In which an honest man does not ultimately spin what he could've so as not to lose an argument.
EXT. MAINTENANCE SHOP. DAWN
In the distance up the road, an 80's model El Camino taxis a black U-2 spy plane from the flightline around to the runway before speeding off and out of the way as the aircraft lifts off at a remarkably steep climb and disappears into the grey sky behind the 40 foot drying tower of the shop.
INT. MAINTENANCE SHOP. DAY
The ear crushing rumble vibrates the barred windows that run along a wall to the side of a long table with a parachute stretched out on it. The noise fades, revealing a discussion from inside the BREAK ROOM.
INT. BREAK ROOM. DAY
Seated around a square table playing Spades are four men: Two sergeants, GEORGE and LEW, and one airman, ANDY, are dressed in olive-drab Air Force fatigues. An old Korean man, MR. SIN, is dressed in white coveralls.
Another sergeant, JERRY, leans against a sink at the window and reads from a thick, black binder.
JERRY: "An excessive purchase of duty-free goods takes place when an otherwise authorized individual purchases duty-free goods in excess of his or her personal needs."
LEW: See there? It's meant for family, George, not your yobo and all her girlfriends.
MR. SIN: (doesn't look up from cards, but punctuates the following with a finger)
Korean no can BX, no can Commissary.
GEORGE: Lemme see that. (grabs the manual and reads.)
"All personnel will restrict purchases to those required for personal needs, needs of authorized (sheepishly) family members, (reassured) AAAND BONA FIDE GIFTS!"
See! That means I can feed guests that aren't dependant family!
ANDY: (laughing) How much can they eat?
LEW: Dammit, George! If you're buying that many cans of Spam every single time you go the Commissary, either you got one Spam eatin' bitch, or she's selling the shit downtown!
George throws his cards down, gets up from the table and storms out of the room.
GEORGE: I'm settling this once and for all.
Everyone else follows him, leaving Mr. Sin at the table alone. He throws down his cards.
MR. SIN: Sheeiii'!
INT. SHOP RECEPTION AREA. DAY
George picks up the receiver of the phone on the desk and dials a number.
JERRY: Who you callin', George?
GEORGE: I'm calling the SPs.
ANDY: (laughing) The SPs.
LEW: Not sure that's a good idea.
GEORGE: Hi. Um, yeah. Can my yobo eat my Spam? (...) Uh-huh. Okay, thanks. Bye.
JERRY: So?
LEW: What'd they tell you?
ANDY: Yeah. What did they say, George?
GEORGE: They said sure as long as you don't tell us about it.
EXT. MAINTENANCE SHOP. DAWN
In the distance up the road, an 80's model El Camino taxis a black U-2 spy plane from the flightline around to the runway before speeding off and out of the way as the aircraft lifts off at a remarkably steep climb and disappears into the grey sky behind the 40 foot drying tower of the shop.
INT. MAINTENANCE SHOP. DAY
The ear crushing rumble vibrates the barred windows that run along a wall to the side of a long table with a parachute stretched out on it. The noise fades, revealing a discussion from inside the BREAK ROOM.
INT. BREAK ROOM. DAY
Seated around a square table playing Spades are four men: Two sergeants, GEORGE and LEW, and one airman, ANDY, are dressed in olive-drab Air Force fatigues. An old Korean man, MR. SIN, is dressed in white coveralls.
Another sergeant, JERRY, leans against a sink at the window and reads from a thick, black binder.
JERRY: "An excessive purchase of duty-free goods takes place when an otherwise authorized individual purchases duty-free goods in excess of his or her personal needs."
LEW: See there? It's meant for family, George, not your yobo and all her girlfriends.
MR. SIN: (doesn't look up from cards, but punctuates the following with a finger)
Korean no can BX, no can Commissary.
GEORGE: Lemme see that. (grabs the manual and reads.)
"All personnel will restrict purchases to those required for personal needs, needs of authorized (sheepishly) family members, (reassured) AAAND BONA FIDE GIFTS!"
See! That means I can feed guests that aren't dependant family!
ANDY: (laughing) How much can they eat?
LEW: Dammit, George! If you're buying that many cans of Spam every single time you go the Commissary, either you got one Spam eatin' bitch, or she's selling the shit downtown!
George throws his cards down, gets up from the table and storms out of the room.
GEORGE: I'm settling this once and for all.
Everyone else follows him, leaving Mr. Sin at the table alone. He throws down his cards.
MR. SIN: Sheeiii'!
INT. SHOP RECEPTION AREA. DAY
George picks up the receiver of the phone on the desk and dials a number.
JERRY: Who you callin', George?
GEORGE: I'm calling the SPs.
ANDY: (laughing) The SPs.
LEW: Not sure that's a good idea.
GEORGE: Hi. Um, yeah. Can my yobo eat my Spam? (...) Uh-huh. Okay, thanks. Bye.
JERRY: So?
LEW: What'd they tell you?
ANDY: Yeah. What did they say, George?
GEORGE: They said sure as long as you don't tell us about it.
END.
