Paige Cook

“The Pragmatic Mechanic”

[March 12, 2019]

Characters:

Hikikimori – data mechanic

Helen – scientist

Joe – scientist

Scene I:

Lights are dim and tinted a bit green, periodically flickering to mimic the lowlighting of an industrial basement.

Three characters act on stage and the rest are scattered around the audience as audience members, reading their lines from their seats under a spotlight and dialoguing with the onstage characters from their seat.

At center stage is a tiny chrome desk is covered with clutter and stacked high with papers and books. To stage right there is a shoot, like for laundry or mail, and things keep flying out of it shooting into the space randomly. Continuously, the objects flying out of the shoot are less and less just paper and letters, but food, trash, nails, and all kinds of objects begin to come out of the shoot and rapidly. The trash begins to pile up. At the desk sits a crouched over, disheveled man muttering to himself as he attempts to sort the inflow. He tries to catch the letters as they come in but as other objects start pouring in, he grows agitated, unable to grab things that are actually useful/meaningful through all of the trash. A chicken carcass flies out of the shoot. His eyes are wide and his hands are back and in the air, unafraid to touch the chicken bone frame. There is a tag around the chicken’s neck. He grabs it reluctantly and reads it out loud:

Hikikimori: “Better food - Little Rock Arkansas.”

He sighs and throws it to the ground when out of the shoot flies a box that hits him in the chest. He staggers a bit and approaches the box with box cutters he hast to sift through his desk to find. He opens the box and pulls out a glass jar with a wad of rolled up cash inside. A letter is tucked in, and he scans it briefly then crumbles it up and puts it in his pocket. He paces as more letters pour in and he has to dodge them as he paces. He picks up the jar and approaches the audience and sets it on the floor facing them in front of him. Things keep flying out of the shoot behind him. He keeps pacing back and forth, growing more and over overwhelmed. He approaches the front stage and looks at the audience for a moment, then backs away, unsure, muttering incomprehensibly and pacing fidgety. A pile is accumulating over his desk and he finally approaches the center front stage and addresses the audience. A red light is on only him and a high pitched beeping noise alarm plays in the background once he decides to stay front and center stage. He shields his eyes from the light and winces, rubs his eyes, picks up the letter in the briefcase full of money, clears is throat, and reads it:

Hikikimori: Hello. I am writing on behalf of Trans-North-Atlantic Region Greenyard Corporation (TNARGC). Our team has put together a request for DB. We have sent a small thank you gift and we hope that you will consider our requests wisely.

Hikikimori: (To the audience) Well, do I take it? Do you want it?

He starts throwing wads into the audience, and as they cheer his shoulders straighten out and he runs excitedly throwing the wads to boost the audience excitement. He forgets about the pile accumulating and the beeping alarm. He runs across stage with cash and trips on the peel he threw aside earlier, then stops and stares at the peel.

Hikikimori: But…but how can… I forgot and food, well we need food, we all need food but… hahahahha it’s not like they’re starving in Arkansas, quite the opposite. Maybe that’s what it means…and I can’t have both but I…I…

He runs toward the briefcase of cash then back to the pile under the shoot and gets hit with letters and boxes but he keeps trying to sort, grunting under his breath, growing out of breath. He takes less and less time with each object from the shoot, trying to keep up with the inflow.

Lights above audience flick on so Hikikimori can see the audience. He freezes momentarily then falls unconscious on the pile of trash. Things continue to fall and cover his body.

 Red lights flick off, the beeping sound stops, a bright white flicks on.

A red laser pointer shines through the shoot and you can hear a dialogue between two people but you can’t see them.

Helen: …are you listening, Joe? This is important to me and we’re supposed to be friends.

Joe: Are you going to join me in this investigation anytime soon? Do you see all this clutter? And moldy trash—savages, I tell you! Pigs! Real swine people walking on two legs and texting on phones! This is disgusting.

In walk two white lab coat clad mechanics, Helen and Joe.

Helen: I’m looking and telling at the same time. So what do you think?

Joe: I think this is disgusting and we need to find…what’s his name?

Helen: No, about my story! Sometimes you’re just so selfish Josephine, I swear, you get so caught up and distracted. Can’t you just tell me what you think?

Joe: About what?

Helen: My story!

Joe: What did you say? Sorry I wasn’t listening.

Helen: To what?

Joe: Your story!

Helen: I can’t remember. What’s the name, oh joey Joe, investigation pro?

Joe: Maybe that’d be true if I could remember the name…

Helen: (singing)--Josie Joe! Something strange.

Joe: Foreign, even.

Helen shines a laser pointer up the shoot to the right as Joe kicks at the pile of clutter and trash center stage.

Helen: A definite clog situation here--

Joe: --An overload.

Helen: Likely couldn’t receive any incoming data due to… due to what?

Joe: Lets start sorting.

Helen: Sorting what?

Joe: Are your eyes not open?

Helen: What goes on here?

Joe: Can you see?

Helen: A database? In this mess?

Joe: I think that’s why it’s broken. I think that’s why people are fighting upstairs. I think that’s why we’re here.

Helen: We’re here to find the technician, but this place is empty.

Joe: Nothing but a huge pile of wasted facts and futile knowledge. (He kicks the pile)

Helen: I guess we should start sorting… Joe?

Joe: Yeah?

Helen: Have you seen, in old movies, how people used to jump into piles? What was it again?

Joe: Piles of water.

Helen: There were seasons.

Joe: Piles of clothing.

Helen: You should see my bedroom chair.

Joe: Now the temperature never changes but we wouldn’t know since we don’t go outside.

Helen: The sun never sets anymore either. Haha, piles of water.

Joe: Summer… Fall!

Helen: Remember!

They race towards the pile in the center. Helen dive’s into it, but Joe stops right at the edge because he sees a face. Helen jumps onto Hikikimori.

Hikikimori: AA..aaaaa.aaaaaa….OWWWWW!

Joe: Leaves...

Helen: Joe, is this your knee?

Joe walks around the pile until Helen can see her. She’s pointing to her face, briefly sporting a sarcastic smile which she gestures he neck forward as if to say duh.

Hikikimori: It’s my knee.

Helen: (scrambling to get up) Sorry I jumped…was feeling nostalgic for someone else’s past…was just feeling—

Joe: —Feeling a stranger’s knee. How’s it feeling now?

Helen and Hikikimori: Fine.

Joe: Fine! Who are you then...sir?

Hikikimori: Yes, a sir, though a sir more used to be, less sir now I’d say. 

Helen: We’ve come to retrieve you and fix the machine. People are getting quite restless upstairs. Who knows what will happen if they can’t log their data, test it against everything else, run it through the program. They’ll go mad trying on their opinions without your service, what did you say your name was?

Joe: (whispering to Helen) I heard he’s an odd one.

Hikikimori continues sprinting around aimlessly, futility trying to sort the letters without reading them, throwing them in all directions including into the audience. Both Helen and Joe chase him until they grab his arms together and hold him until he goes faint in their arms. They lay him down on a rolling stretcher.

Joe: Your name sir, what’s your name?

Hikikimori: (breathily with his eye closed on the stretcher) I used to go but now I stay. His name’s hih…hih… (louder) I never leave my work all day hiki….hikik… kiiiiiih … (his eyes shoot open) what happened to day? Now its always light outside and no ones worries that we never sleep drinking coffee pumping speed into out arms like more more more more morphine you need you need me to log facts requests opinions experiences I pump it through an equation to estimate truth, relay it back to you to be used I take everything in and reject nothing usually smoothly but my load has been growing not smoothly but rapidly and more people are unsatisfied with my estimation because they don’t read the fine print and im back back back back back backlogged because accepting too many jobs forms glitches glitches glitches ggggggggg…..

Helen: Weird, he lost his rhyme. I was starting to enjoy his despairing for its artistic quality. I do love rhymes, don’t you, dear Josephine? (She sings the rhymes then hums to herself after)

Joe: (shaking Hikikimori’s shoulders) Sir…hello sir? Your name would be helpful. Are you the mechanic down here?

Hikikimori: What time is it? Is there time? The letters, the influx, it stopped, it hasn’t stopped has it? I can tell because I can’t hear the buzz anymore… low-pitched…I just noticed… (he takes a deep breath and releases) breathing…

Helen: Well what did you think you were?

Joe: We do refer to Data Base as “it”—  

Helen: —DB has always been a single man? Living down here?

Joe: He’s breathing!

Helen: He’s breathing!

Hikikimori keeps taking deep breaths while looking at Helen and Joe. All three look back and forth between each other for a minute.

Hikikimori: Could have sworn I was a machine.                               

End Scene.

Scene II (Summary):

Helen Joe and Hikikimori read some letters, get to know each other. Helen and Joe pick up and open or read some of the garbage sent to Hikikimori. The writer of each letter sits in the audience and rises to recite their own opinion once Helen or Joe find and open whatever its written on. The three of them discuss each letter. People start breaking into the facility and a line accumulates all around the aisles in the audience. The people lined up all have problems and need to find the truth/ settle on a belief. Without a belief their actions can’t be informed and they all end up just standing there. But Hikikimori’s database isn’t fast enough or expansive enough to sort through everyone’s opinions/problems—they’re all too particular and individual and there’s not enough time.

The details of human lives are too intricately human for a machine/algorithm to sort out and even for an external person to consult on. The population has grown so big, so dimensionally individual and particularity embedded that using the pragmatic method for every decision is impossible. Tracing the consequences of decisions at the level of the society requires time and resources that the government just doesn’t have in the face of immediate emergencies. On top of that, most people are not patient enough to consider the implications of all their beliefs and actions before acting, likely due to the culture of instant gratification compounded on the lack of emotional intelligence/awareness.

Hikikimori gets overworked and broken down because the society he services grows far to big and complicated for him to sort through all of the beliefs and consequences of the populace alone. He was able to pragmatically advise at the level of the individual and their beliefs, but at the level of the society and government, the pragmatic method must expand to such a great size that is impossible for one man to work through in one lifetime. The scientific method as experimentation is too dangerous and time consuming to work on a whole government or society. Tracing the consequences grows muddled and more complex as the number of people it impacts goes up. The only way to apply the pragmatic method to such a large populace is if a larger amount of the society work together communally. But because people have such varied values and fixed values based on habits of comfort, they will not want to work towards a compromised solution and they likely won’t see a reason to try to fix a system that in their eyes isn’t broken or one that benefits them at the expense of other.

Hikikimori doesn’t lose faith in the pragmatic method. He knows it can work in virtue of being a living method that anyone can practice with the will and determination to. It’s the opposite of the stagnant, fixed beliefs he’d grown so used to sorting through for the public. At the height of the arguing between Helen, Joe, and all of the audience member characters, a weak and feeble Hikikimori tries to address the room, but can’t get anyone attention through the chaos.

Hikikimori: My name…

Helen: (in the background) I can’t believe in freedom anymore because it culminated in a free market that’s evil… I’m not sure if I said I believe in evil or not…

Hikikimori: My name is Hikikimori and … I am a recluse.

Joe: (in the background) I’m scrapping science too. How is it we discovered the Jennifer Aniston cell but we still haven’t found a cure for HIV?

Hikikimori: My name is Hikikimori and I spent my entire life avoiding social contact. Now my fear has come true.

The crowd of people in the room grows agitated, claiming they’re late to something and don’t have time to learn to do his job for themselves. Yet they contrarily keep waiting in line arguing because they’re too lazy and unwilling to take on the responsibility of their own beliefs and actions.

Hikikimori grows sick from the over-exertion and exhaustion. He dies silently and peacefully on the stretcher that Helen and Joe put him on in the beginning. Helen and Joe continue going through the letters, arguing more and more as each new one alters the last, making the consequences grow more complex and confusing as they go on.

Helen: This is impossible and your arguing is unbearable, really, it’s as foul as the stench of rot.

Joe: So is your nasally high-pitched tone you get when you cut me off. You never let me finish my sentence; it’s making me anxious.

Helen: We can never sort fast enough to counter-balance everything coming in.

Joe: We need a dozen more of me.

Helen: And me.

Joe: Not you.

Helen: Why not?

Joe: Because all of the me’s couldn’t get a thing done with all of the you’s arguing so high pitched and nasally.

Helen: Its mac and cheese night at the river club tonight.

Joe: That’s right!

Helen: Do you think it will matter if we just go, (starts talking in song) oh Joey-Josie-Joe, and try to sort this out tomorrow?

Joe: I find your whimsy repulsive right now; you’d better watch out, cabin fever can be fatal.

Helen: Or at least in the movies… so we’re going.

Joe: Remember those little paper rectangles that people used to trade for things?

Helen: Money…money, Joe, we still have money.

Joe: I wasn’t sure you could think through your own unbearable nasally screeching.

Helen: I can’t. So what about money? Are we going?

Joe: I bet if you held a hundred dollar bill up to the light you’d see the guy on it frown at you for saying that.

Helen: Look, (she points to the glass jar on the floor. It’s tipped over with unrolled crumbled up bills on the floor around it) found some. Beat you to it! (Helen lunges towards the pile. Joe flinches in the same direction as if faking it so Helen will make a fool of herself).

Joe: All for mac and cheese, for me, just a week of bloating. Though I would like to see who plays at open mic night…

Helen: What time is that?

Joe: Tonight. He’s frowning and scowling and pointing his finger in disappointment at us.

Helen: (holds up the bill in the light) No he’s not, he’s not even moving. He’s sitting still and I think this is fake.

She examines the bill. Joe approaches and looks at it too, taking a turn holding it to the light and scratching the surface.

Joe: Do you know why he’s frowning?

Helen: He’s not.

Joe: Metaphorically, Helen. You’re so simple minded sometimes.

Helen: Haha, I’ve been drinking the water.

Joe: What water?

Helen: The metaphorical water that surrounds us everywhere, the water we drink from to survive, the water we’re floating in now, the water we share with everyone else. The water, Joe.

Joe: Good one. ‘Never leave to tomorrow that which you can do today.’

Helen: And I still want to leave. You know why?

Joe: Mac and cheese.

Helen: Because we can’t do this, we can’t do it today or tomorrow or any day, we can’t do it because it’s impossible. But we can bring our funny pal with a new lease on life to a gauche open mic night.

Joe: A pal whose name escapes me.

Helen: Hahahaha--

Joe: Let’s read one more.

Helen: Fine.

Joe picks up the closest envelop from the floor while Helen sits across the room on the floor against the wall where the shoot is, building a tower out of paper scraps like they’re cards. Joe tears the letter open, drops the envelope on the floor, and holds it out in front of himself to read:

“My name is Hikikimori and I am a recluse. Hikikimori is the Japanese word for the abnormal avoidance of social contact, often paired with extreme isolation in the form of refusal to leave one’s room for over six months. Literally, it translates to ‘pulling inward,’ ‘being confined.’ My pragmatic endeavors require great attention and focus. I believe in nothing but patience and the necessity of faith, despite the real impossibility of truth given the infinity of particulars. I will devote my whole life to establishing pragmatic belief. I’ll only judge according to consequences. I seek justified action, I seek certainty, and I will not leave detainment down here until I reach my goal. The irony is cutting, but it’s all I can do.”

Both Helen and Joe look at Hikikimori, whose body is laying peacefully at the center front of the stage on a stretcher, dead. Their faces have looks of frantic worry, the look of a person remembering they forgot to feed their fish. They both gasp. Lights cut out.

End.