Curtain up on a typical office. HODGKISS sits behind a desk, looking through some papers. His intercom buzzes.
SECRETARY: (on intercom) Mr. Hodgkiss, a Mr. Wingnut is here to see you.
HODGKISS: (into intercom) Wingnut? Do I have an appointment with him?
SECRETARY: (on intercom) No, sir.
HODGKISS: (into intercom) Then, send him away.
Hodgkiss holds papers over the intercom and rustles them meaningfully.
HODGKISS: (into intercom) I’m busy.
SECRETARY: (on intercom) Yes, sir.
Hodgkiss returns to reading his papers. A commotion can be heard coming through the door, and he looks up. Soon, WINGUNT enters, SECRETARY trailing.
SECRETARY: I’m sorry, sir.
WINGNUT: Gerald, I have to talk to you!
HODGKISS: Okay, Roxy. Thanks, Grace. (Secretary exits) What is it?
WINGNUT: The Conservative budget comes down tomorrow…
HODGKISS: Yes. So?
WINGNUT: So, what do you have for blood, Gerald? Anti-freeze? All of our jobs are on the line, here!
HODGKISS: I’m not worried. The Department of Arctic Art Appreciation is a necessary government service. Without us, think of all those great artists whose work might never be known.
WINGNUT: Oh, yes? Like who?
HODGKISS: Now, your department is another matter altogether…
WINGNUT: (defensive) The Department of Pelican Protection is important!
HODGKISS: (impatient) There are no pelicans in Canada!
WINGNUT: That’s why we’re so important! (REAPER quietly enters)
HODGKISS: Look, Roxy, I have a lot of… (notices Reaper standing by far wall) Who…who are you?
WINGNUT: You know me, Gerald. Roxy Wingnut. We work to –
HODGKISS: Don’t you see him?
WINGNUT: (turns to look at wall) See who?
HODGKISS: The big figure dressed in black. The one with the large scythe with a very sharp blade. For god’s sake, Roxy, the ugly looking –
REAPER: (menacing) Watch it!
HODGKISS: Sorry.
WINGNUT: Who are you talking to?
REAPER: He can’t see or hear me, Gerald. Lose the twerp.
HODGKISS: Yeah…sure. Roxy, I…I have an appointment with somebody else, now. You know how it is…
WINGNUT: Yeah. Sure, Gerald. (rises) I should get back to my phone…
HODGKISS: (rises) Yeah. Do that.
WINGNUT: Never know when that call is going to –
Hodgkiss hustles Wingnut out the door and walks up to the Reaper.
HODGKISS: I…I know who you are. And, you know something? I’m not afraid of you. If it is my time to go, I’ll go. I’ve led a pretty good life, and…
REAPER: Gerald, lighten up, will you? Who said anything about dying?
HODGKISS: (confused) Aren’t you death?
REAPER: (embarrassed) Well, yes. But, in my spare time, I do odd jobs. I’ve been hired by the government to tell you that your civil service career is over.
HODGKISS: My…what? (falls to his knees, sobbing) You…you can’t do this to me! I’m only 37! I’ve got my whole career ahead of me! Please! Please! Take Roxy, instead!
REAPER: Mr. Hodgkiss, please. This is so…undignified.
HODGKISS: What do you want? Money? Women? A tax break? I can arrange –
REAPER: (helps him up) Mr. Hodgkiss, please! You should know that I am beyond such temptations. That’s why the government is using me.
HODGKISS: (collapses in chair) Why does this have to happen to me?
REAPER: (philosophically) To everything, there is a season, Mr. Hodgkiss.
HODGKISS: Yes, but why does it have to be my turn, turn…turn?
REAPER: (looks at hourglass on his wrist) I have a little time. Let me try to explain why this must happen to you…
(singing) On the morning after an election
In a country where there’s tainted wine
You are just a civil servant of Pierre Trudeau’s
Who has nothing else but time
They come our of the race with good grace and more than
A majority of seats
Don’t bother asking for a cabinet review
They’ll just tell you you were beat
In the year of the cuts
They don’t give you time for appeals
As they lock up your files and drawers
And you find that all the power that you’ve been hoarding
Completely disappears
While the political change causes harmful strains
On the many unemployment lines
“These days,” they say, “are ripe for cutbacks
For we live in hard times.”
The year of the cuts
They looked at the deficit and were stricken
With a need to drastically cut the budget
To the limit and to cut back
On all the waste they could find
In the year of the cuts
When morning comes and you’re still jobless
And the rest of your colleagues are gone
You’ve thrown away your savings, lost seniority
But your life still goes on
Though you’re in great pain, the private sector remains
And some day you might earn more pay
You know some time you’re bound to work again
But, for now you’ve got no say
It’s the year of the cuts
HODGKISS: You’re heartless!
REAPER: (shrugging) It’s a living. You’ll be notified by registered letter in the morning, of course.
HODGKISS: You mean, I’m not going with you?
REAPER: I’m sorry.
HODGKISS: Can’t we…play chess or something?
REAPER: You’ve been watching too many Bergman films. I’ve gotta go.
HODGKISS: But, wait. Wait…! (Reaper exits) What am I going to do?
Curtain.
(with many plenty apologies to Al Stewart)