EXT. Close up of thumb and forefinger holding a quarter.

The hand holding the quarter moves up to parking meter. It drops the quarter into the parking meter. The hand turns knob of parking meter. In the background is surfing music? Jazz music? No, the song "Sundown Sundown" by Nancy Sinatra as performed by Ben Vaughn.

EXT. Close up of hand going into pocket

EXT. Close up of hand again dropping quarter into meter.

Hand turns knob of parking meter. The sound of the knob churning and turning is obnoxiously loud. Repeat this until seven quarters drop into meter. Hand goes back into pants pocket. See hand groping around--slowly at first--looking for a quarter, then somewhat desperately.

HAND'S VOICE

Rebecca, have you got any change?

The hand gropes even more desperately.

REBECCA (o.s.)

Let me see. Let me see.

In the background we hear the sound of someone rifling through a purse.

REBECCA (o.s., continued)

Where did this come from? Hey, I did have another condom.

Hand continues to grope.

REBECCA

Oh, wait. Here's a nickel.

HAND

It doesn't take nickels.

REBECCA

It doesn't take nickels? Why doesn't it take nickels?

HAND

I don't know why it doesn't take nickels. It's a parking meter. Do you have any quarters?

REBECCA

I've got some dimes.

HAND

Dimes are no good either.

REBECCA

It doesn't take dimes?

HAND

It's gotta be quarters.

REBECCA

I don't have any quarters.

HAND

Well, we better get some change.

REBECCA

I'll get some from that hot dog stand. Give me a couple of dollars.

HAND

You don't have any money?

REBECCA

All I've got's a twenty.

HAND

Well, use that.

REBECCA

What if he doesn't have change?

HAND

Oh, alright.

As the hand emerges from pocket with two ones, we see the body and face attached to the hand. RODNEY is a twenty-something slacker, not too smart with just a tinge of neurosis showing. Camera pans over to Rebecca. She is in faded jeans with a black top--a Reality Bites type woman. Rebecca walks over to hot dog stand. She holds out two ones to hot dog vendor--an older, somewhat mysterious man.

REBECCA

Could I get some quarters?

VENDOR

You got a twenty?

REBECCA
(lying)

No, just the two ones.

VENDOR

Sorry. I can't help ya.

REBECCA

Well, how about four quarters for one dollar?

VENDOR

No can do.

REBECCA

Well, why not?

VENDOR

Are you kidding me? I give change to everyone who needs it for parking--I'd never have any change for my customers.

REBECCA

So what you're saying is I've got to buy a hot dog to get change?

VENDOR

Bingo, Winona.

REBECCA

Hey, Rodney (the hand). Do you want a hot dog?

RODNEY

I need no footlong.

REBECCA

Well, I don't want one.

VENDOR

Where are you headed?

REBECCA

The Bureau of Traffic Adjudication.

VENDOR

You will need a hot dog.

REBECCA

What do you mean?

VENDOR

Hey, are you kidding me? Have you ever been to the Bureau of Traffic Adjudication before? You will need nourishment in that place.

REBECCA

Alright, alright. Give me a hot dog.

VENDOR

Good choice, Ma'am.

Vendor starts fixing dog.

REBECCA

Is it that bad?

 

VENDOR

No, ma'am. This will be the best damn hot dog you've ever had in your short and artificially angst ridden life. Mustard? Onions? Sauerkraut?

REBECCA

No, I meant the BTA. Mustard and Sauerkraut.

VENDOR

Oh yeah. It's bad. I see people going in there all day...but seeing em come out...?

Vendor shrugs his shoulders, his face mysterious and ominous. He hands Rebecca the hot dog.

VENDOR (continued)

Oh, and be careful using that "BTA" slang. Some of those officials in there, they don't like it being called that. Stick with the Bureau of Traffic Adjudication. That'll be two seventy-six.

Rebecca searches through her purse and pulls out a twenty.

VENDOR

You got anything smaller than a twenty?

REBECCA

Well, no. I thought you wanted a...

VENDOR

Alright, alright. Let me see what I got here.

Vendor pulls out a wad of bills and decorously counts out her change. He hands her the $17.24 in change, counting laboriously two dimes and four pennies which he places in her palm. Rebecca stands there silent for a moment, palms still outstretched with money in it.

REBECCA

Could I get two dollars of that in quarters?

VENDOR

Well, let me see.

Vendor looks in his change compartment.

VENDOR (continued)

I don't have any quarters. How about dimes?

REBECCA (menacingly)

You...don't...have...any...quarters?

VENDOR (smiling)

I've got plenty of dimes. How many do you want? One, two, three dollars worth?

REBECCA

The meter doesn't take dimes.

VENDOR

Oh, well...I don't have any nickels.

REBECCA

It doesn't take nickels. It only takes quarters.

VENDOR

Well, I already told ya--I don't have quarters.

REBECCA

Then why did you sell me the hot dog?

VENDOR

You ordered it.

REBECCA

I ordered it so I could get quarters.

VENDOR

Welllll...you'll need it while you're at the BTA. Trust me.

Rebecca grips the hot dog. Some mustard squirts out and yellows her shoe.

REBECCA

Bureau of Traffic Adjudication.

RODNEY (from afar)

Hey Rebecca. I found some quarters in the car. Let's go.

EXT. Stone steps leading up to gray, big Nazi Bureaucratic looking building.

REBECCA

Can you believe that? I mean, that's unbelievable. I told him I wanted quarters...

RODNEY

Well, it's over. Besides, if it's as long a wait as he says, maybe that hot dog will come in handy.

As Rodney and Rebecca walk through the building's doors, neither notices the No Food, no Drinks allowed sign.

INT. BUREAU OF TRAFFIC ADJUDICATION OFFICE

Hideously classic 70s government office decor. It's like a grey and orange acid trip gone bad. Two long and monstrous lines await Rodney and Rebecca.

REBECCA

I told you we should have gotten here early.

RODNEY

You were the one who slept in.

REBECCA

I told you last night to wake me up early this morning.

RODNEY

I didn't want to interrupt your sleep. You need your sleep.

REBECCA

I need to get out of here as soon as possible.

RODNEY

You get cranky when you don't get your sleep.

REBECCA

I'm cranky now.

RODNEY

Just think how you'd be if you hadn't got your sleep. Which line are we supposed to get in?

Rebecca turns to a nun standing in back of one of the lines.

REBECCA

Excuse me. What is this line for?

NUN

Fuck off. Don't even think of cutting in line.

REBECCA

I...I'm not...I mean, I just want to know which line to get in.

NUN

Not this one. This is my line. Stay away.

Rebecca and Rodney scurry away to the other unbelievably long line. The young, degenerate couple takes in the room around them. They gaze upon a scene of bureaucratic carnage: people arguing in line, others moaning, still others standing there, waiting for the--for The End. Rodney grabs the hot dog from Rebecca.

RODNEY

Well, it looks like this will come in handy.

Rodney takes a large bite out of the hot dog. From out of nowhere comes a large, old Bureau of Traffic Adjudication guard.

GUARD

Excuse me, sir. No food is allowed in here.

RODNEY (with mouth full)

I'll be done in a minute--you won't even notice.

GUARD

There is no food allowed.

REBECCA

Are we in the right line?

GUARD

Give me the hot dog.

RODNEY

Just one more bite.

Rodney takes a big bite. The guard, with one hand, grabs the hot dog segment protruding from Rodney's mouth, and with the other hand seizes the remaining hot dog in Rodney's hand. The two men wrestle--mustard and sauerkraut squirts everywhere. Finally, the much larger Bureau of Traffic Adjudication guard overpowers Rodney and seizes the two hot dog segments. The guard glares at Rodney, the hot dog segments oozing out of his squeezing fists. He turns and strides off. Rodney and Rebecca huddle frightened in line.

INT. CLOSE UP OF CLOCK IN FORM OF PARKING METER

On left side of parking meter clock where normally we would see "0 hours" is the phrase "9:00 a.m." On the right side is the phrase "5:00 p.m." The arrow is on 10:00 a.m. In time lapse photography, the arrow moves to 1:00 p.m.

INT. BUREAU OF TRAFFIC ADJUDICATION OFFICE

Rebecca and Rodney (still mustard splattered) walk up to the window at the front of the line. Behind the window is an impassive Bureau of Traffic Adjudication official waiting for them.

RODNEY

We're here to contest a parking ticket.

OFFICIAL

701A please.

RODNEY

701A?

OFFICIAL

701A: form requesting Bureau of Traffic Adjudication magistrate contestation hearing.

REBECCA

Uh, we...

RODNEY

Where do we get that form?

OFFICIAL

Next line.

Official points to the other impossibly long line.

RODNEY

But we've been waiting for over...

OFFICIAL (looking over Rebecca and Rodney's shoulders to next person in line)

Next, please.

REBECCA

We've been waiting for three hours. I've asked repeatedly which line we are supposed to...

Rodney's face glazes over into insanity. So too does his verbal patterns.

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

Person behind them in line, LINE PERSON, walks up to window.

LINE PERSON (waving form 701A)

I was at least two feet from the fire hydrant.

REBECCA

I'll be damned if I'm gonna wait in another long line...

LINE PERSON

Hey, you two have had your chance.

Same old large Bureau of Traffic Adjudication guard who fought over hot dog grabs Rebecca and Rodney by the scruffs of their necks and leads them to the back of the other line.

REBECCA (barely able to speak from anger)

This is outrageous.

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

REBECCA (ignoring Rodney's lapse into verbal insanity)

I asked at least a half dozen times.

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

REBECCA

Goddamn it. I am not waiting in this line for another three hours. This is fucking crazy.

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

A little ways in front of Rodney and Rebecca an argument begins to break out.

MAN#1

I was here well before you.

MAN#2

You cut in line.

MAN#1

Get the fuck away from me.

MAN#2

This is my spot--I was here before you.

MAN#1

Fuck off. Cut again and I'll kill you.

The two men start fighting and soon a huge brawl breaks out in the line.

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

INT. CLOSE UP OF PARKING METER CLOCK .

Parking meter clock moves from 1:00 to 4:00 p.m.

INT. BUREAU OF TRAFFIC ADJUDICATION MAGISTRATE'S CHAMBER

Rebecca and Rodney are standing in front of the magistrate. They look like they have been through a war--mustard stained, ripped clothes, hair tousled.

MAGISTRATE

I'll reduce your ticket in half--to twenty five dollars. Next.

Rebecca and Rodney walk out of the magistrate's chamber like zombies, out through the Bureau of Traffic Adjudication office, past the two lines of what were once normal people, but now look like slaves in the galley of a medieval ship.

REBECCA

Jesus Christ. I can't fucking believe it.

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

REBECCA

Hours and hours and hours for what? Twenty five bucks?

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

They walk out of the Bureau of Traffic Adjudication building and proceed down the steps.

REBECCA

I am not putting up with that shit. We've got to do something. We have got to get them. The Bureau of Traffic Adjudication must be stopped.

RODNEY

Tow Your Heart Away.

Both Rebecca and Rodney come to a complete stop. A look of complete horror grips Rebecca's face and even seeps through the Bureau of Traffic Adjudication dazed mask of Rodney.

EXT. WINDSHIELD OF REBECCA AND RODNEY'S CAR.

A pink rectangular parking ticket rests on the windshield.

EXT. REBECCA AND RODNEY

Rebecca runs and rips the ticket off windshield.

REBECCA

Jesus Fucking Christ. Fifty dollars.

Rodney lets out a long and continuous wail--a scream of unspeakable human horror.

REBECCA (barely audible above Rodney's wail)