Lights up on a five-tiered stage: a ground floor and four bridge-like platforms. The top tier is paved, the rest wood. On the bottom four tiers are several WASHERS, each of them part of an elaborate circle. Used towels are taken from the railings of the top tier at SR, slowly handed along, cleaned, inspected, and so forth, passed along to the bottom tier, where tubs and washboards are used to clean. They are then passed back up along the SL side, where they are dried and folded by various other WASHERS. Eventually, they are handed to a tall WASHER on the fourth tier, who stands and holds towels up toward the top tier. Along the top tier, 19th century french aristocrats promenade along, SL to SR. Each one takes a towel, uses it to dry their face, then dumps it on the railing near the SR side before exiting.
Post-industrial, vaudevillian music is playing, evoking the spirit of the assembly line.
Time passes, and the rate of passing aristocrats increases, producing more used towels. The WASHERS increase their pace, and it soon becomes impossible to keep up. The music speeds up to highlight this. In time, the aristocrats start to notice imperfections in their towels, but merely sneer at them. Soon after that, they respond to the outrage by spitting on the WASHERS as they arrive. It is worth nothing that most of the spitting is reserved for the Tall WASHER that is handing them the towels.
Soon after, a WASHER collapses from exhaustion. Those nearby attempt to help, but cannot stop for more than a second or two. Again, the job becomes more exhausting. More WASHERS collapse and are glanced at then ignored. The job becomes unsustainable, and the music reflect this.
Finally, halfway across the top tier, an ARISTOCRAT notices a stain on their towel. The ARISTOCRAT howls in horrified terror mingled with a touch of outrage. Foppishly, the ARISTOCRAT flails about the top tier, expressing disgust, horror, and utter disbelief. Other Aristocrats eventually come to understand the situation and express similar terror. Examining their towels, the minor imperfections that caused them to spit are now reviling poisons that cannot be endured. One by one, each ARISTOCRAT starts to flail and fop about in haute horror and dandyish disbelief, even as more ARISTOCRATS clog up the line behind them, taking towels and joining in the tempest.
Finally, the WASHERS have run out of towels. Several ARISTOCRATS have taken extra towels, dumped towels in places they don’t belong, worn towels as hats, etc. The WASHERS no longer have work, and are now staring up at the ARISTOCRATS and their histrionics. Some WASHERS reach up for towels. Some slowly emulate the foppish flailing. Some sit and ponder. Some lie down with their exhausted brethren.
One ARISTOCRAT bends over the railing to wretch and notices the WASHERS below. This ARISTOCRAT, a true HERO, stands up and throws out their arms.
HERO
My brothers and sisters!
Silence. Everyone looks at the HERO.
HERO
Why do we flail and fop amongst ourselves? Why do we bewail our misfortune, to suffer a befouled and bespattered towel, when we might turn our ire upon its rightful source and just recipient? (points down) Look at them! Indolent! At rest! Lounging about as we suffer! Do we ask too much of them? To wash a towel? Is this so terrible that they, so many they, cannot endure it? I say no!
ARISTOCRATS
Quite, yet, very quite, quite yes, hear hear, very much quite yes, etc…
HERO
Do not go quietly into that good night, but stand up for your rights! Boooooooo…
ARISTOCRATS
Boo, yes, quite boo, very boo, quite quite, boo boo, very quite boo, etc…
WASHER
We need towels.
HERO
What? Hold, hold my heroic brethren!
Quiet is restored.
ANOTHER WASHER*
We need towels. To wash them.
*No WASHER is allowed to speak more than once.
Disbelieving, insulted silence. And then…
HERO
You need towels!? There are towels everywhere! Look that them! All over! Here for the grabbing. And you say you need towels!? Boo! Boooooo…
ARISTOCRATS
Boo, yes, quite boo, very boo, quite quite, boo boo, very quite boo, etc…
ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t reach them.
HERO
What? Speak up!
ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t reach the towels.
HERO
Learn how to speak, you cretin. Hold, my friends, hold.
Again, quiet is restored.
ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t reach the towels from down here.
HERO
What what! What!? Now you want us to do your job for you? Now they want us to do their job for them? Why should we give you towels when you can’t even be bothered to clean them?
ANOTHER WASHER
We can’t clean them if we can’t reach them.
HERO
Bosh! Flimshaw! They’re everywhere! Everywhere for the grabbing! Boo! Boooooooo…
ARISTOCRATS
Boo, yes, quite boo, very boo, quite quite, boo boo, very quite boo, etc…
ANOTHER WASHER
Just put the towels on the railing where they belong!
HERO
Speak up, for the love of God! Speak up you subhuman!
ANOTHER WASHER
PUT THE TOWELS ON THE RAILING WHERE THEY BELONG!!
Shocked, indescribable silence.
HERO
How… DARE you!? The impertinence.
ONE ARISTOCRAT
Boo–
HERO
No no! Not this time. THIS time… oh, ho ho ho… THIS time… We have attempted to be reasonable. We have attempted to be merciful. We have extended the hand of friendship, upon which you spat. We have extended the olive branch, which you have soiled. But now… now… I demand… to speak to your manager!
Gasp!
A rumbling. Then, divine light shines down from the heavens. The clouds part, and the DEVIL descends from fly wires. It is obviously the DEVIL in a business suit, every bit the cliche.
DEVIL
Good morning. What seems to be the trouble?
HERO
The trouble is this creature (points to a random WASHER), in addition to refusing to do a simple job, that is its job let’s not forget, has responded to my polite parley by insulting my person! Harumph, sir! Harumph I say!
DEVIL
I’m very sorry to hear that.
The DEVIL points at a random WASHER, maybe the same one the HERO pointed out. There is a flash of light, and the WASHER collapses, writhes in pain, and dies. Only the WASHERS notice this.
DEVIL
First of all, I would like to being by saying that I am sorry.
Again, the DEVIL points to a WASHER, to dies in a flash of light and agony.
DEVIL
We’re a family here, and I recognize that by hurting you, we have hurt ourselves.
Again, the DEVIL murders another WASHER.
DEVIL
I have taken definitive steps to ensure this mistake does not happen again.
As the DEVIL speaks, a DEMON in a suit emerges on the top tier. The DEMON, silent and unnoticed, collects some (not all) of the errant towels and places them on the railing at SR. When this work is finished, the DEMON quickly vanishes offstage.
DEVIL
We are a family, and we are sorry, and we have taken definitive steps, and we are a family, and thank you for being part of our family. Family.
There is an enormous flash of light. As the DEVIL ascends back into heaven, a single ARISTOCRAT is struck by the light and tumbles over the railing. This single ARISTOCRAT falls onto one of the lower tiers. Drunk with disorientation and injury, the long ARISTOCRAT looks around. Slowly, the reality of the situation dawns. The ARISTOCRAT tries to shout and express the horror, but find they have no voice.
As the shock subsides, the WASHERS slowly get back to work. They are fewer in number and have fewer towels, but they are quickly able to provide fresh towels to the backlogged Aristocrats. The Aristocrats slowly get back to promenading. The HERO stands at the center of the top tier, looking out over everyone. The lone ARISTOCRAT in the lower tiers continues to shout and resist, but eventually is taken over and becomes part of the Washing Machine.
A passing Aristocrat hands a large hat to the HERO, which the HERO dawns. It is a huge, Napoleonic hat, with the word “HERO” on it. The HERO looks out over the audience with great dignity.
There is now a backlog line forming at SL as Aristocrats wait for towels. Each Aristocrat now has their own personal towel that they wear as a piece of clothing, possibly two, in addition to the towels they take, use, and discard. The WASHERS below have never worked harder: there are fewer Washers, fewer towels, and the lone ARISTOCRAT is jamming things up with their whining and incompetence. The post-industrial music returns, but now a glorious anthem is drowning it out.
The HERO looks out nobly over what they have wrought. Divine light shines from above.
Slowly, the lights fade out.
END