Packing for the Reunion
A play in One Act
starring
Jo and Frank as Themselves
Scene: Basement laundry room. Frank is squashing clothing into an already-overstuffed suitcase. Jo enters.
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Jo: So, are you packing some decent clothes to wear to the reunion?
Frank: Why should I wear decent clothes?
Jo: Because you want to look nice for the reunion.
Frank: Why should I look nice?
Jo: Because you look forward all year to spending a few days with your Navy friends.
Frank: My Navy friends are slobs.
Jo: Maybe they don't look like they just stepped out of the pages of GQ, but...
Frank: They look like they just stepped out of the dumpster behind the Salvation Army. They wear Hawaiian shirts that were already fading when statehood was granted.
Jo: Still, you could look nice and set them a good example.
Frank: I set them a good example just by putting on long pants. You've seen these guys; they walk around the hotel in shorts like it's Varicose Vein Appreciation Week.
Jo: Well, you're ruining your clothes by squeezing them in the suitcase like that.
Frank: What's to ruin? My clothes are crap.
Jo: That's the problem.
Frank: That's the solution. It's protective coloration. These reunions are like being back in the Navy. You want to blend in. Standing out catches the attention of people who have dangerous plans for your future.
Jo: This is ridiculous. You can't fit everything in one suitcase. We're spending three days on the road; pack three days' worth of clothes in a small bag. Then you won't have to drag your entire so-called "wardrobe" into a motel every night, and your alleged "good" clothing won't get ruined. When it's over, and we're heading home, you do it again, packing just enough in the little bag.
Frank: Too confusing. Too dangerous.
Jo: What's confusing and dangerous about packing sensibly?
Frank: It's too much like the San Antonio Plan.
Jo: What's the San Antonio Plan?
Frank: Remember the 2010 reunion, when we flew separately? I was leaving first and didn't have room in my carry-on suitcase for everything. So someone cooked up the San Antonio Plan: Since I was leaving first, I'd pack X number of skivvy shorts, just enough to last until the weekend, when you'd fly in with Y number of svivvies and take home the X skivvies.
Jo: Seems logical. What were the values of all these Xs and Ys?
Frank; I didn't know then and I don't know now. All I know is that I wound up in San Antonio with a suitcase full of brassieres and no underwear. I was terrified. My friends may be slobs, but they're not perverts.
Jo: What did you do?
Frank: David had the keys to the equipment van. He was going to Walmart and asked me if I wanted to come.
Jo: And you told him your sordid tale of treachery and perversion?
Frank: Guys don't have lengthy, detailed discussions about their shopping needs. We walked into Walmart and David said, "I'll meet you back here at the checkout." He went one way, I went the other. Within 35 seconds I found some underwear and headed back to the checkout. David was already there. It was an amazing experience. I was sixty years old and had never been shopping with a guy. It's so incredibly different from the usual experience of shopping with...Jo? Yo, Jo! Honey?
The curtain falls
