the night shift a one act by grace leuenberger
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The Night Shift A one-act play
In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. —T.S. Elliott
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Featured Characters Kaitlynne Bradford: Age 23. A ballerina who is hopeful for the future. Patrick Adler: Age 30. A starving artist living in the shadows.  
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THE NIGHT SHIFT A New York City art museum—4:40 AM Lights come up on a mostly empty set that contains a bench, and a few stray pamphlets and candy bar wrappers lay on the ground. Various-sized empty picture frames hang suspended from the ceiling around the set. Enter: Kaitlynne, age 23, wearing a cleaning lady uniform, and Patrick, age 30, wearing a janitorial jump suit. Both have cleaning supply carts and are pushing them into center stage. They are exhausted from working the entire night shift. Patrick Come here, I want to take your picture. Kaitlynne What? Why? Patrick makes gestures with his hands, takes out his phone. Patrick Come on. It’s your last night shift before you leave for your fancy tour! Patrick takes Kaitlynne by the shoulders, trying to pose her for a picture. Kaitlynne She laughs. Patrick, we’re not allowed! Patrick rushes over to his cleaning supplies, pulls out a plunger. Patrick O’cmon Kaitlynne. Live a little. Then take my picture. Here.
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Patrick hands Kaitlynne his phone. You don’t happen to have a tutu on you? No? Well, we’ll have Caravaggio in the background and a plunger in the foreground. It’ll really capture the essence of your 8 months as a “ballerina by day, janitor by night.” Before handing Kaitlynne the plunger, Patrick strikes a ballerina pose with the plunger. Kaitlynne laughs at his clumsiness. Patrick Am I doing it?! Kaitlynne is laughing, not taking the photo. Kaitlynne You’re a vision of elegance. Patrick is grimacing Patrick Gosh this makes me thighs hurt! How do you do this all day?!? Patrick falls out of the pose. Kaitlynne Well for one, you’re doing it wrong. Patrick Show me how to do it! Kaitlynne I’m not showing you! Patrick But I’ve never seen you dance!
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Kaitlynne Well then you’ll just have to take some time off and come see the tour. Patrick ‘Can’t. ‘Work. Kaitlynne Work. You’re always working. Painting, working, painting, working— Patrick interjects. Patrick Sleeping, eating, reading, and cleaning toilets at one of New York’s finest art museums…all while my parents gloat from the comfort of their suburban home in New Jersey, reminding me every chance they get that I should’ve pursued a degree in Finance instead of going to “that school for arts and crafts.” Patrick heads to Kaitlynne to retrieve his phone. He scrolls through the photos. Patrick You didn’t take any photos?! My pain was for nothing. How are you going to remember me now? Kaitlynne She laughs. I’ll just close my eyes and picture this beautiful moment. Patrick Me with a plunger. Kaitlynne It’s becoming of you.
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Patrick chuckles. They are busying themselves at their cleaning carts. Patrick Beat. Turns to Kaitlynne. So. You ready? Kaitlynne To leave New York? Patrick No, to clean the upstairs bathrooms. Caught off guard, Patrick is pulling her leg Kaitlynne Oh…yeah… Patrick I’m kidding! Yes, I mean New York. Kaitlynne points the plunger at Patrick. Kaitlynne You’re the worst! Patrick Hey watch it with that thing. Do you know where it’s been? Kaitlynne Please, I’m plunger queen of this museum. Patrick Ah, plunger queen. Well.
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Patrick bows to Kaitlynne. Patrick Your presence will truly be missed here, your majesty. Kaitlynne laughs at his gag. He returns to his cart. Patrick But really. Kaitlynne But really. We’ve got it pretty good here—cleaning a building filled to the brim with the world’s beautiful art while the whole city sleeps. Patrick and Kaitlynne walk amongst the empty frames, looking at the paintings. Patrick and Kaitlynne have funny, mocking mature voices for this next sequence. Patrick Vacuuming below Van Gogh! Kaitlynne Polishing near Picasso! Patrick Dusting by Dali! Kaitlynne And the toilets, of course. Patrick So many toilets. Kaitlynne So. Many. Toilets.
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Kaitlynne and Patrick look at each other and laugh. Kaitlynne sits on the bench, followed later by Patrick. Kaitlynne You’re going to be out of here before you know it, Patrick. Patrick Yeah. Kaitlynne One day you’ll get your big break and your paintings will line these walls. Patrick HA! That’s funny. Good one. Kaitlynne C’mon! Don’t pretend like you aren’t an amazing painter. In a funny voice, like he’s mocking a professional. Patrick That’s what we at the firm like to call “an opinion.” Kaitlynne Well my opinion happens to be right. Kaitlynne has a serious expression, telling it to him straight. Patrick laughs. Patrick Yeah tell that to my parents. Or my landlord who’s waiting for my rent while I’m bumming around here stuck in the literal darkness that is “the night shift.” Kaitlynne You’re not bumming around. You’re doing important work.
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VERY sarcastically. Patrick Yeah, totally. Kaitlynne And plus! You’re with me. Patrick A softer Patrick emerges. For 15 more minutes. Kaitlynne Yes. Well. We’ve had a good run. Patrick Yeah. Kaitlynne Yeah? Patrick Yup. Patrick is nervously twiddling his thumbs. There’s a brief awkward silence. They both open their mouths to speak, but then don’t. Then, simultaneously they both start to speak at the same time. Kaitlynne AND Patrick I… They both stop talking, look at each other to clarify the situation. Patrick Oh, go ahead.
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Kaitlynne No, no. You first. Patrick Oh it’s nothing. Nevermind. Kaitlynne Nevermind? Patrick Well what were you going to say? Kaitlynne I said you can go first. Patrick Uh…Well. Uh…It’s just… Kaitlynne Yeah? Patrick I just—I don’t know. Kaitlynne What?! Patrick shifts on his seat on the bench, like he’s unsettled. Patrick I’m just tired.
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Kaitlynne I’m always telling you: you can’t just paint all day and come to work at night and not sleep at all Patrick. You’ll run yourself into the ground. Patrick I wasn’t painting! Kaitlynne Well what the heck were you doing?! Bashful: Patrick I dunno. Thinking… Kaitlynne Thinking? About what?! Brushing her off—walks towards & begins walk to his cart. Patrick Nothing. It’s fine. Forget it. Pursuing him. Kaitlynne Patrick— Patrick start walking away towards the exit with his cart. Patrick I need to go finish the 2nd floor bathrooms. Kaitlynne protests, gets up, Patrick stops. Urgently:
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Kaitlynne C’mon! It’s quarter to five. On 15 minutes left until the end of my last shift! Let’s…. Kaitlynne looks around the room. Runs over to one of the empty frames. Patrick turns to watch her. Let’s take a selfie with Rembrandt! It’s ironic! Patrick We’re not allowed. Kaitlynne C’mon Pat! A picture to remember me by. Patrick I don’t need a picture. Beat. The end of this night shift weighs heavy. Kaitlynne trying to remedy the situation. Kaitlynne Is something wrong? Patrick is defensive Patrick No. His tone is frustrating to Kaitlynne. Kaitlynne Okay…sorry. Patrick realizes he has been a jerk here. Throws up his hand apologetically. Patrick No, I’m sorry. I’m fine.
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Kaitlynne Well, you’re making that face again. Patrick What face? Kaitlynne You know. Patrick What face? Kaitlynne is exasperated with the uncommunicative Pat. Kaitlynne The one where you say you’re fine but really you’re not. The one where you become—I don’t know—a recluse, or something. Patrick A recluse? Kaitlynne Yes. Like you’re…I dunno…voluntarily imprisoned in your own thoughts. Patrick thinks. Cleverly, trying to change the mood: Patrick Hmmm….Edvard Munch-style. Kaitlynne What?? Patrick Edvard Munch. The Norwegian painter. Painted The Scream? You know, this one:
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Patrick poses like the famous painting “The Scream.” He takes a black garbage bag off his cleaning cart and puts it around his head, then puts his hands on his face and drags down his eyes, opening his mouth into a horrified expression. Kaitlynne laughs. Kaitlynne Ah. Patrick Breaks his pose. Edvard Munch was a famous recluse. Just like you said: violently imprisoned in his own thoughts. Patrick begins to pace, telling the life story of Edvard Munch. Patrick Spent the last two decades of his life completely alone. Died alone, in fact. I mean, it was his fault. You see, he fell in love with this woman named Tulla Larsen. She wanted to marry him, but he told her he felt like had no right to get married, and she didn’t like that, so she shot him in the hand when he told her he wouldn’t marry her. Engrossed in the story: Kaitlynne Wow! Patrick And she left him and married a younger colleague of his. Classic. Kaitlynne Damn.
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Patrick Yup. And he lived out the final years of his life in loneliness and solitude. Kaitlynne That’s so sad. Patrick That’s life. Poor Edvard. Love just wasn’t in the cards. Tulla was…well she was… Beat. The one that got away. Repeating despondently. Kaitlynne The one that got away. Introspective beat. Both are standing up fiddling with their cleaning supplies. After a long beat, Patrick ends the silence with a sigh. Patrick Most painters end up alone, anyway. It’s just…how we are. Kaitlynne Turning to him, sarcastically: Most ballet dancers end up fat. Patrick turns to her, smiling Patrick What?
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Kaitlynne It’s true! You spend your whole childhood being told you can’t eat a twinkie and suddenly they tell you you’re too old to dance anyway so you go out the store and buy a damn box of twinkies and you eat them all. And it’s a slippery slope from there! Patrick Wait, wait, wait….Are you trying to tell me that you’ve NEVER had a Twinkie?! Kaitlynne No… Patrick roots through his cart and pulls out his lunch bag. He pulls out a Twinkie from inside. Turns to Kaitlynne, and points to the bench. Kaitlynne laughs. Patrick Sit. Kaitlynne goes along with it, but not without confusion. Kaitlynne Okay… Patrick straightens up, fixes his jumpsuit. Beat. He gets down on one knee like he is about to propose marriage. Patrick Miss Kaitlynne Jean Bradford. Will you…share this Twinkie with me? Kaitlynne Kaitlynne laughs. Yes.
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Patrick laughs and stands up, goes over the bench and sits down, opens the twinkie and breaks it in half. Patrick turns to Kaitlynne and gives her a piece. Patrick Here you are. Kaitlynne takes the twinkie like it’s an alien object. Kaitlynne What’s actually in a twinkie, anyway? Patrick That. That is one of life’s greatest mysteries. Kaitlynne takes a bite of the twinkie as Patrick does as well. Kaitlynne talks with her mouth full: Kaitlynne I’m getting a lot of cholesterol vibes. Patrick laughs with his mouth full too. Patrick Just think! Tonight you’re here… He swallows, then he gets up and to throw the wrapper away. …Eating a squished twinkie that I bought at a shady convenience store from a man who looked remarkably like Jimmy Buffet, and tomorrow, you’ll be on a plane, off to Europe! You’ve escaped the literal and existential darkness of the night shift! You did it! Kaitlynne I guess.
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Patrick You guess? What’s there to guess about? It’s going to be great. Kaitlynne I dunno. It’s all starting to feel kind of. Heavy. Patrick Oh that’s just the twinkie. They feel kind of heavy in your stomach. It’s all the cholesterol. It’ll pass. Kaitlynne laughs at Patrick’s joke. He smiles at his joke, too. Kaitlynne Thank goodness! Beat. Patrick gets up and goes over to his cart. Kaitlynne stays on the bench. Kaitlynne It’s just. It’s 2 years of my life. It’s a long time to go away. To not see people. I mean, I’ll be old by the time I’m done. 25! Patrick Oh, heaven help you. 25! Ancient! Kaitlynne That’s not what I meant! Patrick It’s okay, I know I’m old. Kaitlynne You’re not old!
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Patrick 30 is old. Kaitlynne 30 is not old! Patrick You just said 25 is old! Kaitlynne Exasperated You’re impossible! No one would know you’re 30!! You…you have a young face! Patrick raises his eyebrows, digging in Patrick Wow! A young face! Nice. Very affirming. To himself Maybe I should star in a Neutrogena commercial! Kaitlynne Patrick, that’s not what I meant, I… Interrupts her, puts his hand up in her direction Patrick It’s okay, I know I’m old. You don’t have to feel bad for me. I’m going to die, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Kaitlynne Fed up: That’s not funny.
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Patrick Raising his voice higher, in defensiveness: I never said it was funny! Kaitlynne Stop this. I don’t want to argue. Patrick It’s the truth! I’m dying. Patrick recites a poem. Patrick “I grow old … I grow old …I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.”
Kaitlynne Kaitlynne has lost patience. Speaks in a low, intense voice. This is morbid, and I don’t like it. You’re going to be fine. Patrick doesn’t buy it, diverges into bitter territory Patrick Easy for you to say. You’re young, beautiful, talented, likable. Off to chase your dream, and I’ll be here. Getting older. Dying! All the while trying fruitlessly to prove that I’m not a failure. That I’m a grown-ass man. Trying to maintain composure Kaitlynne You’re not a failure, Patrick. And you’re not dying. Patrick Patrick begins to rant.
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I don’t have a real job. I don’t have a car. I don’t have a girlfriend. I haven’t succeeded at the one thing I’m actually suppose to be good at. And you’re leaving and I’m staying here. You have so much life ahead of you. Before I know it my body’s going to catch up with my aging soul and I’ll have nothing to show for my life, and I’ll still be working as a custodian in the art museum I’ve always hoped my paintings would be hung, but instead I’ll be cleaning toilets from 10 pm to 5 am every single day, except Christmas, New Years, and Arbor Day for some weird reason. And if somehow I do make it, my dream won’t matter, because I’ll be like Edvard Munch. Alone and forgotten. Kaitlynne is indignant, bordering on furious Kaitlynne Goodness gracious, Patrick, you’re NOT Beat. Calming herself. You’re not going to be forgotten. And you’re not going to turn out like Edvard Munch!…You’re just NOT, okay?! Despondent. Patrick Not everyone can have the happy ending, Kaitlynne. Kaitlynne Firing back at him: Well it doesn’t hurt to try to chase after it, Patrick! Kaitlynne and Patrick stand there, the weight of the conversation is heavy. The silence and tension is palpable. After a while, Patrick and breaks the silence with a tender apology. Patrick I’m sorry. Beat. Silence from Kaitlynne.
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Patrick I didn’t mean it. Kaitlynne I know. Patrick This isn’t how I wanted your last shift to be. Kaitlynne interrupts Kaitlynne I know, I know. It’s okay. Patrick and Kaitlynne aren’t looking at each other, talking straight ahead. Kaitlynne sighs, recites the lines tenderly. Kaitlynne “The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.” Beat. Patrick I suspect that I’m going to be bald. Kaitlynne breaks a smile at this joke, continues. Kaitlynne All I’m trying to say is… Beat. I think that the best is yet to come. Patrick makes more jokes.
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Patrick I dunno, I mean, I’ve seen how my dad has aged and let me tell you it’s not a pretty picture. Kaitlynne laughs at this joke. Patrick I’m just biding my time until I complete my metamorphosis into the creepy, old janitor I am destined to be. Patrick reaches to his cleaning cart and grabs a mop, he puts it out in front of him and launches in the character of a hunched-over old man. He gets this voice, like he’s narrating a scary movie. He gets closer and closer to Kaitlynne as he’s talking. Patrick He wandered the halls of empty art galleries from dusk to dawn, with only his mop, an iPod full of Yo-Yo Ma recordings, and the memories of his youth to keep him company. Kaitlynne laughs, playfully hits him on the arm. Kaitlynne Stop it, you’re creeping me out! Patrick How else am I supposed to become a creepy, old janitor when I grow up if I don’t practice? Kaitlynne tries to grab Patrick’s mop. Their hands are touching. Kaitlynne I am going to hit you with this stupid mop. Kaitlynne and Patrick laugh. Eventually move their hands off the mop. Patrick sits down on the bench with Kaitlynne. They sit close.
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Beat. Kaitlynne I think that getting older will be a good thing for us. Kaitlynne smiles to herself. Patrick looks over and notices. Patrick Yeah? Kaitlynne I think we are the kind of people that were born to be GREAT old people. Patrick My mother did always tell me I had an old soul. Kaitlynne Me too! Patrick Really? Kaitlynne Yeah, I think it was because of my prolific collection of vests. Patrick Vests? Kaitlynne Yes. I. Well. You know how grandmas collect different embroidered sweater vests for every holiday? Yeah. That was me. In 7th grade. I still have a whole box of them. Patrick laughs at her. Tells his side of the story.
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Patrick Well. You know those really tasty butterscotch candies that people carry in their pockets? Patrick smiles, knowingly. Kaitlynne Waiting for an explanation from him… I think you meant to say, “those really gross butterscotch candies that old people carry in their pockets…” Patrick reaches in to his pocket and pulls out a handful of the candies, shows Kaitlynne. Patrick Old soul. Through and through. Patrick smiles and Kaitlynne laughs. Kaitlynne Old souls. Through in through. They both smile. Patrick I think. Patrick gets up off the bench and turns towards Kaitlynne. He looks at her, making observations, he smiles at Kaitlynne, she smiles back, wondering what he’ll say. When you’re old. I…I imagine you with beautiful long, gray hair. Kaitlynne laughs at that, she looks at him and makes her own statement. Kaitlynne I imagine you as bald.
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Patrick laughs at that, Kaitlynne smiles. Patrick walks around the space as he’s says this next part: Patrick You’ll teach dance lessons out of some small studio in the Bronx. Kaitlynne You’ll have your own collection in the MET, and you’ll teach all the neighborhood kids how to draw beautiful pictures with sidewalk chalk. Patrick All the kids will ask you how you became a ballerina, and you’ll tell them about the days when you were 23 and left New York City to dance across the world. Dancer by day, cleaning lady by night. Kaitlynne gets up off the bench, walks around, too. Kaitlynne All the kids will ask you how you became an artist, tell them about the days you worked the night shift museum, getting only 3 hours of sleep, and the rest spent painting away in your studio. Painter by day, night.
and you’ll at the art of time you custodian by
Patrick turns towards Kaitlynne, she turns towards him. Patrick I’ll tell them I was a custodian? Kaitlynne Well I’ll tell them I was a cleaning lady! Beat. Patrick and Kaitlynne now are looking straight ahead, not at each other. Are they saying their lines aloud, or is it in their heads?
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Patrick I’ll tell them how sad I was when the ballerina left. Kaitlynne I’ll tell them how sad I was to leave the painter. Patrick I’ll tell them she was the one that got away. Kaitlynne I’ll tell them he was the one that got away. Patrick I’ll tell them I never forgot about her. Kaitlynne I’ll them them I never forgot about him. Beat. They aren’t facing each other. The two stand there, not making eye contact for a long beat. Then, suddenly a clock strikes the hour: 5 AM—the end of the night shift. Both listen to it and wait. After it ends, it’s like both of the characters feet are glued to the floor. Patrick breaks the silence, breathing in and exhaling his line: Patrick 5 AM. Kaitlynne nods her head. Twiddles her thumbs. Kaitlynne 5 AM. Patrick turns to Kaitlynne, Kaitlynne turns to Patrick. Their eyes lock.
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Patrick breaths in. Opens his mouth to say something. He doesn’t say it. Blackout. END