The Backpackers’ Guide to Hospitality
Peter SheehanA comedy in 8 parts.
It is presented by a female Indigenous Australian narrator, in her twenties, who represents a backpacker – t-shirt emblazoned with PISS OFF, torn jean shorts, flip-flops/thongs, and wearing a small backpack.
She begins the narration on a beach –
NARRATOR:
“Hi, and welcome to the backpackers’ guide to hospitality – the how-to of the hospitality industry for travellers worldwide. Globetrotting, the free life of the working backpacker, has become one of the most popular activities among the most intelligent people on the planet. Far too intelligent, in fact, to stay at home listening to politicians tell them that freedom means throwing their lives away, and instead achieving real freedom, in the process giving many parts of the world their first, and sometimes only, intelligent workforce.
This film is dedicated to those about to make the plunge into freedom, who may well find themselves working in the hospitality industry. It’s based on real people and genuine experience, so the resemblance of anyone depicted here to an actual, living person is likely just mindless defamation, so please don’t tell whoever it is. That saves us having to hire hoodlums to negotiate an out-of-court settlement.
Now, we embark on a series of real case studies, each of which serving to illuminate specific aspects of the art of hospitality.”
Caption: THE MOTEL
The scene shifts to the front desk of a motel, a young couple standing there as the voice of the narrator is heard,
NARRATOR:
“Here we see young Joan and Tom, who’ve just started managing their first motel. Initially, being inexperienced, they start off with the completely wrong idea.”
JOAN:
“Oh, Tommy, we’re going to do this so much better than anyone else. We’ll treat the customers with respect, not like the arseholes managing every other motel on the planet!”
TOM:
“Yep. We’ll show ‘em the respect they pay to get.”
Just then, a family of utter slobs walks in to be greeted by
JOAN:
“Hi, welcome to the Buggery Motel!”
The caption then appears
‘6 MONTHS LATER’
The narrator’s voice is heard explaining
NARRATOR:
“Of course, it didn’t take too long for them to figure out where their mistake lay”.
The scene returns to the same hotel reception as before. J and T are in the office, looking out through the glass doors as a car pulls up out the front, a family of complete slobs getting out – a fat fellow in his forties, his somewhat fat wife of a similar age, and their pre-teen son and daughter, both kids clutching smart phones.
JOAN:
“Oh, here we go, more fuckin’ pigs.”
TOM:
“Yea, well I’m not having anything to do with ‘em. I’ll be out mowing the lawn and watering the garden.”
NARRATOR:
“Of course Tom leaves the reception work to his spouse, and goes off to mow the plastic lawn and water the entirely plastic garden, the non-growing tendencies of which he was destined to never understand. He pretends not to notice the family coming up the drive, in case he wanted to hit one of them.”
The family push into the office, and are greeted by
JOAN:
“Yes?”
The male tourist bellows
MALE TOURIST:
“Jesus bloody Christ, we been travellin’ all bloody day an’ am I bloody well knackered.”
His wife adds
FEMALE TOURIST:
“Oh, Jees, yea, we musta hit every bloody pot-hole all the way up the coast.”
JOAN:
“Good for you! Have you got a booking?”
FEMALE TOURIST:
“Oh, yea, we booked two weeks ago.”
The male tourist (M.T.) starts with
M.T.:
“Them bloody sign-posts on the highway musta been put there by monkeys, I reckon, …”
Joan, quickly cutting him off :
JOAN:
“You’re in room twelve, at the top of the stairs. Paying by bankcard, are we?”
M.T.:
“Ah, yep,” handing Joan the card.
JOAN:
“I’ll fix this up. Why don’t you bring your things in and I’ll have the bill fixed up by the time you’re finished.”
The female tourist, (F.T.), whines:
F.T.:
“Could we get some help with the luggage, it weighs a ton.”
JOAN:
“I’ll just ask my off-sider.”
Joan goes out with them. As they go to the car, she goes over to Tom and asks him
JOAN:
“Wanna take their luggage in for ‘em?”
TOM:
“No fucking way. I’m not fucking room service for the stinkin’ tourist shit. The pigs can carry it in ‘emselves.”
Joan then goes over to the family who are unloading their massive pile of things from the roof and boot of their car, telling them
JOAN:
“Sorry and everything, but it seems that our porter has taken the day off. Good thing you haven’t got much. I’ll leave you with it and get busy on your card.”
The Narrator is again heard.
NARRATOR:
“Now, once settled in, the typical family of bourgeois tourist pigs set off to buy their essential pizza and beer, before returning to settle down to a pool side party complete with a blaring radio, which celebration they thoughtfully carried on until 2 am.”
They are seen on lay-lows, eating and drinking and bellowing meaningless noises at each other, beside the pool.
NARRATOR:
“At this time, one of the other guests, a truck driver staying over for a night, came and shared with the happy family some traveller’s wisdom.”
TRUCK DRIVER.:
“Listen, ya fuckin’ idiots, shut up the fuckin’ racket or I’ll smash yer fuckin’ heads in.”
The Truck Driver throws their radio into the pool, silencing it, then storms off back to his room.
NARRATOR:
”With this, the kids, having finally finished complaining about only getting a half hour of free internet, and having long finished having a swim with the compulsory pissing in the pool, went to bed. Their parents were not far behind.”
T.: (In hushed tones)
“I don’t know what the fuck that bloke was on about, but, oh, Jesus, I’m so fuckin’ pissed off with the bloody crap room an’ the shit service, I’m goin’ to have a piss in the bastards’ pool.”
This he proceeds to do, standing next to the pool edge, when his wife starts heaving and rushes over next to him, gasping
F.T.:
“Oh Jesus”,
She then throws up in the pool. M.T. looks at her and then he starts heaving, with,
M.T.:
“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna have a chunder meself”.
With this he vomits into the pool. The two then stagger off to their room, leaving a mess of empty beer bottles, pizza boxes and spilled food and vomit near the pool.
NARRATOR:
(While Joan and Tom are seen surveying the wreckage the following day, and then proceeding to the office) “Now, Joan and Tom had fully anticipated the result and, making the obvious decision on behalf of the owners of the motel, cleaned out the safe, emptied the guest family’s bank account, and, putting on their backpacks, hit the road.” (They are seen stealing the guest family’s car). “So, the young couple had finally gotten over their initial mistakes which all centred around treating guests with respect, and finally achieved a perfectly workable plan.”
Caption: THE ECO-RESORT
The narrator is next seen walking through a little, open-air, bush-framed restaurant, explaining
NARRATOR:
“Now we move to a resort restaurant in a remote setting. This is the classic Aussie outback experience. Here, the lousy wages on offer meant that the managers could not afford a chef, so hired a kid who’d worked in a kitchen before and who had only one black mark against his name – when he was asked to drop a bag of chips into the deep fry, whereupon he put the chips in without removing them from the plastic bag first, resulting in an explosion of toxic plastic fumes which left him with a brain permanently the size of a squirrel’s. Now, in this particular establishment, there was a soup warmer which didn’t work, but which the management insisted on being filled with soup. Helping out in the restaurant was a waitress who was usually passed out under one of the tables, and a kitchenhand of great genius, as so often happens with that profession, and who knew how to handle customers.”
The cook is seen working at a grill on the opposite side of the restaurant from the kitchen. There are people seated, eating.
NARRATOR:
“Now, the First Law of Hospitality states that the customer is always right, whereby,”
The kitchenhand emerges from the kitchen with a tray of salads to go out to the grill, when a very large, pompous looking middle aged lady, LADY, at one table – opposite her a little, cringing, hen-pecked man – calls to the kitchenhand
LADY:
“Excuse me!” The kitchenhand (K.H.)stops and answers,
K.H.:
“Yea?”
LADY: (roaring)
“This soup is cold.”
K.H.:
“Correct.”
NARRATOR:
“Now, the Second Law of Hospitality states that one should never lie to a customer, whereby,”
The lady calls again, showing some pique,
LADY:
“Excuse me!”
K.H.:
“Yea?”
LADY:
“Could I then have hot soup, please!”
K.H.:
“Nope.”
The kitchenhand takes the tray out to the cook, as,
NARRATOR:
“Finally, the Third Law of Hospitality states that one should do nothing to bring in management.”
As K.H. is returning towards the kitchen, the lady tries again with a raised, angry voice
LADY:
“Excuse me!”
K.H.:
“What?”
LADY:
“Don’t you what me! Could I speak to the manager please!”
K.H.:
“Nope.”
LADY:
“Why not?”
K.H.: (Looking quickly around)
“They’re not here.”
He then disappears back into the kitchen.
The subsequent scene in the restaurant follows the narrator.
NARRATOR:
“Now, it turned out that the lady who was pissed off about the soup was the editor of some goss magazine, and brought out all sort of upper class friends a few weeks later to witness what she assured them was the world’s worst restaurant. By then, however, the soup warmer had been fixed, and because a dead cane toad was stuck inside, the whole of the dame’s entourage got high as kites and had to be taken away by the cops. That’s how the lives of a number of guests were beautifully touched in the most enjoyable possible way.”
Caption: ‘THE ISLAND RESORT’
The next scene is on a beach of a Great Barrier Reef island. N walks along with her thongs in hand.
NARRATOR:
“Next, we visit a South Pacific Island which has a resort sharing the place with a research station, both dedicated to the highest standards of exploiting the great interest among tourists of being the last to see a beautiful environment before it’s thoroughly trashed by tourism.”
The scene follows the narration.
NARRATOR:
“Now, any manager should be happy if only 10% of staff harbour homicidal tendencies in their direction – any less and the manager has seriously lost control. Copping an occasional biff from staff is also fine and shows that management have been overworking and underpaying staff in accordance with the highest standards of free enterprise. Anyway, most biffs are directed at guests. Now, on this island, most complaints weren’t about the food – despite an average of three emergency air-ambulance evacuations per day – but about slow internet. This follows as the only reasons that anyone from a suburb travels to an eco-resort are, so that they can tell their friends and neighbours they went, so they can contribute to trashing the place, so they can have something to complain about, or else no intelligible reason whatsoever, or all of the preceding. Essentially, the bar had the island’s only television, with one remote, so that guests could fight over it – something requiring great skill on their part considering they had to keep their balance while skidding around in the spilt booze, vomit, and urine. One intelligent bar tender took to serving drinks on a one=for-you, one-for-me basis, so that they could understand perfectly the otherwise incomprehensible dribble the patrons go on with. Of course, some guests will get difficult.”
It’s night. A cleaner answers a call from the girl in reception on his 2-way radio to
“Fix the beds in room 23.”
He enters Room 23, to be greeted by a fat, bespectacled, American woman in her forties with her husband, a skinny fellow in his fifties. She starts yelling
AMERICAN WOMAN:
“Hey! What is it with you people? I expressly ordered the beds separated. I and my husband cannot sleep together. He flagellates, don’t you know what that means?”
CLEANER:
“Yea, so, perhaps you could dress him in leather, give him a whip and rent him out to sailors.” The husband says idiotically
AMERICAN MAN:
“What? Sailors?”
The American woman is ferociously not amused, and, seeing the cleaner fumble with the beds, snarls
AMERICAN WOMAN:
“Well, I suppose you’d rather I made the beds!”
To this, the cleaner replies quickly,
CLEANER:
“Yep.”
With this, the cleaner disappears out the door like a rocket. He soon gets another call on the radio,
“Yea, that bitch in 23, you know, she called up and complained about you, but I just told her to go shove it up her arse. I mean, I should’ve been an actress. I shouldn’t even be listening to shit-heads like that. Let alone working in this dump.”
NARRATOR:
“In keeping with custom, the receptionist left a note for the water-sport staff, to leave that same couple from Room 23 behind the following day when they’re taken out on the resort launch for a swim.”
(It goes to the following morning.)
NARRATOR:
“Right, at breakfast, we see one elderly male customer already spewing his guts up, and being given advice by one of the waitresses.”
(The waitress is a Chinese backpacker.)
WAITRESS:
“Hey, you can sue the bastards. You can clean up on this.”
The old man shakes his head in between retching and says,
OLD MAN:
“No, no, I’d never do that.”
The waitress starts shaking him,
WAITRESS:
“Look, you stupid fuck-head, you could make a million out of these aresholes!”
He keeps shaking his head, she keeps yelling hysterically at him “Look, sue, you fucking idiot”, and shaking him in a frenzy, other staff rushing over and trying to drag her off.
The Narrator is next seen walking along a coral cay beach.
NARRATOR:
“Now, let’s ask the boss at the island research centre just what she makes of the touroes walking on the coral at low tide, damaging it, as well as trashing the place in general.”
She looks over to the person in question, a female in her forties, asking,
NARRATOR:
“Well, do you mind the environmental destruction that the tourists get up to?” The lady responds,
THE LADY:
“Oh, hell, no! Their environmental degradation, and, I mean, that of the resort as a whole, is the reason I’ve got a job researching it. A healthy coral reef and I’m out of here.”
NARRATOR:
“So, you’re hoping for global warming?”
THE LADY:
“Just bring it on! I and my husband contribute at home with lawn-mowing, edge-trimming, leaf-blowing, driving to the local shop at the end of the street just to get the paper, oh, you name it!”
NARRATOR:
“So, here we have the perfect harmony of an eco-resort’s environmental disaster, with the total degradation of the eco-resort, the guests and the staff, in perfect keeping with global ecological carnage.”
Caption: ‘THE BISTRO’
Narrator is then seen walking along a busy tourist street pavement.
NARRATOR:
“Our next case study involves a bistro set up by a fellow from Mumbai named Rajneesh, whose parents, when he was little, by finding arrogance of manner appealing, conditioned him to be an extremely arrogant fellow.” (The scene follows the narration.) “He had otherwise the perfect temperament for the job, having only lost his cool once, when, back in India, he was playing cricket against a group of visiting Australian tourists.”
Rajneesh is seen with some associates, in white, he being spectacularly obese, his associates all very skinny, being approached by one of the opposing players, an Italian Australian who says,
AUSTRALIAN CRICKETER:
“Oh, say, Rajneesh, I had the great honour of meeting your wife, there.”
NARRATOR:
“As, in Indian society, a woman is typically seen-not-heard, the big R was seriously taken aback, what, in front of his friends and all.”
The tourist continues,
AUSTRALIAN CRICKETER:
“Yea, she’s a sick bitch, though, you know, she only wanted it in the mouth.”
Rajneesh has to be restrained by his friends as he starts yelling,
RAJNEESH:
“What did this man say? Someone tell me what did this kutta say? I will keel him!”
The subsequent view follows the narration.
NARRATOR:
“Rajneesh had set up a bistro by borrowing a large sum of money from his Mumbai mafia friends, whereby, if it failed, he would be forced to either go back to his old job of selling drugs to children or else get put down. He decided to make the establishment an all-you-can-eat for $20 affair, and, before long, he was clearly going broke. When selecting food from neighbouring restaurants’ garbage tins didn’t seem to help much, so he had a try at non-payment of staff, which led to a confrontation which he handled masterfully.”
Rajneesh is seen among the bistro tables being collared by a young indigenous man, Y.I.M.,
Y.I.M.:
“Where’s my pay, mother fucker?”
Rajneesh responds with great pomposity,
RAJNEESH:
“Oh, I am not concerned with this”.
Immediately, the young man punches Rajneesh, whose considerably enormous bulk goes crashing to the floor. Rajneesh then grabs a huge wad of money from his pocket and throws it everywhere, yelling,
RAJNEESH:
“You want money, here, have it!”
The staff, 2 waitresses a kitchenhand, a cook and the young man rush to grab the money. Rajneesh tries,
RAJNEESH:
“Now, will someone help me up?”
The cook calls to one of the waitresses “Hey, Sharon, call a crane will you?”
NARRATOR:
“The big R just didn’t really appreciate what his staff were doing for him, a perfectly typical situation.”
A fellow in a suit and tie, wearing glasses and looking very proper, sitting alone at one of the tables is being served by one of the waitresses, a cockney London backpacker named Suzies, who hands him an empty plate with a few crumbs on it.
FELLOW:
“What? What happened to my meal?”
She snarls,
SUZIES:
“Well, if you ask me, it could’ve done with more chilli,”
and walks off. He gets up and storms over to the other girl, Sharon, an Irish backpacker, at the till and says to her
FELLOW:
“Pardon me, but I’d like a refund. I paid for a meal and never got one!”
She responds in a lilting voice,
SHARON:
“Yea, well, there’s no way. There’s no money in the till.”
FELLOW:
“What? Well, ah, there certainly was when you put my money in there.”
SHARON:
“That was 3 hours ago.”
FELLOW:
“So?”
SHARON:
“Well, it was stolen since then, wasn’t it!”
FELLOW:
“Wha? Well, did you see who did it? Did you call the police?”
SHARON:
“Now why would I go callin’ the police onto meself, now?”
He begins to go very strange, and then launches out onto the street, chasing a car up the road barking at the tyres, then back between parked cars, charging down the pavement past the front of the bistro, then out between parked cars and chasing another car. The narrator ambles casually up.
NARRATOR:
“Now, here, we have a win-win situation, with the customer achieving self-realization, while one of the staff, through her sheer diligence, has saved the customer’s life by eating his meal – her dedication to alcohol and toxic substance abuse having guaranteed the neutralization of many a potentially fatal specie of pox in the gourmet food. Meanwhile, another staff member has saved the owner from years in prison for tax fraud by ensuring he went broke. Subsequently, the big Rajneesh went on the run from his pals in the Mumbai mafia and his wife, Saroj, strangely enough, shacked up with a typically half-witted local amateur cricket player she apparently met once before when he was on holiday in India.”
The next scene, outdoors, has Rajneesh being grabbed and wrestled to the ground by two fellows in white coats. Narrator ambles casually into view in the foreground.
NARRATOR:
“Now, while the word freedom is tossed around a lot, it can only exist, of course, at personal level. And ensuring that whatever business one works for goes down the gurgler certainly emphasises one’s dignity and independence. Particularly pleasing if the boss gets taken away in the cornflake van.” (This is happening in the background with Rajneesh.) “Now, it has to be pointed out that any employer will always give the best references to the worst workers to encourage their competitors to hire them and so get ruined. Bosses should always be honest giving references to the extent they honestly want their competitors to go broke. For an already failed business, the perfect win-win!”
Caption: ‘THE REMOTE COMMUNITY’
The scene changes to an outback community, the Narrator sitting down on a chair outside a little Kiosk. Three young Indigenous males pass her walking into the kiosk..
NARRATOR:
“Now, we go to a remote community kiosk, where Kerri-Ann is the cook.”
Inside the little kiosk, the three young males are seen walking up to the counter. Serving them is a slightly tubby, blond lady in her thirties, with dark glasses, a leopard-skin-patterned top, blue jeans and sneakers. She looks at them silently. One of the three males asks “Could I get a bag of hot chips.” As Kerri-Anne walks off towards a deep fry behind her, the young man adds quietly “Could you make it quick? The CDP truck’s waiting for us.” She freezes, turns, and says,
KERRI-ANNE:
“Don’t talk to me like that, ya fuckin’ pig!”
He looks completely embarrassed, as do his friends. It goes to the caption, as if from an old silent movie,
‘LATER THAT SAME DAY’,
then to the same kiosk scene, Kerri-Anne pouring herself a whiskey as she stands at the counter. A middle aged indigenous man, M.A.M., walks in, and speaks to her.
M.A.M.:
“Hi, ah, you went and told off my son, I hear.”
KERRI-ANNE:
“Yea, I told him not to talk like a pig.”
M.A.M.:
“Yea, well you embarrassed him in front of his friends. I have to ask you to apologize.”
KERRI-ANNE:
“Wouldn’t worry, he’ll get over it, I mean for fuck’s sake, who cares?”
M.A.M.:
“Hey, I care. I don’t want no white woman comin’ in here and insultin’ my son.”
KERRI-ANNE:
“Well, if you’re upset, I’m about to go on my break, what about coming back to my van and see if I can’t give you something to really go on about?”
M.A.M.: (Looking her up and down)
“Yea, well, O.K., as long as my wife doesn’t find out, why not?”
KERRI-ANNE:
“Alright, I’ll just grab my cigarettes and whiskey, and let’s go!”
The two leave. Then seen going into a caravan. People start gathering around watching the van, as Kerri-Anne’s loud “Oohh, oohh, …,” is heard. Then, it goes to Kerri-Anne re-entering the kiosk, to be followed in by a middle aged indigenous lady, I.L., carrying a knife.
I.L.:
“Hey! Fuckin’ slut! You fucked my husband, white bitch. I’ll kill ya, ya cunt!”
KERRI-ANNE:
“What the fuck are you bungin’ on? It was his bloody idea, you go talk to him about it, he’s the one married to you, I’m fuckin’ not!”
I.L.:
“I oughta kill ya, fuck ya. I go to fuckin’ church on Sundays, I run a fuckin’ decent family, an’ my husband gets some slut fuckin’ ‘im!”
KERRI-ANNE:
“Look, love, calm down. If you like, I can give you something.” (Then in a soft voice) “If ya calm down for a bit, I could lick yer fuckin’ brains out!”
I.L.: (Startled)
“What?” (Then screaming) “I’ll kill ya, ya fuckin’ cunt!”
I.L. proceeds to start around behind the counter brandishing her knife, only to be chased out by Kerri-Anne holding a meat-cleaver.
KERRI-ANNE:
“Ah, fuck orff yaself, ya fuckin’ loony bitch!”
I.L.: (Departing rapidly)
“Ah, fuck you, cunty! You aint heard the last of me!”
NARRATOR:
(Seen sitting on a tree stump away from the kiosk, the background scene matches her narration)
“Now, in no time at all, Kerri-Anne’s being chased out of the community by an angry mob throwing bottles and bricks at her car as she escapes. This, folks, is mastery of the art of hospitality, as a gifted cook turns a humble bag of hot chips into a major socio-political experience, with people still rioting three weeks later. In fact, the momentous occasion became an annual festival, marked with the ritual fire-bombing of the local police station and the turning over and torching of cars along with the deeply symbolic beating up of tourists in the area”
Caption: ‘THE PUB’
The next scene is outside an English style pub, Narrator is sitting on an outside chair at a table.
NARRATOR:
“Our next destination is the classic English pub. Here, we see an ancient institution wherein all people are equal, except for rival football fans. Here the world’s problems can be solved with ease, by getting too pissed to give a stuff about anything. You notice that the surrounds, by featuring a lot of vomit, and with ample urine stains on the front wall of the hotel, advertise the flexibility of the staff with respect to the responsible serving of alcohol. Inside, there is nothing but intelligent conversation, something for which the Brits are certainly renown.”
Scene inside the pub. A large, dirty fellow, Fred, is talking to the bar man.
FRED:
“It’s me ducks.”
BARMAN:
“Ay? Yer ducks?”
FRED:
“Yea, it’s me ducks.”
BARMAN:
“Ay? It’s yer ducks?”
FRED:
“Yea. It’s not good weather for ducks.”
BARMAN:
“Ay? Not good weather for ducks?”
FRED:
“Yea, it’s not good weather for ducks.”
The two start laughing heartily, then go serious.
FRED:
“Yea, they like it damp, them.”
BM nods seriously.
NARRATOR:
“Of course, barmaids are the soul of the place and have to be very special people, able to keep the majority of guests entertained with either intelligent conversation or going topless.”
A cockney barmaid – not topless – is explaining to some patrons,
BARMAID:
“Let me tell yous, thems kids of Diana’s aint Charles’s. Thems’s too smart t’ be Windsors wot’s all idiots, thems. The older one’s bloody Chinese an’ if the younger one was any more a bleedin’ Arab, ‘e’d be wearin’ a dress an’ blowin’ ‘is self up, ‘e would. Nah, Charles’s gotta get that Camel tart fixed up, surgical, like, so as ‘e can knock ‘er up. Uvverwise, thems Windsor’s dynasty, like, ‘as gone down the bloody plug-hole.”
NARRATOR:
“Poker machines are a vital addition to any pub, as just one added to a commercial dead-loss is enough to turn it into a multi-million dollar success. Of course, good staff can always fix that up by raiding the safe as well as the till.”
In the background, the barmaid is taking money from a customer and putting it down the front of her jeans.
NARRATOR:
”Yes, as it turns out, the people with the least interests in life are the biggest gamblers, determined to get themselves poorer and others richer.” (Showing people dreesed like derelicts – male and female – playing pokies in a frenzy.)
NARRATOR:
“There should always be at ltest one television in the place, though it should never be set to show weather anywhere in the U.K.”
The scene on a TV is shown a lady in her twenties, T.V.L., in front of a weather map, holding out a lollipop, speaking.
T.V.L.:
“Now for the ITV weather forecast for the British isles.” (She turns around, bends over, reaches with the lollipop up under her dress and starts apparently working herself with the lollipop, her voice getting increasingly shrill until gasping and shrieking) “There should be generally settled rain over most of the British Isles tomorrow, rain should be fresh and gusty at times near the coast, and rain should be high on a low swell. The conditions are expected to stay this way for a few years.” (She then straightens up, turns around and holds out the lollipop, some of the crew with headphones coming over to take and lick the lollipop.)
NARRATOR:
(The scene matching the narration)
“Of course, topless female wrestling pays well, and is fine unless some of the male patrons’ wives decide to bare their own and get involved. Obviously, in such situations, one should always remember that it’s the customers who are the only reason that staff are required to do anything beyond basic bodily functions, so beating them up is always very satisfying, as long as you remember to fleece them first.”
Then, Narrator is seen outside the pub.
NARRATOR:
“Anyway, pubs are a great place to work in, and even better to steal from.”
Caption: ‘THE GUEST HOUSE AND RESTAURANT’
The scene is inside the kitchen of a little restaurant, where there is a young male chef, Chef, working at a grill.
NARRATOR:
“Now, we look at the brilliant crew of a guest house and restaurant as they strut their stuff, showing how it should be done.”
A middle aged male kitchen-hand, God, is scrubbing away at a pot in a sink nearby. In front of the counter, two waitresses, in their teens, with false eyelashes, are waiting, two plates with chips on them are on the counter. The chef turns, puts one steak on one of the plates, and then turns back to the grill. The kitchen-hand quickly rushes over while the chef’s back is turned and grabs the steak, stuffing it in his mouth as he hurriedly returns to the sink. The two waitresses take it as their cue to grab the chips, each stuffing them into their mouths, so that they’re standing there with their cheeks bulging, trying to chew on the chips. The chef turns and brings the second steak over to the empty plates, putting it on one, then yelling,
CHEF:
“Oh Christ all fucking mighty! What the fuck’s happened here? Who took the fucking food? Aagh! I can’t work like this! I fucking quit!”
He storms out of the rear door of the kitchen as the kitchen-hand rushes over and bolts the door behind the departed chef. One of the waitresses, Waitress 1, takes the plate with the steak on it out to two elderly people, Old Lady and Old Man, at a table, asking them,
WAITRESS 1:
“Mind sharing?”
OLD LADY:
“Um, no, but, ah, shouldn’t there be some chips with that?”
Walking away, the waitress responds with great aplomb,
WAITRESS 1:
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that, they weren’t that crisp.”
The scene changes to reception, where the owner/manager, Clive, is studying ledgers on the desk. A little old lady wanders in and goes up to him, clutching her wrist watch with one hand, and asks him “Excuse me.” He stops and glares fiercely at her.
CLIVE:
“Oh, why don’t you just try and smash my business, you fucking deranged, Bolshevik capitalist pig, you twisted mutt! You.., are.., sick! Try and destroy my business, will ya, ya mangy piece of shit!”
Clive’s wife, Beryl, walks in, wearing a nightie, and in fluffy slippers, she yells at him.
BERYL:
“Clive! Have you been taking your medication?”
He looks suddenly as innocent as he can,
CLIVE:
“Yes, of course, dear. Thanks for telling the whole fucking world I’m on medication. Wonderful of you, darling little honey –puss.”
BERYL:
“Well, are you serving that lady?”
CLIVE:
“Well, yes, of course, dear, why would I want to run a fucking business called a hotel, here? Hardly, when I can serve some-…, body.” (He turns to the frozen, petrified little old lady and says in the most affected tone possible) “Yes, oh your imperial majesty, may I help your supreme personage?”
The little old lady squeaks out slowly “I …, was just …, trying to find the time, my watch’s stopped.” Clive roars as the visitor rushes out, and he hits his head on the desk, knocking himself out. Beryl looks at him askance and then goes out to a car, gets in and drives off. She is next getting out of the car in front of an office block and walking in. Next thing, she’s entering the office of ‘J. Watsoff, Psychiatrist’. She walks across a waiting room crowded with beautiful ladies, and walks into the shrink’s office. He is in his underpants, and on the floor is a nude lady.
BERYL:
“Sorry to barge in on you like this, doctor, but it’s Clive.” She drags up the lady from the floor and pushes her out the door, picks up her clothes and throws them after her, while saying to the departing lady “There we go, dear, and don’t forget your things.”
As she closes the door and sits down, the shrink grabs up a baseball bat and, standing behind his desk, makes as if to defend himself with it.
SHRINK:
“Oh, Beryl, thanks for ruining my day.”
BERYL:
“Oh, don’t worry about that, doctor, I’ve got an emergency. It’s Clive, you know, he’s gone completely off his rocker again.”
SHRINK:
“Well, why the hell did you marry him?”
BERYL:
“Oh, doctor, when I first met him, he was so gallante, walking along behind me sniffing my bum. Nowadays, though, he doesn’t even chase cars like he used to. He’s definitely not taking his medicine. Is there any way you can have him put away?”
SHRINK:
“Oh, look, if we were to lock up every dangerous mental case in the hospitality industry, it would require an asylum the size of fucking Africa.”
BERYL:
“Really, doctor, there’s nothing you can do?”
SHRINK:
“Well, I suppose you could try this.”
He hands her the baseball bat. She looks at it with growing enthusiasm.
BERYL:
“Well, yes, I suppose I could, really, yes. Thank you doctor.”
She gets up and leaves.
The scene is in the kitchen. Waitress 1 walks in and says to the kitchen-hand
WAITRESS 1:
“Some ultra posh looking couple just came in and ordered the lasagne. It’s alright, I’ll bung them in one of the microwaves.”
She takes two alfoil packets from a fridge and puts them in one of two microwave ovens. After putting the microwave on, it blows up.
KITCHEN-HAND:
“Like, did ya forget to take ‘em out of the alfoil?”
WAITRESS 1:
“Oh fuck!”
KITCHEN-HAND:
“Don’t worry, I’ll fix them.”
WAITRESS 1:
“Ta. Give us a yell when they’re ready, will ya?”
The scene is then in the restaurant, with a spectacularly overdressed couple, male and female, in their twenties, seated at a table. Waitress 2, having been lying under one of the tables texting on her mobile phone suddenly notices them, and, with “Oh”, gets up and goes over to their table.
WAITRESS 2:
“What’s up?”
The young male speaks,
MALE CUSTOMER:
“Oh, we’re getting the lasagne.”
Waitress 2 walks off to the kitchen, then comes out and heads out to reception. There, she sees Clive on the ground and gives him a couple of kicks.
WAITRESS 2:
“Oy. Stupid. Get up.”
Clive struggles to his feet and looks menacingly at her.
WAITRESS 2:
“This couple in the restaurant comes in and wants the bloody lasagne. I checked in the kitchen fridge, but there’s none left.”
CLIVE:
“Why do I have to do everything around this bloody place?”
He walks towards the restaurant with Waitress 2 following behind.
In the restaurant, Clive storms over to the couple who are the only ones in the restaurant.
CLIVE:
“Excuse me, did you two order the lasagne?”
MALE CUSTOMER:
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
CLIVE:
“Nothing else on the menu you might like, there?”
MALE CUSTOMER:
“No, ah, there being nothing else on the menu at all kind of narrowed it down a bit.”
CLIVE:
“Look, our chef has got leprosy and there could be some bits of his flesh in the food, you don’t mind?”
The two roar laughing, her saying,
FEMALE CUSTOMER:
“Oh, terrific, I haven’t had some leprous flesh in ages. Please bring it on.”
CLIVE:
“Ah, well, you do know that every establishment of any repute, as with this one, has strict dress regulations for patrons?”
MALE CUSTOMER:
“Sure, so?.”
CLIVE:
“Well, I’m very sorry but your clothing is utterly inappropriate to this establishment, but, just quietly, there’s a pub down the road, you might try there, they’ll serve anybody. The food’s garbage so you’ll likely feel right at home.”
The two customers look at each other and laugh.
MALE CUSTOMER:
“Ah, these are designer clothes, signor, they’re worth more than this whole bloody place!”
CLIVE:
“Yes, well, ah, you see, this is the whole problem. This is a derelict restaurant. We only serve people who live in public toilets, haven’t changed their clothes in years and urinate and defecate on themselves, and you two are clearly not up to the required standard.” Clive starts dragging them out of their chairs towards the door. “There we go, now piss off.”
Then, Waitress 1 walks in to the restaurant with two plates, on which are burned lasagne. She puts them on the table.
CLIVE:
“What the bloody hell’s that lot?”
WAITRESS 1:
“Well, it’s the bloody lasagne wots them two bloody-well ordered, aint it!”
CLIVE: (Roaring)
“Why am I surrounded by bloody incompetents?”
He then goes over and grabs the two departing guests, dragging them forcibly back to the table.
CLIVE:
“Wait a minute, on second thoughts, having the opportunity to have a good look at your apparel, your clothing is perfectly appropriate to this restaurant. Now, sit down and enjoy your lasagne.”
He makes a sweep of one hand towards the table, where Waitress 2 is eating one of the meals straight off the plate, and Waitress 1, looking wide eyed and innocent as a dolly, has taken a handful of lasagne off the other plate and slapped it at her mouth with about two percent of it actually getting into her mouth. Clive then turns the couple around and violently back out the door.
CLIVE:
“No? Well, fuck off ya stinking tourist shit! Go on, get outa here.”
He storms towards reception.
CLIVE: (Under his breath)
“Christ knows who lets that sort of fucking riff-raff in here, most likely that bloody lunatic I married.”
He approaches the door to reception, when Beryl steps in, still in her nightie, and hits him over the head with the baseball bat. He drops like a rock. She steps quickly back out of sight.
NARRATOR:
“Well, there you have the perfect example of the importance of communication, the fine points being demonstrated by masters of the art.”
Caption: ‘THE TREKKERS’
NARRATOR:
(Standing on a pavement outside a burger restaurant, apparently in London, the pavement strewn with rubbish) “Now, in England, the local working class have a culinary tradition reflecting centuries of serfdom, and which culinary genius they introduced, with great success I might add, to India and Pakistan.”
Near Narrator, a filthy old man in ragged clothes is taking things out of a garbage tin and eating them as an Indian girl looks on. The girl asks him,
GIRL:
“What? You’re eating garbage?”
The old fellow in a London cockney accent responds,
OLD FELLOW:
“I been eatin’ outa garbage tins fer years, an’ it aint done me no ‘arm”.
He turns towards the camera showing a face full of sores, putting a morsel in his mouth.
NARRATOR:
“Well, now, we go to a pair of young chefs in London, Jenny and Simon, who are trying to get a job at a local Skimpy Burgers outlet.”
Jenny and Simon, him black, her Caucasian, looking very hip, walk into the burger place behind where Narrator is standing. Next, inside the place, they are approaching a middle aged, portly Indian fellow, I.F., behind the counter. In front of him are 2 kids serving at the counter, they’re about 5 years of age, as is one of the staff visible in the background putting cats in a deep fry. Jenny and Simon both have brassy, cockney accents.
JENNY:
“Oy! Old man! Are you the manager here?”
I.F.:
“Yis, I am, do you have any sort of business with me?”
JENNY:
“Yea, me an’ ‘im are qualified chefs. You got any work around ‘ere for us?”
I.F.:
“I’m sorry, I could, of course, offer you a job but you don’t have the experience that I’m looking for.” (Very pompously) “What you people do is go backpacking around the world, like many young people do, and get yourselves some real experience, then you come back and see me. I’ll talk to you then.”
The two look at each other and, with a shrug, leave.
SIMON:
“How are we goin’ to get that sort of money, to, like, travel the world an’ all?”
JENNY:
“Yea, well, what about we ask this tart ‘ere.”
They approach Narrator, outside the shop.
JENNY:
“Pardon me, but you look like a backpacker type, now how do we get the sort of money to travel around the world?”
NARRATOR:
“Well, the traditional method is to set up an internet scam, asking for money for some life-saving operation, then give it about two weeks, and you’re on your way.”
Jenny and Simon look at each other with recognition,
Simon: “Too easy!”
Jenny: “Oh, right on!”
NARRATOR:
“Soon enough, the two travellers are at JFK airport, New York.”
They are seen being approached by a pair of bearded fellows in glitzy evening dresses, who take out FBI badges and show them, one saying “FBI, we know all about you, you’re to come with us.”
The travellers look at each other, looking shocked, but silently comply. Next, they’re being taken into Sump Towers. They are led to a door and gestured to enter. Inside, they see Donald Sump (D.S.) sitting at a desk, opposite him is a fellow (K.A.) dressed as a clown, and behind Sump stands First Lady Megalania (F.L.). One of the FBI men introduces them, “Mister President, Madam First Lady, Your Majesty the King of Arabia, these two are the MI6 agents which you asked to see, Mister President.”
JENNY: (to Simon)
“Jesus, it’s the Liberace of liberty!”
D.S.:
“Sure, welcome to Sump Towers, British allies. I’ll be with you in a minute. Now, you were saying, King of Arabia”
K.A.:
“Yes, well, you know your wife, back in her modelling days, saw a hell of a lot of cocks. She had a massive reputation for giving head. Doesn’t that bother you when you go to kiss those lips?”
D.S.:
“I haven’t got the slightest idea what you’re talking about there.”
F.L.:
“He keeps sticking it in my ear. I’ve tried to tell the idiot not to but he doesn’t understand. I’ve got permanently blocked sinuses!”
SIMON: (to Jenny)
“Wrong head-job from a head job, eh?”
JENNY: (Raising eyebrows)
“Yea.”
D.S.:
“Look, I haven’t a clue what you’re all on about, but there’s nothing wrong with my tax returns, if that’s what you mean, because I don’t make them up – I have menials to do that sort of thing. Now, if you’ll bear with me a minute, I just have to explain to these two British agents what their mission will be.” (He turns to Simon and Jenny.) “OK, you two, now, somewhere in the Caribbean is Skull Island. On that Island is King Kong. I want you to find the island and bring back Kong. I’m putting a warship at your disposal. The naval officer who will take you to the ship will be here soon.”
D.S. is playing with a stapler, when he accidentally pricks himself. He then goes whizzing around in the air, getting ever smaller as a deflating balloon, to the sound of a loud, voiced raspberry and a high pitched whizzing sound, ultimately the deflated lump flopping to the ground behind his desk.
K.A.:
“So, the President was just another party balloon!”
K.A. then pulls a tab on himself and he deflates in a similar manner to D.S. One of the FBI agents says “Don’t worry, I’ve got a bicycle repair kit, I’ll re-over-inflate the both of them.”
As that FBI officer leaves, a naval officer walks in and salutes Jenny and Simon, saying to them,
NAVAL OFFICER:
“Commanders, your ship awaits you. Follow me please.”
Jenny and Simon look at each other with a shrug and follow the officer out.
Jenny and Simon are next seen embarking on a ship manned by fierce-looking drag queens and even more fierce-looking drag kings. The ship is then seen sailing along. Then at a wharf, Jenny and Simon are seen, wearing their backpacks, running down the gangway to freedom.
SIMON:
“Quick!”
JENNY:
“Bloody oath!”
A sign says Welcome to Nassau. The two walk up past the front of a hospital, from which a nurse in surgical garb, with incredibly thick glasses, S.G., comes running up to them.
S.G.:
“Oh, thank Christ you’re here! We’re losing the job on the brains! You’ll have to be quick.”
The two look at each other and shrug, then follow the nurse into the hospital.
SIMON:
“Sounds serious!”
JENNY:
“Yea, what, fried brains?”
SIMON:
“Well, we’ve done plenty of them, eh!”
JENNY:
“I reckon!”
They are soon in an operating theatre, a patient is on the table, a sheet covering them except for a small hole at the head. As they drop their backpacks inside the door, the nurse points to the hole and says
S.G.:
“See, the brains are in there.” (As the two go over to take a look, the nurse adds in a whisper) “That’s that lady, Wotsisname Streep, you know!” (Then, as they look into the hole, the nurse adds) “Well, I’ll leave you to it, I’m busting for a piss.” The nurse then rushes out.
JENNY:
“I don’t get this, thems brains is already fried!”
SIMON:
“Oh well, then. I’ll get a plate an’ we can do ‘em straight up as a salad.” (As he starts looking in cupboards and drawers around the room, while Jenny starts pulling the brains out, he then mumbles under his breath.) “Now, where do they keep the bloody plates around ‘ere?”
JENNY:
“Yea, an’ the salad!”
SIMON:
(Looking into a garbage bin and pulling out some human intestines) “Well, they’ve got plenty of sausages, but no bloody salad.”
JENNY:
“Oh, bugger this. Let’s get outa here. I mean why are we doin’ this when we aint even ben offered any bleedin’ pay?”
SIMON:
“Good bloody point, there, tiger! Yea, let’s fuck off.”
They grab their backpacks up and depart, as Jenny, still holding the brain in one hand, is taking a bite of the brain before throwing it on the floor.
JENNY: (As they depart)
“Mm, over-cooked, alright, but all the same, not bad”.
Next thing, they’re at an airport, looking at a plane schedule screen.
SIMON:
“Well, what about Dubai? We could go hob-nobbin’ it with the filthy rich!”
JENNY: (With a laugh)
“Where do we get the tickets?”
Next, they are ‘in Dubai’, which is a vast garbage tip.
SIMON:
“So this is Dubai”.
JENNY:
“Sure looks posh.”
They are approached by a very fat Indian man, F.I.M., who speaks to them,
F.I.M.:
“Are you two people looking for work?”
JENNY:
“Yea, why?”
F.I.M.:
“I’m looking for two people to help me out with my restaurant, so, if you want to work, you should follow me.”
JENNY:
“Jesus, that was easy!”
SIMON:
“Yea!”
They are soon being led through a restaurant and into the kitchen area of a little café-style restaurant.
F.I.M.:
“You can put your packs under the bench, as long as you leave yourselves enough room to sleep under there.” (They dump their backpacks, and are led back into the restaurant area. A couple of Bedouin are seated at a table in the background.) “Now, let me just explain to you the situation here. I, personally, am a Hindu. Most of the types around here are Muslim. Now, if you ask me they are rubbish people. I really think this. You can go to the toilet in the pot and they will eat that. I suggest you do not talk to them because they might expect you to make some sort of health food or some other such dreadful thing which we don’t serve here. Strictly curry, you know.”
The Bedouins rise from their table and come up behind F.I.M., one saying “Who are you calling rubbish, you stupid pig?” The two Bedouins lift F.I.M. up by the arms, the other Bedouin saying “Let’s put him in the pot!” The first Bedouin nods in approval and they carry him off to the kitchen, putting him in a large pot, F.I.M. disappearing in with a bubbling sound, as Jenny, following, offers
JENNY:
“Might need a bit of chilli, that one.”
The first Bedouin says “Good thinking, mister, where is the chilli?” Jenny looks furious with her hands on her hips.
JENNY:
“Oy, who are you callin’ mister ya bloody drag queen? Give us a hand, will ya Si?”
SIMON:
“Sure!”
They take each of the two Bedouin up in turn and put them in the pot. They seem to magically disappear with cries of angst.
SIMON:
“I think we’re going to need a lot more chilli.”
An Indian lady, Indian Lady, in traditional garb comes into the kitchen and speaks to them,
INDIAN LADY:
“Oh, you’ve gotten rid of my husband! Oh, thank you, thank you. You can leave it with me, this wondrous creation, and it really is best for you to leave the city in case the authorities suspect that you have performed some sort of useful, meaningful work, which is absolutely forbidden in Dubai. Yis, you must go. And thank you again.”
Simon and Jenny grab up their backpacks,
JENNY:
“Well, as long as we know.”
SIMON:
“Yep”, (then to the Indian lady) “and, ah, say, love, you got any suggestions for, like, somewhere that we could go to get some experience in a restaurant?”
INDIAN LADY:
“Oh, yis! Mumbai! It’s got the most wonderful restaurants. You really must go there!”
SIMON:
“Fine”, (then to Jenny) “Awright, Tiger, let’s go!”
JENNY:
“Right with ya!”
An airliner is seen taking off, then landing. The two are then seen going through the terminal shed of a small airfield. As they’re leaving, they notice a little café with a sign up ‘International-standard chefs wanted.’
SIMON:
“Hey. Look!”
JENNY:
“Oh, bloody lovely! How’s that for service!”
They are next seen entering the café to be greeted by a man in Pakistani garb, P.G.
P.G.:
“Hello. Are you here for the best curries in the world or are you looking for work?”
SIMON and JENNY, together:
“Work!”
P.G.:
“Oh wonderful, why don’t you both come outside here for a minute and I’ll explain to you a bit about Mumbai. Now, over there,” (He points to monkeys stealing fruit off a table), that is the local Chamber of Commerce.”
JENNY:
“All I see’s a bunch of monkeys stealing stuff.”
P.G.:
“Yis, that’s them They are sacred to Mumbai, you know. Now, tell me, did you happen to notice an irate elephant running around anywhere?”
Jenny and Simon look at each other, Simon shakes his head and,
JENNY:
“Nup.”
P.G.:
“It’s just, you see, my elephant has suffered a disquiet and has eaten her mahout. Not that I mind about him, as I don’t have to pay him when he’s like that. I can only hope she returns and calms down in time for trampling some tourists from the UK which is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Now, about the cuisine, I have, at this very moment, my young daughter fossicking for food in the local garbage tip.”
JENNY:
“Couldn’t that be dangerous for her? I mean hygiene and all? I mean, it might ‘ave some proteins in it or something.”
P.G.:
“Oh yis, but I am not concerned, she being only a female. Now, let’s go back inside my most regal establishment and take a seat.” (They’re led back inside). “Now, just put your backpacks over there in the corner and I’ll tell you about the job.” (They do, and are gestured to sit down at a small table. In the background a fellow is sitting at a table flanked by two very surly bodyguards.) “Please, have a seat. Now, I’ll just explain to you, I am a Muslim. As you might expect, most of the customers here are Hindus. Now, I must be honest or god would punish me. These Hindu types are really rubbish people. I honestly think this. You can go to the toilet in the pot and they will eat that. You just have to put a lot of curry in there and no problem.” The fellow seated in the background, Mayor of Mumbai, erupts,
MAYOR OF MUMBAI:
“What are you jabbering about, you pile of elephant droppings?”
P.G.:
“Well, who are you to talk to me in my own establishment?”
MAYOR OF MUMBAI:
“I am the Mayor of Mumbai and head of the Mumbai mafia, you donkey’s piss-bucket!” (Then, to his bodyguards) “Take that Muslim toilet-blockage and put him in a pot. With lots of curry!”
The two bodyguards carry out PG into the kitchen, PG yells,
P.G.:
“Oh Allah’s intercourse!”
Jenny looks at Simon.
JENNY:
“Well, where to now?”
SIMON:
“Say, what would you think about L.A.?”
JENNY:
“Fine with me. OK, well, let’s go then!”
The two go for their backpacks and leave. Again an airliner is seen taking off and then seen landing.
The two are next seen entering a Kentucky Fried Cat outlet. They are next talking with the boss, a gangster-like character, G.C.
G.C.:
“So you two are lookin’ for work, eh? And I bet ya don’t got visas.”
SIMON:
“No, but dose it matter?”
G.C.:
“Nah, but you’re the first like that I’ve hired that weren’t Mexican. Well OK, it’s 50 cents an hour plus tips. Ya serve customers an’ you ask no questions, got it?”
SIMON:
“Fine.”
JENNY:
“OK.”
G.C.:
“Alright, then, so there’s the deep fry, over there in the cages are the moggies. The idea’s simple. Ya put the moggies in the deep fry, and when they’re done, you takes them out and let ‘em drain off. Then ya put them in the tray for the counter staff to cut up and put in the burgers.”
SIMON:
“Too easy!”
JENNY:
“Just like they do it at Skimpy Burgers back home.”
The two proceed to get to work. G.C. adds before leaving them,
G.C.:
“Say, you two aint on fresh fruit and vegetables stuff, are ya? Coz I don’t take no illegal stuff in here, right?”
JENNY:
“Oh, yea, like whatever.”
After the boss walks off, one of the other staff, a little Mexican-looking child, comes over to them and speaks to them.
MEXICAN CHILD:
“Say, if you guys is lookin’ for some action on fresh fruit and vegetables, I know where yous can get some.”
SIMON: (Enthusiastically)
“Yea, cool!”
MEXICAN CHILD:
“I can take you both to my uncle’s hang-out in the lunch break. I’ll just have to make sure we’re not getting followed by the cops or nothin’.”
JENNY:
“Oh, we’ll be there!” Then to Simon, “Yahoo!”
Then it’s the child coming over to them,
MEXICAN CHILD:
“It’s break time, let’s go.”
The two look around nervously and follow the child out. Next thing they’re in a fruit and vegetable market.
JENNY:
“Oh, wow!”
SIMON:
“How high could you get on this?”
Next thing, sirens are heard and a voice yelling “It’s the cops! Quick, get the hell outa here!” Simon and Jenny bolt out a back exit, and run down a street. An unmarked car pursues them and they run into a blind alley – the car turns straight in behind them. In the car are G-men with sub-machineguns. Jenny and Simon dive behind an immaculate new garbage tin as Jenny picks her nose and flicks it at the car. Next thing, the view becomes one of a massive explosion. When the smoke clears, there’s nothing but rubble everywhere in sight, except for the still immaculate garbage tin. Simon and Jenny get out from behind the tin and walk off nonchalantly. After they’ve left, the burnt out car crashes back to earth with four burnt-out G-men in it.
Next, the two are back in the KFC outlet, approaching the deep fry, where a child is putting a dog into the oil. Simon explodes,
SIMON:
“Hey, what the fuck are you doing? I can handle them putting the pussy cats in the deep fry but if they start trying ii with the bow-wows I’m putting me bloody foot down!”
GC appears.
G.C.:
“Hey! You’ll do what I tells ya!”
JENNY:
“Oh fuck off, creep!”
Jenny and Simon then heave up G.C. towards the nearest deep-fry.
SIMON:
“In ya go!”
They heave him into the deep fry.
JENNY:
“Si, we’re experienced enough, don’t you reckon, so let’s go back to London.”
SIMON:
“Yea, bugger this. Mind, though, we’ll have to buy some scuba gear in case it’s raining when we get back.”
JENNY:
“Yea, well, that won’t be difficult, ‘ey!”
SIMON:
“Soon, we’ll be home sweet home.”
They are seen leaving to a modified form of Knopfler’s Going Home as Narrator is heard.
NARRATOR:
“So the intrepid pair went back to their home town to achieve great success as brain surgeons.”
(Finale)
Narrator is seen relaxing on a white, sandy beach on a tropical island.
NARRATOR:
“Well, you might have realized the anciently recognized fact, that leaders know nothing at all, followers don’t want to know anything at all, and observers know but are powerless to stop the bullshit, and that’s the lot of the traveller. And with the service industries, serving other people is demeaning enough anyway, but on top of this you know that any human being with the slightest motor function who can’t make their own meals deserves – for their own sake – to be told to fuck off. And seeing any service industry you work for go down the toilet is certainly helping a lot of other people get their own act together and learn to feed themselves. And also, good workers get dreadful references from bosses to discourage their rivals from hiring people who are useful to them. Well, them’s the ropes as far as the hospitality business is concerned, and you can’t lose if you adhere to that great employment realization: ‘If work isn’t vital, Fuck Work!’”
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