Short Script: Scratching

At a local Ruby Tuesdays, corner booth, pre-no smoking ban era, two men are sitting across from one another, killing time as they wait for their standard entrees. Both professionals in cubicles, they have their ties undone, enjoying their second pint for a penny. Jim, late 20's, and Paul, mid 30's, converse.

Paul: Well, that's what Anton said.
Jim: Damn.
Paul: You know, if these IT guys would just do what they're getting paid for, then maybe I could get some work done.
Jim: I hear ya.

Jim leans over and fumbles under the table. Paul continues to rant.

Paul: Well, did you hear about the situation upstairs? The old man is gonna blow if the quarterly numbers don't add up. New York is anxious about...(distracted)...what the hell are you doing?
Jim: Scratching my feet.
Paul: Disgusting.
Jim: Got bad athelete's feet. Right on the side of foot. Three itchy little islands.
Paul: Ick.
Jim: Worst thing is, scratched them so much that they're oozing.
Paul: Alright, dude, that's sick. Change the topic.
Jim: Yeah. So you were saying.
Paul: Yeah, well, the thing is...

Jim continues to scratch.

Paul: Stop already.
Jim: I'm listening.
Paul: I can't, you're distracting me. We're in a restaurant, for crying out loud.
Jim: That tinactin doesn't do anything for me.
Paul: Christ
Jim: Alright, I'm stopping

Uncomfortable silence. Jim starts drumming his fingers on the table.

Paul: hey, could you stop that?
Jim: sorry, that bother you?
Paul: Nah, feet germs, on the table?!
Jim: Oh
Paul: you're disgusting, i'm out of here.
Jim: don't want your food? Its coming out in a second.
Paul: Nah
Jim: Oh, by the way.
Paul: Yeah?
Jim: I fucked your wife.

End.