A Wonderful Place To Be In


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Episode 20 — A Wonderful Place To Be In


     "Where's the remote?  Seinfeld's coming on."
     "Uh uh.  I'm watching Door Repair Guy."
     "Who would watch Door Repair Guy instead of Seinfeld?"
     "The nut with the remote."
     "RRRrrrrRrr!!"


     View of a Bolian freighter entering planetary orbit.
     Door Repair Guy is wedged in among some cargo, snoring.  A
blue hand comes into the frame and shakes him by the shoulder.
     "Huh?"
     "We're here."
     "Show me!"
     He jumps up and runs to a nearby window.  Below we see a
green and blue planet.
     "Wait a minute!  This is Nepean Five!  I should know.  I
grew up here!  I wanted to go to Bajor!"
     Shot of the Bolian's face as the light of understanding
dawns.
     "Bajor?  O-o-o-o-h!  I thought you said *Bayshore*!"


     "Crawlspace.  The final frontier.  These are the voyages of
The Door Repair Guy.  His mission: to install and maintain
proximity-activated entranceways, to stake out new rooms and new
service conduits -- to boldly go where no one with a pass key has
gone before."
     [Music: drum, horn and anvil.]
     [In Elizabethan print on white paper, like on the BBC
Shakespeare:]
     
                    Star Trek: Door Repair Guy


                    Starring Door Repair Guy as
                              Himself


                         Also Starring

                         Joe Pesci as
                         The New Mayor

                         Faye Dunaway as
                         Social Climber

                         Keanu Reeves as
                         Boyhood Friend

                         Amanda Plummer as
                         Official Botanist

                         Robertson Davies as
                         Pompous City Councillor

                         Jean-Claude Van Damme as
                    Inspector of Motor Vehicles

                         Christopher Lloyd as
                    Ghost of Impractical Scientist

[Stylized door emblem, with flourishes and curlicues, and tragic
and comic masks with Klingon foreheads.]


[Commercial]

     "Click over and see what's on the Weather Channel."
     "What's ever on the Weather Channel?"
     "Okay.  What's the humidex?"
     "I don't know."
     "Bet you it's under 35%."
     Click/click/click/click/click/click/click.
     HUMIDEX: 29%
     "Cool."  Click/click/click/click/click/click/click.
     "No, dry!"


     The Green Belt.  Door Repair Guy materializes beside a road. 
Richmond Road, in fact.  A pick-up truck pulls up.
     "Hey!  Door Repair Guy!  When'd you get back?"
     "Boyhood Friend!  I just beamed down!  Hey, what do they
call you now?"
     Boyhood Friend looks embarrassed.
     "I'm between jobs.  They still call me Boyhood Friend."
     "Excellent.  We can hang out."
     Boyhood Friend perks up.  DRG climbs in.
     "Hey, they widened this road."
     "Oh, man, there've been some changes.  Baseline runs right
around the 45th parallel now.  Merivale goes halfway to the South
Pole."
     "Man.  Hey, I thought this was the Green Belt.  What's that
factory doing there?"
     "That's the New Mayor.  Your new Dad!"
     "Great eight-track.  I left a beauty on a Pakled freighter
one time.  You got any Jethro Tull?  . . . ! . . .  My new, my
new what?"
     "Your new Dad, the New Mayor?  The guy your mother married? 
After your father disappeared?  Don't tell me you haven't . . ."
     "This is news to me."
     "Ulp."


     Hours later.  Door Repair Guy and Boyhood Friend are lying
around Boyhood Friend's rec room floor, surrounded by empty beer
bottles.  The stereo is blaring "More than a Feeling" for about
the twelfth time.
     "I can't believe it.  Mousy Housewife married Paving
Contractor."
     "Yeah, but she's Social Climber now.  And he's the mayor."
     "Man.  And so soon after Dad dies."
     Boyhood Friend sits up.
     "Well, I didn't say he was dead.  Just disappeared."
     "You mean run off?"
     "No-o-o-o-o.  He was working on this thing."
     "Oh yeah?  That's Impractical Scientist.  What was it?"
     "A weed wacker.  The thing about it was the mulcher.  There
were no clippings."
     "It ground them up good."
     "No.  They just disappeared."
     "Weird.  Hey, did you hear something?"
     He turns down the stereo.  A dog is barking.  No, all the
dogs are barking.
     They go out on the porch.  Close-up of their faces as they
peer off into the dim moonlit yard.
     A ghostly figure moves along the treeline at the end of the
yard.
     BF: "Yikes!  A ghost!  It looks like your Dad!  Oh, shit!"
     DRG: "Come on!  There are more things in heaven and earth
than are dreamt of in your philosophy!"
     BF: [following] "I don't have any philosophy!"
     DRG: "Hey!  Ghost!"
     The figure turns.
     "I am not a ghost, but not really what you'd call a
ratepayer either."
     "Are you the Impractical Scientist?"
     "Yes.  And you are the Door Repair Guy, back from the
Enterprise."
     "Well, actually, I'm on my way to Bajor, but, you'll never
guess this, I was on this Bolian freighter and the guy said `Here
we are,' and I looked out the window and saw Nepean Five and I
said, `I wanted to go to Bajor', and he said . . . "
     "My time is short, so listen up.  The transdimensional weed
wacker is the cause of this.  I designed the tool to transport
the clippings to another dimension, but I accidentally wacked
myself while I was demonstrating it to your uncle, the Paving
Contractor.  He realized the weed wacker's potential as a weapon
and has used it eliminate his opponents on City Council and
establish himself as the Big Developer.  He must be stopped
before he paves over the entire Green Belt."
     "What's it like where you are?"
     "Fishing's not bad.  So far the only company is bunch of
City Councillors."
     "Yikes.  Can you ever get back?"
     "Working on it. Not much of an industrial base over here. 
So far all I can send back is this holographic image.  Look out,
the suns are rising.  I gotta go."
     He fades away.
     BF: "Wow!  What next?"
     DRG: "I have to have a word with Mom."
     
     
[Commercial: Genuine Mud Beer]

     "Ever have that mud beer?"
     "Yup."
     "What's it like?"
     "Brown gravy.  With a buzz."
     "Sounds good.  I'll have to pick some up."


     "Bratty Kid!"
     "Mom, please, I have the eleventh rank in the Klingon Guild
of Doorhangers."
     "Oh, all right, Door Repair Guy.  But you'll always be
Bratty Kid to me."
     "So what's this about you marrying Uncle Paving Contractor?"
     "Well, you come right to the point, don't you?"
     "You might of told me."
     "I sent you numerous subspace messages but the subspace
server bounced them back as undeliverable."
     "Oh, well, yeah, I was 500 million light years beyond the
galaxy."
     "I'm sure you could have found a way to drop a line or two
in a mailbox."
     "Yeah, I guess . . . hey, wait, I'm grilling you!  I talked
to Dad last night!  He's not dead, he's in another dimension!"
     "He was always in another dimension."
     "Well, what did you go and get remarried for?"
     "Oh, I don't know.  Money, status, a great house, my picture
in the papers, this marvelous crystal, two-inch shag carpetting,
a yacht at the Britannia Boat Club, sex occasionally . . ."
     "Hey, I don't wanna hear about that!"
     "You asked."
     "Hey!  Door Repair Guy.  My new son!"
     The New Mayor charges over with his hand stuck out in front
for a handshake.
     DRG shakes.
     "Oh, Bratty, pull in your lower lip."
     "Mom!"
     "So, how are things in the door repair racket?"
     "Fine.  How are things in the weed wacking racket?"
     "I like you, kid.  You got moxy.  You ever thought of going
into business?"
     "I have a job."
     "Oh, yeah?  I hear you're a couple of months late for
rollcall.  Maybe they stopped waiting.  Why don't you stick
around here?  You could work for me."
     "I'll think about it.  I gotta run."
     "Don't be a stranger!"
     Slam!


     "So, Door Repair Guy."
     "Ex-girlfriend's Older Brother."
     "Inspector of Motor Vehicles now.  And she's not Ex-
girlfriend anymore, she's Official Botanist."
     "That's good."
     "When you left you made her unhappy.  I don't like that. 
Maybe I should bust you up right now."
     "Or maybe not!  I'm not so bad with a bat'telh you know!"
     "But do you have one?"
     "Hm, you've got a point.  Bye!"


     "Boy, that was close!"
     "Oh!"
     "Oh!"
     "Ex-boyfriend!"
     "Ex-girlfriend!"
     "What . . . ah . . . I didn't . . . are you . . ."
     "I'm just . . . there was . . . oh."
     Awkward silence.
     "I'm . . . I'm Official Botanist now."
     "I know.  I'm Door Repair Guy now."
     "I know."
     More silence as both of them think of things to say and
don't say them.
     "Are you here for long?"
     "I don't think so."
     "Sorry about your Dad."
     "It's okay.  I spoke to him yesterday."
     She looks at him with more than a grain of doubt.
     "I hate it when you're weird on purpose."
     "It's true!  The New Mayor is using a weed wacker to destroy
the Green Belt!"
     "You drive me crazy!"
     "I'm sorry!"
     "You broke my heart!"
     "I know!"
     "Don't do it again!"
     "Okay!"
     They both scram.


     Enter Door Repair Guy.
     "taH pagh taHbe'."
     ["To be or not to be."]
     "SeyqSpeyr DaparHa''a'."
     ["You like Shakespeare?"]
     He turns around.  There is a troupe of Klingon players
standing there.
     DRG: "qech vIghaj."
     ["I have an idea."]


[Commercial]

     "Isn't there a CFL game on?"
     Click/click/click.
     "Who are they?"
     "Shreveport and  . . . ah . . . Las Vegas."
     "I think Door Repair Guy's back on."
     Click/click/click.

     
     Centrepoint Theatre.  DRG and Boyhood Friend are loitering
in front of a display case containing a Nepean Heritage Days
historical exhibit.  They're way early so at last out of sheer
boredom they break down and have a look at it.
     Through the glass we see a satellite image of the Ottawa
area on Earth.  Over to the left is circular Lake Nepean.  The
caption: SHORTLY AFTER THE INVENTION OF ARTIFICIAL ANTIGRAVITY,
THE INHABITANTS OF NEPEAN VOTED THEMSELVES OUT OF THE REGIONAL
GOVERNMENT.  Beside the photograph are a paperback copy of James
Blish's _Cities in Flight_ and the cover of Boston's first album.
     "That's my copy!  Look, it says DRG in the corner.  I
wondered where that went."
     Next is an artist's impression of the domed city of Nepean,
Mars.  THE NEPEAN COLONISTS ASSISTED IN EARLY TERRAFORMING
EXPERIMENTS.  The red landscape is sprinkled with tiny, deformed
conifers.
     Next is a child's drawing.  NEPEAN THREE BARELY ESCAPED THE
DEPREDATIONS OF THE CRYSTALLINE ENTITY.
     THE INHABITANTS OF NEPEAN FOUR THOUGHT IT WISER TO HAVE A
QUICK ESCAPE ROUTE.  We see a videotape loop of a city floating
in the sky, the clouds drifting by then jumping back to their
original position and drifting by again.
     BUT THE PEOPLE OF NEPEAN YEARNED FOR MORE GREEN SPACE AND SO
THEY CAME TO THIS PLANET WHERE WE HOPE THEY WILL ALWAYS STAY.
     "Hey, did I tell you I got a job interview at the antigrav
station?  They're thinking of doing a refit."
     "That's it!  The New Mayor's going to flatten the Green
Belt, then move the whole town to a new planet!"
     "Gee, d'ya think?"
     The place is starting to fill up.  The manager of the
Klingon actors pushes through the crowd.
     DRG: "SughuS'a'."
     ["Ready for launch?"]
     "Hija', joHwI'."
     ["Yes, my lord."]
     "yIqaw.  tera'nganpu' chaH.  SuSuvchugh vaj muvbe' chaH."
     ["Remember.  They are humans.  If you do a fight scene they
will not join in."]
     (Walking away.) "wovwI'mey tIn."
     ["The big lights."]
     DRG notices a couple of guys glaring from across the foyer. 
     "Who are the two suits?"
     "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern."
     "And who's the other guy?"
     "Harold Pinter."
     "Hm."
     "There's Pompous City Councillor and his kids."
     Pompous City Councillor is saying:
     "I believe that what the young women of today fail to
comprehend is that one cannot wear one's trousers into bed.  Ah,
I see our friend who has done such wonders for the control of
noxious weeds has arrived in all his splendour.  They say he has
the purple loosestrife completely on its knees.  A veritable
patron of the arts, our New Mayor.  And if I may say so, his
robust and comely wife is looking more robust and comely every
day.  I should not be surprised to open the papers some morning
soon and discover she has set the record for robustness and
comeliness.  There's a woman who never wore her trousers into
bed, I'll warrant.  Good gracious, Daughter, that's an
extraordinary boutonniere.  Inspector of Motor Vehicles, my son,
would you explain that uncharacteristic bulge in your breast
pocket.  Don't tell me you've begun to pack a piece."
     "All right, I won't."
     "I see that the hoi poloi have begun to take their seats. 
Perhaps we'd best repair within."
     BF: "What's he going to fix inside?"
     DRG: "I don't know.  We'd better get in ourselves."
     The lights go down, not to black, but to Klingon dim. 
Klingon musicians take up position at the corner of the stage
armed with drum, horn and anvil.  They begin to play.
     Enter a man and woman, very lovingly.  They embrace.  She
departs.  The man brings out a weed wacker and begins to wack
weeds.  Another man enters.  The first man shows off the weed
wacker to the second.  In the course of the demonstration the
first man accidentally wacks himself and disappears in a puff of
smoke.
     BF: "Wow!  How do they do that?"
     DRG: "Smoke and transporters."
     BF: "Look at the New Mayor.  He's not enjoying this at all."
     On stage the second man picks up the weed wacker, walks over
to a passerby and wacks him.  Smoke and transporter.  Now the
woman returns.  The second man makes gestures appropriate to
explaining about the accident.  The woman makes passionate
actions of distress.  The man consoles her.  They embrace and
kiss and depart arm and arm, with the weed wacker.
     The New Mayor jumps out of his seat.
     "You call this Art?  Is this where my tax dollar goes?  Come
on, Socie, we're outta here!"


[Bob:
     "It's Bob.  Give me the remote."
     "Bob is the best part!"

     "Hey, and we're back to Door Repair Guy in just a moment.  I
want to take this opportunity to apologize for the technical
difficulties we were experiencing last week.  As you recall the
ah couch ah exploded.  Apparently we got a crow caught in the
Bussard ramscoop up on the roof and it caused an inbalance in the
quantum flux generator that runs the electrical system up here at
CHRO.  But it's all for the best because I got a new set!  Look,
a bookcase!  Let's just pull down a book and curl up because it's
time for 
                    WHAT'S BOB READING?

And today we're reading _Of Grammatology_ by Jacques Derrida. 
Let's just see what he says.  Here's a chapter called "Of
Grammatology as a Positive Science".  Sounds good.
     `On what conditions is a grammatology possible?  Its
     fundamental condition is certainly the undoing of
     logocentrism.'  And I think we can all see that.  `But this
     condition of possibility turns into a condition of
     impossibility.  In fact it risks destroying the concept of
     science as well.  Graphematics . . . or grammatography . . .
     ought no longer to be presented as sciences; their goal
     should be . . . exorbitant when . . . compared to . . .
     grammatological . . . knowledge.' 
[Grabs remote control.]  I wonder what's on TV?"]


[Commercial:
     "Does your mouth feel baking soda clean?"]


[Bob:
     Puts hand over mouth, breathes on palm, looks extremely
uncomfortable, and creeps out of shot.]


     Enter Social Climber and Pompous City Councillor.
     PCC: "Prithee, madam, speak with him.  The New Mayor is
beside himself.  He must be persuaded to take ship immediately."
     SC: "I've just about had it with him myself.  I hear him
coming!  Hide behind these drapes!"
     PCC: "What about the weed wacker?  I finished my lawn and
wanted to return it right away.  I have it here."
     SC: "Just keep it a minute!  He's here!"
     Enter Door Repair Guy.
     "Now, mother, what's the matter?"
     "You're driving me nuts!  Your father is about ready to flip
out!"
     "He's my uncle!"
     "You're seriously jeopardizing operations!  We think you
should take a trip!"
     "I'll just bet you . . . look out, there's someone behind
those drapes!  He's got the weed wacker!"
     A struggle ensues, culminating in a *Bzap* and a puff of
smoke.
     DRG stands with the weed wacker beside the gently waving
drapes.
     "Now you've done it!"
     "I'll say!  I'm going, and I'm taking this with me!"


     The Green Belt.  Official Botanist is gathering specimens
beside a stream.  DRG shows up with the wacker.
     "I wanted to show you what . . ."
     "So this is the famous weed wacker.  Give it here."
     "Hey, be careful, you'll wind up . . ."
     *Bzap*
     "Damn!"


[Commercial]

     "Thank God!  A commercial!  Dibs on that chair!"
     Runs to the bathroom.
     "Ha!  The remote."
     Click/click/click/click.

Jerry: You know what I don't understand?  Pon farr.
George: Pon farr?
Jerry: Pon farr.  What is the deal with pon farr?
George: I don't know.  What is the deal with pon farr?
Jerry: I'll tell you what the deal is with pon farr.  Zero
     population growth is the deal with pon farr.

     [Elaine enters, fuming.  She throws her shopping bag,
handbag and coat on the couch.]

Elaine: You know what I REALLY hate?
George: What?
Elaine: People who SPIT down the stairwell to see if they can hit
     the lobby.
Jerry: The drooly bannister.
George: You hold the bannister?
Elaine: I need the bannister.  Without the bannister I get
     dizzy.  I could turn an ankle.  I could get vertigo.
Jerry: Like Jimmy Stewart.
Elaine: Like Jimmy Stewart.
Jerry: Bannisters are good.
George: If you ask me the city should just come around and TEAR
     OUT all the bannisters.
Elaine: What would you hold on to?
George: Who would want to?  This is New York!  Do you think
     there's someone out there just wiping down the bannisters
     before you come along?  Don't make me laugh.
Elaine: If someone has to spit they should at least have the
     courtesy to wait til they get to the bathroom.
George: I swallow my spit.
Jerry: What I want to know is, if these Vulcan men are out there
     having sex only once every seven years, what are the women
     doing?
Elaine: Do you mean, are they mistresses of their own domain?
George: Maybe they're . . . you know.
Elaine: What?
George: You know.
Elaine: Do you mean, are they bi-sex-u-al?
George: A logical alternative.  What about those two girls in
     the camera store on 43rd?
Elaine: What about them?
George: Spock ears.
Jerry: Humans!
Elaine: Humans?
Jerry: Of course!  Why didn't I think of it before?  Vulcans are
     always dating humans!
George: Humans!
Elaine: Humans.

     [Kramer explodes through door.]

Kramer: What humans?
Elaine: Vulcans and humans, dating.
Kramer: I went out with a Vulcan last night.
Jerry: How was it?
Kramer: *Hot!*  [Opens fridge.]  Hey, you got any whole milk?  My
     mouth's all dry.  I've got a bet on with the super I can hit
     the lobby twelve times out of fifteen.  [Drinks from the
     carton.]  AAaaaaaaaaaah!!

     "Hey!  Gimme that!"
     Click/click/click/click.]


     Act Five.  Nepean City Hall.
     The New Mayor: "Where's Pompous City Councillor?  It's hard
enough as it is to get a quorum these days."
     Inspector of Motor Vehicles: "Missing.  So is my sister."
     NM: "What about Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?"
     Door Repair Guy (entering): "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
are in another dimension.  I sent them there, with this."  He
throws the weed wacker at the New Mayor's feet.  The mayor picks
it up.
     IMV: "You said you were good with a bat'telh.  Now's your
chance."
     Two bat'telhs come skittering into the middle of the floor. 
All eyes turn to the public gallery.  The Klingons players snarl
back.
     Social Climber: "Developer, darling, do you think a City
Council meeting is the right venue for this sort of thing?"
     New Mayor: "They should have it out.  It's not good to
bottle these things up."
     DRG and IMV pick up the bat'telhs and begin to circle round. 
The Klingons let out a massed grunt of approval.  The City
Councillors stand up on their chairs for a better view.  The two
combatants execute a series of passes, the bat'telhs sweeping
through the air.
     Everyone: "Whooooooaaaa!"
     The weapons meet in a ring of metal.
     "Ooooooohh!!"
     New Mayor: "Time!  Who wants a Slushie?"
     Social Climber: "I'll have one."
     New Mayor: [Makes `Yikes!' face.]
     Social Climber: [Laughs.]  "What, is it poisoned or
something?"  [Drinks.]
     New Mayor: "Didn't you ever read Hamlet?!"
     The fight is back on.  Inspector of Motor Vehicles is
clearly the better swordsman.  (He's Jean-Claude Van Damme for
Pete's sake.)  Door Repair Guy's overalls are being reduced to
shreds.
     One Councillor to another: "What does `Labatt Mice' mean?"
     Social Climber slumps to the floor.
     "Time!" shouts the Director of Parks and Recreation.
     Inspector of Motor Vehicles: "It looks like an allergic
reaction."
     DRG: "This Slushie's lime.  Her whole family's allergic to
lime!  Or didn't you know that?"
     "Hey!  We've only been married a little while."
     IMV to DRG: "That Slushie was meant for you."
     New Mayor: "You stay out of it!"  He wacks him with the weed
wacker: *Bzap*.
     DRG: "Impractical Scientist knows an antidote for lime
allergy."
     New Mayor: "Well, then, how's this?"
     He *Bzap*s her with the weed wacker.
     "Not good enough!"  DRG assumes a Klingon martial art
posture and advances at the New Mayor, swinging the bat'telh and
sticking out his tongue like a Maori warrior.
     New Mayor: "I ain't scared a ya, ya big flake!"
     DRG winds up and whips the bat'telh across the council
chamber like a boomerang.  The New Mayor makes another `Yikes!'
face and weedwacks himself to get out of the way.  The weapon
arcs through the transdimensional *Bzap* effect and lodges in the
back of the mayorial chair.
     The Klingon manager comes over.
     "bIlegh'a'.  SuvlaH tera'nganpu'.  'ach porghDu' yapbe'. 
bayjor DaghoS DaneH'a'."]
     ["See?  Humans can fight.  However, not enough bodies.  Do
you want to go to Bajor?"]
     "Yes, but first let me say this . . ."
     The manager gestures brusquely to another Klingon who barks
into a communicator.  In a second all the Klingons and Door
Repair Guy disappear in a transporter effect.
     The City Councillors gather round the Director of Parks and
Recreation and Boyhood Friend.
     DPR to BF: "Need a job?"
     Boyhood Friend: "Cool!"

[Music.  Credits.]

     "Did you see that?  He tried to kill that guy!"
     "It's supposed to be Hamlet.  In the real play the stage is
covered with bodies by the end."
     "I don't think it's in character."
     "I thought you preferred Seinfeld."
     "Well, usually I watch Seinfeld and tape Door Repair Guy."
     "Oh."
     "Maybe they're working up to a big court martial episode."
     "Hey!  That'd be something!  Cool!"

------------
Written by Douglas A. McLeod ai919
------------

Episode 20 — A Wonderful Place To Be In

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