoGart: What if you had really sharp alien eyes?

BerGman: Shut up, BoGart. It’s just an analogy. It’s radiowaves, they’re different. 

BoGart: Okay, okay. (He munches the chips louder, a bit hurt. They continue watching the audience intently.)

BerGman: (jumping up) Foul! Foul! That’s—Look! Look, he—Right there. Right there, do you see it?

BoGart: Oh, please. He didn’t even touch him. 

BerGman: Come on, look, it’s right there!

BoGart: No, they weren’t even close, they—Oh, come on.

BerGman: Yeah that’s right. That’s right.

BoGart: Baloney.

BerGman: (turning to BoGart) Bologna?

BoGart: No, no Baloney. (pause) It’s like nonsense. Only more emphatic.

BerGman: Baloney. Huh.

(Suddenly they both snap back to looking into the audience.)

Both, simultaneously: Oh, oh, oh, oh!

BoGart: Shit! BerGman: Finally!

BerGman: About time, about time. Did you see that? That’s a star player. 

BoGart: Oh, please. He’s a moon player. 

BerGman: Not even a planet player? Sheesh. That’s harsh.

BoGart: Sheesh! 

BerGman: Sheesh!

(They laugh.)

BoGart: No but really.

BerGman: What?

BoGart: What if they know?

BerGman: Who, Parker? James? C’mon, BoGart. 

BoGart: No, no, not them, I know they’re probably… (he suddenly gets sad)

BerGman: Hey, hey… Maybe… maybe they froze them. We don’t know.

BoGart: Froze them? 

BerGman: Y’know, just, stuck ‘em in the fridge. I don’t know, I’m just… picking on a wishbone, from the Frigidaire. (she smiles)

BoGart: Yeah. (he smiles) Yeah, okay, maybe. (he laughs) Imagine: we pull them out years from now… “How you doin?” (he laughs again)

BerGman: Yeah. There you go, bud.

BoGart: It just feels weird though. That we know about them, but they wouldn’t know about us, y’know?

BerGman: (she thinks) Huh. I mean…

(Their attention goes back to the audience.)

BoGart: Oh, shit, I’m sorry.

BerGman: Ah. shit. How’d they jump by that much so quick?

BoGart: We really gotta figure out how to rewind.

BerGman: You know Dolpho, a couple alien houses down?

BoGart: The one who works at the alien garbage disposal or the alien rock museum? Or the one in alien finance?

BerGman: The garbage one.

BoGart: Yeah, what about her?

BerGman: (pointing at the tangle of wires) She got hers to record them—you know what? We should go to her place right now. We can jump right to this spot.

BoGart: (pause) No… no, it’s fine. She probably didn’t even record this.

BerGman: Didn’t record this? No way. (pause) Baloney.

BoGart: (perks up) Eyy, not bad.

BerGman: So what, you wanna go?

BoGart: Maybe. Another time, another time. 

(BerGman waits for him to change his mind and then gives up.) 

BerGman: Alright, alright, alright.

BoGart: BerGman?

BerGman: Y’know what? Could I get some of those alien chips?

BoGart: Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. (He peers into the nearly empty bag with disappointment. He reluctantly hands the whole bag to BerGman, who’s still watching the audience. He gets up.) Hey, I’m gonna just go back to my desk. You can keep watching, though. 

BerGman: Mhm. Wait, what? (she turns) You can’t miss this! It’s the finals, BoGart, the finals.

BoGart: I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right. I wouldn’t want to be watched like this. 

BerGman: They put it out there to be watched. 

BoGart: Yeah, but not by us. 

BerGman: Ah, c’mon, I wouldn’t be too worried. All this happened ages ago. They wouldn’t mind.

BoGart: (he continues) And I was just thinking. What if they’ve been doing the same thing?

BerGman: Watching this? Of course they’ve been watching this.

BoGart: No, no I mean watching us. We use radio too.

(BerGman stops in her tracks and thinks for a bit. She gasps.)

BerGman: And what if... (she turns mockingly to BoGart) what if it’s been millenia since they broadcast these signals, and now they’re advanced, more powerful than you can imagine. They destroy stars with the twitch of a finger and leap across planets—across galaxies!—in mere instants. They jump and jump and jump until all of a sudden… boom! (BoGart flinches) They’re in your alien backyard frying alien babies for fun.

BoGart: Okay, okay, I get it. Sheesh. (BoGart looks up at the audience, but with some fear this time.) Keep watching, let me know who wins.

BerGman: (shrugs) Okay, if you say so.

(BoGart goes back to his desk and picks up the figurine he’s been working on. It’s a man, wearing a red and black jersey. He looks at the man, and all of a sudden remembers something.)

BoGart: BerGman? (She’s too focused on the audience.) BerGman? BerGman!

BerGman: Hmm?

BoGart: (pause for two beats) What if—

(Suddenly the door bursts open and two heavily armed humans fire two shots at BerGman and BoGart, killing them instantly. They’re wearing suits which indicate obviously that they are human—by saying so, for instance.)

Human 1: Got the little suckers.

Human 2: Geez, this planet is a wasteland, man. Absolutely useless.

Human 1: (prodding at BoGart) You want this one? He’s pretty tender.

Human 2: (prodding at BerGman) check it out! They’ve got televisors!

Human 1: Ha! Goodness. (pressing a button on his sleeve) Coms, no signs of intelligent life here either, but we found a few buggers. Over.

Coms: (beep) Understood, you can set up camp in the area. Recon should have the whole place in good shape by tomorrow at 6pm. Over.

Human 2: 6pm? (pressing button on sleeve) Coms, I thought we agreed to pick up the pace. Over.

Coms: (beep) Planet’s selling for 50 million they say. Rich clients… you know the deal. Techt wants it extra clean for the new tenants. Speaking of which, you gotta wrap up and clear out by 9pm. Over.

Human 2: Crap. (to Human 1) You heard that?

Human 1: Shit. 

(Long pause as they look around. Human 1 sits down in BoGart’s chair and picks up a helmet. Human 2 tests his teeth on BoGart’s figurine. Human 1 looks at BerGman on the other chair. With a sigh, Human 1 gets up and picks up BerGman.) 

Human 1: God, I hate a rushed dinner.

[Blackout]