(Lights go down on the mainstage, up on the BAR. JORDAN has quite the collection of dishes below their feet, and is constantly shifting on their stool.)
JORDAN: (Shouting.) I’m getting there! I’m getting there! I’m getting there! Keep it coming! Gimme something different!
BARISTA:
Seriously, I don’t think - (Realizes something.) Sure. Coming right up.
SAWYER:
I’ve got another one. What did the judge say to the skunk when he walked into the courtroom?
BARISTA:
You stink.
SAWYER:
Trick question -
BARISTA: (Quickly.) I wasn’t trying to guess -
SAWYER:
the skunk is the judge. (Stands up, salutes, shouts. This is meant to be weird - the surrealism of the bit makes it funny.) All rise for the Honorable Judge Skunk!
(The BARISTA stares SAWYER down, picks up a drink from the bar, slowly pours it out onto SAWYER, then thuds the empty cup down onto the bar.)
BARISTA: (Very flat, terrible acting, trembling with rage underneath.) Eewps. Sorry. My fault.
TAYLOR:
What do you have against our little Friday Fundays?
SAWYER:
Seriously. First the war on Christmas, now the war on us. All we do is come through here, tell a few jokes, buy a few drinks, and shout “Next year in Jerusalem”. What’s so bad about that?
BARISTA:
It’s that you guys suck at traditions! Your jokes are worse than the drinks - which I’m making badly on purpose - you don’t give me tips, you steal my cups, and you never leave. Also, that whole Jerusalem thing just doesn’t make sense.
TAYLOR:
Are you joking? If anything, that whole Jerusalem thing is the only thing we get right.
BARISTA:
What?
SAWYER:
Yeah, we stole that one from the Jews. If anyone knows tradition, it’s them.
BARISTA:
Jewish people only say that on Passover.
SAWYER:
So do we.
BARISTA:
You say it every week.
SAWYER:
We have no idea when Passover is.
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