"'Lemonade,' He Prescribed": A Drama for Our Times

Location: The cluttered (but getting neater) home office of a freelance writer/stay-at-home dad.

Scene 1: Opens on a bleary-eyed bleary-faced daddy stumbling to the computer desk on a spring Saturday morning. Begins checking Google Reader feed, Facebook page, etc. Absentmindedly-scratches his stubbly face. Notices lump underneath left jowl that wasn't previously present. Checks right jowl for corresponding bi-lateral lump, which would assuage his feelings that such a lump is bad news. Finds no such lump. Doesn't panic, surprisingly, although that's probably due more to fatigue than aplomb. Fade out.

Scene 2: Bleary-faced daddy asks wife and mother about lump, figuring it's an inflamed lymph node. Mentally pats himself on the back for knowing it's not a "limp node," although there are pills advertised during football games for that. Wife and mother concur. Decides he'll wait until tomorrow. If lymph node isn't better then, he'll see the doctor. Withstands withering glances from his two medical consultants. Begins taking shower in preparation for visit to medical clinic.

Scene 3: Opens on a clinic office. Protagonist is pleased to see that a new, high-def television has been installed in clinic waiting room. Protagonist is less pleased when he realizes that said television is showing golf. And not even real golf, but pro-am golf. Protagonist makes mental note to outlaw golf as his first act when he is inevitably made emperor of the universe. Also wonders when Bill Murray was last funny, although he knows the answer. (Production note: Omit any references to waiting rooms, shots, rudeness, etc. It's been done. And done. AND DONE. Let's not be afraid to break new ground here, people.)

Scene 4: Opens on an examination room. Our hero, having been told by doctor that he probably does have an inflamed lymph node (backstory shown in quick jump cuts), is preparing to have some blood drawn. "It's going to be a big stick," the nurse tells hero. "That's not a big stick," hero replies. "I've had blood gases drawn. THAT's a big stick." (Note: Screenwriter has personal experience of this. Having a needle plunged into the underside of your wrist is indeed excruciating. No need for med adviser to advise.) Nurse agrees. Nurse also does a quick mouth swab to check for mononucleosis. Hero makes self-deprecating aside that he hasn't been doing enough kissing to get kissing disease, har har.

Scene 5: Doctor re-enters exam room. Dramatic John Williams/Danny Elfman/Boots Randolph-ish music plays as all the various scenarios are run through hero's head. What vile disease has penetrated his body's defenses? What cutting-edge treatments will be necessary to cure it? What will be the co-pay for those cutting-edge treatments? Will Brad Pitt be available to play him in the film version of this real-life medical drama?

Doctor: "We have the results."
Hero: "Gulp."
Doctor: "It's not mononucleosis."
Hero: "Re-gulp."
Doctor: "It's not strep."
Hero: "Big Gulp." (Research possible marketing tie-in with 7-11 Corp.) Scene swirls, music builds to dramatic crescendo.
Doctor: "You have...a blocked salivary gland."
Hero: "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Based on a true story.

All of the aforemention happened to yours truly. I sit here today, a sub-mandibular lump still palpable, and still painful in an irritating way, hoping my blocked salivary gland will open up. In case you ever have such a thing, I'll help you get a jump on treatment. The doctor will want to prescribe an antibiotic, which you can't acquire on your own, but he'll also prescribe lemonade, which is still widely available over-the-counter in many drugstores. (Check local laws before procuring lemonade. Lemonade responsibly.) No kidding. Tart stuff makes you slobber more ("salivate more" is the correct medical term, but I'm from south Alabama), and slobbering (ibid) is supposed to help with clearing the salivary gland. On the plus side, it's pretty spiffy to munch on Sour Patch Kids and the like under medical orders.

What with all the commotion, and a (much-welcomed) visit by Jacob's Aunt Ginger, I haven't finished the final segment on comedy, mainly because I haven't begun the final segment on comedy. So this spec script will have to do for now. Oh, if y'all are gonna look at me with those Basset Hound eyes, I'll throw in the world's first rock and roll record, "Rocket 88," ostensibly recorded by Jackie Brenston and His Delta Cats. Of course, there's a lot of debate about the firstness of this first record, but I'll leave that debate to others. Here's the song.

Happy Monday.


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