A Slow, Steady, Sodium-Fueled Descent Into Madness
A One-Act Play
By Billy Domineau
Illustrations by Celeste Byers
In my weeks of dining at Olive Garden, one image stuck out above all others as being particularly disconcerting. A grown man, sitting at the bar, eating unlimited salad, not off a plate, but directly from the giant serving bowl. He shoveled forkful after forkful into his mouth. When the bowl was nearly empty, the server offered him a fresh one. He accepted the offer verbally, but not physically, trying to stab at the last bits at the bottom of the first bowl as she attempted to swap in the second. When the server succeeded, the man continued eating salad, as if nothing at all had changed.
Whoever this man was, is, or will be, he cannot be understood intellectually. Answers might only be found, if at all, on an abstract level of primal emotion. The following short play is my attempt at comprehension, both of the man and the larger Olive Garden experience.
A blank stage, except for a table and chair placed downstage left. On the table sits a large bowl of salad, too large for any one person. DANIEL R. LOWTHER, a man in his 50's, balding without much shape, is lowered by wires from the rafters directly into the seat. He begins to eat salad from the bowl. For the rest of the play, he does not stop eating salad.
An Olive Garden server, ANGELA, appears. She addresses the audience.
ANGELA: Every Monday at 6:20 p.m., every Wednesday at 1:14 p.m., and every other Saturday at 11:58 a.m., Daniel R. Lowther comes to our Olive Garden and eats salad. He sits at table 38, in the back right corner of the main dining area, next to where we keep the highchairs. We put him there because, unless you’re looking really hard across the whole restaurant, you probably can’t see table 38. And if you’re at table 38, you don’t have to look at many other people. I think we put Daniel R. Lowther at table 38 for both of those reasons. I know his name is Daniel R. Lowther because that’s what it says on his Discover card. My name is Angela O’Connor, but my dog calls me “Angie”. My favorite holiday is Easter. I don’t remember what hope feels like.
Daniel coughs. He continues shoveling in salad.
ANGELA: Most people don’t come here just for salad. I don’t think there are enough nutrients in the salad to really make it a meal. My cousin had a horse that died because it only wanted to eat carrots. Sometimes I ask Daniel R. Lowther if he’d like something else to eat but I have no reason to believe he’s ever heard me.
ER DOCTORS and NURSES burst on from one side with a patient on gurney.
DOCTOR 1: What’ve we got?
NURSE 1: Shell of a man, 52 but older in spirit, BP is 90 over lettuce.
DOCTOR 2: We’re wasting our time.
DOCTOR 1: Let’s intubate. Start an IV.
Nurses carefully put long strands of pasta down the patient’s throat. The IV bag is actually a take-out bag. Heart rate crash. BEEEEEEEP.
NURSE 1: He’s crashing.
DOCTOR 1: Marsala!
Doctor 1 rubs two pieces of chicken together and presses them to the patient’s chest.
DOCTOR 1: Clear!
They shock him. Pulse returns.
DOCTOR 1: Get him to the wine bar.
Doctors and nurses wheel the gurney off and exit.
ANGELA: I don’t think he has any family. He dropped his wallet on the floor once and I picked it up. It was filled with pictures of Russian dolls. The dolls were all holding pictures of wallets.
YOUNG DANIEL R. LOWTHER, 8 years old, enters wearing a t-shirt and carrying a baseball glove. He approaches the table timidly. Older Daniel just eats, never acknowledging him.
YOUNG DANIEL: Excuse me, Daniel R. Lowther? My name is Daniel R. Lowther. I’m eight years old, and I’ll be nine years old in July. I’m supposed to write a report about what I’ll be when I grow up. Is it okay if I ask you some questions about what we are?
Old Daniel eats salad.
YOUNG DANIEL: Question 1 — Do we own a pet shop like we always dreamed of, or instead did we get involved in a multi-level marketing scheme that led to us purchasing thousands of dollars in vitamins that went unsold and that you can still smell in the trunk of our Toyota Matrix on a really hot day?
Question 2 — How many kids do we have, specifically how many do we have that still talk to us and bring their kids to our pet shop, and how many do not talk to us because they loaned us thousands of dollars that we promised to pay back but knew we never would, because once you get behind in your territory, that’s it, someone else is gonna swoop in and sell the vitamins you’re supposed to be selling, and you have no one to blame but yourself — not Amway, not the man at the Mall of America, who first told you about this great opportunity, not your third child who refused to loan you money because they say they were trying to help, and you knew they were, but still you screamed and yelled and told them they were the mistake that led to all this pain?
Question 3 — What color are the parrots in our pet shop, or instead of parrots are we surrounded by memories that squeak and squawk and claw out our eyeballs from the inside?
Question 4 — Do we eat ice cream for every meal like we promised we would?
Old Daniel eats salad.
YOUNG DANIEL: Thank you for your time. I look forward to being you.
Young Daniel exits. Old Daniel nears the end of his bowl of salad. Angela prepares herself and approaches the table. From underneath she grabs a fresh bowl of salad. She looks for an opportunity to make the quick switch. She tries to place the new bowl in several times, only to be pushed back by a fork swipe or Daniel’s grunt. Eventually, she goes for it, successfully swapping the bowls out. Daniel doesn’t seem to notice. Angela backs away. She drops the empty bowl and returns to her original spot. She is shaken. She rolls up her sleeves to reveal bite marks.
ANGELA: Sometimes I’m not fast enough.
A big table and leather chairs come forward. A corporate boardroom. Suits dressed in people, the BOARD MEMBERS, take their seats. At the head of the table stands the CHAIRMAN. A projector behind him displays the words “Pasta Pass”.
CHAIRMAN: Is it safe?
BOARD MEMBER 1: We don’t know.
CHAIRMAN: Do people want it?
BOARD MEMBER 2: What do you mean by “people”?
CHAIRMAN: Is it up to our standards?
BOARD MEMBER 3: Sir, we don’t understand the question.
CHAIRMAN: Is it safe?
BOARD MEMBER 4: No.
CHAIRMAN: Are there any objections?
One board member raises his hand. The chairman nods. The board member nods. He stands up, clears his throat, and bursts into a pile of fettuccine. Beat.
CHAIRMAN: This is work we can be proud of.
The boardroom fades away.
ANGELA: I have served Daniel R. Lowther for two years, three months, one week, and three days. I have never seen him get up to use the bathroom. He doesn’t really speak, but on the second Wednesday of every month, when I transition between Daniel R. Lowther’s second and third big bowl of salad, he will ask me “Where’s the bathroom?” And I will tell him. And I watch to see if he goes to use it. I have never seen him use the bathroom. I don’t think Daniel is a man like other men. I think he’s made of different parts. Sometimes I draw what I think they might look like.
Angela pulls folded drafting paper from her pocket and begins to unfurl it. Before she can, a human dressed as a PAGER, the kind that buzzes when your table is ready, enters. The pager’s smiling human face sticks out from the black center of the large plastic disc. The pager waves at the audience. Suddenly, red lights along the rim flash and the pager vibrates. The human within screams as if electrocuted.
PAGER: Forty-six? Your table is ready. Enjoy your meal.
It buzzes again. Screams.
PAGER: Twenty-eight? Right this way!
The pager tries to collect itself and smile. Buzz. Screams.
PAGER: Thirteen! Number thirteen!
Buzz. Screams.
PAGER: THIRTEEN! THIRTEEN YOUR TABLE IS READY! GO TO YOUR TABLE!
Buzz buzz buzz.
PAGER: WHY WOULDN’T YOU WANT YOUR TABLE?! WHY DID YOU WAIT AND THEN LEAVE?! PLEASE! PLEASE!
Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz. The pager collapses in a smokey heap. Several more buzzes shake its dead body. Two giant bread sticks come forth and lay atop the corpse, browning their crusts with the heat.
ANGELA: I have a degree in Oceanic Engineering from MIT. The ocean is like the planet’s liver. It soaks up all of the bad and, eventually, over thousands or millions or billions of years, makes it all good again. Sometimes I go in back to where they keep the sauce buckets and see how much I can drink in one sitting. Maybe if I can drink all of the sauce, I’ll be immune to this place. Or maybe my eyes will stop working.
An impoverished Italian family of five, FATHER, MOTHER, OLDER GIRL, YOUNGER GIRL, and BOY, brave the seas in a small row boat. The father stands at the bow, stirring a giant pot of pasta and tasting it occasionally.
MOTHER: Is it ready yet?
FATHER: The pasta will tell us when it is ready.
OLDER GIRL: Papá, when will the pasta be ready?
FATHER: Soon. Soon.
BOY: I look to the horizon, Papá. I see no land.
FATHER: The pasta will tell us when it is time to see land. The pasta knows all.
MOTHER: The maps show no land.
FATHER: Maps know nothing.
MOTHER: Maps don’t get fired from Sears.
The younger girl talks to her doll.
YOUNGER GIRL: Can you say “America” Sofia? A-mer-i-ca. Very good, you are such a smart girl! America is where we will sell our pasta. The people will love our pasta. And they will love you. And if they don’t, we will cast a spell on them and turn their brains to fire.
FATHER: We will call it “Olive Garden”. Like a garden where olives are grown.
MOTHER: But olives are grown in orchards.
OLDER GIRL: Papá, why did we take a boat to America? It’s 1982.
BOY: Why are we going to America, Papá? We are from Orlando.
MOTHER: I am also confused.
ALL: Why, Papá? Why?
The boat sails away. Daniel nears the end of bowl two. Angela readies herself to make the switch again. As she tries to negotiate the swap, Daniel tries to bite at her. She screams and pulls away. The new bowl tumbles onto the table and spills everywhere. Daniel stabs the scraps with his fork and continues eating. Though Angela is not hurt, she is broken inside. She collapses center stage and weeps.
A MYSTERIOUS MAN in white flowing cloth enters from the audience. He takes Angela’s hand and dries her tears.
MYSTERIOUS MAN: Away with grief. Only joy.
ANGELA: Who are you?
MYSTERIOUS MAN: I’m Mitch Albom. I invented you.
ANGELA: Why?
MYSTERIOUS MAN: Because. No more tears. Come.
The back curtains part to reveal a giant meatball. The meatball splits open to reveal a bowl of Zuppa Toscana soup. A banner above the bed reads “All Your Dreams.”
MYSTERIOUS MAN: Take my hand, Angie.
Angie does, and they walk towards the meatball. She stops and looks back and Daniel. She approaches him one last time.
ANGELA: Thank you for always tipping me ten percent and usually doing it in un-rounded change.
Angela returns to Mitch Albom, who is already thinking about his next book. The two climb into the bowl of soup and float within it. The meatball closes around them and launches into space like a rocket.
Daniel is left alone on stage. He takes a last bite, wipes his mouth, and gets up from his seat. He walks center stage and faces the audience.
DANIEL R. LOWTHER: I have never used a bathroom.
Lights dim. The audience feels full, but maybe has room for dessert. They would like to at least look at a menu.
END OF PLAY
This is the third in a series of pasta-filled diaries. The feast continues next week.
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