Existere Monologues
The following are monologues written by a few past Existere cast members. Existere was originally a show comprised predominantly of monologues, but evolved over the years to its current scene form. As an exercise during the winter term rehearsals, cast members wrote monologues to be used in preview shows, as inspiration for scenes, or simply to practice writing in a dramatic form. None of the monologues you will see below were in an official Existere production; they are merely a selection of the work submitted by the cast in the winter term, most likely used in some small way throughout the rehearsal and scene-writing process.
KASEY BALL (EXISTERE XIV)
I knew I was grown up when the waitress at the Rainforest Cafe failed to give me crayons. It just kind of came out of nowhere…no voice saying “ITS TIME”…just whammy…done…you’re finished…grown up…no crayons. I don’t know how she knew not to give them to me. I mean my arms still contained permanent marker stains from my initiation into the pen15 club. It was one of those hopeless attempts to belong – at least that’s what I tell myself… Anyways, I wasn’t going to argue with her. You can’t argue with biological processes. And I should know. I’ve tried. It was to my understanding that if I immersed myself in Dr. Seuss, heart shaped sandwiches, Claire’s jewelry and poorly knitted purple scarves then I would let the whole growing up thing just sort of pass me by. However, I began to feel that this idea failed miserably when I replaced Dr. Seuss with Jim Morrison. I confirmed that it failed when I went to Winners and the lady asked if I wanted to try the scarf in a burnt sienna. What the hell is burnt sienna? Is it even a legal color? But the waitress didn’t know of these occurrences…. or the trauma she caused me by pointing it out that I wasn’t a kid anymore. She even asked if I wanted tea or coffee with my dessert. Coffee? COFFEE? The only people who drank coffee to my understanding were the sleep deprived. Everyone on campus seems to be sleep deprived. They all need to wake up and see how dizzy they can get on a tire swing instead. There are no tire swings on campus and it’s a real shame. Tire swings are like a dream catcher. You can’t possibly sit on a tire swing and have a negative thought. Upon recovering from the nausea that tire swings often impose, I would watch the people going by…but even before the whole crayon incident I began to especially notice the boys and how lovely they were… How nice they looked in clothes and how sweet their smiles were when they ran their fingers through their hair… And then I wondered if maybe they looked at me the same way. That thought was short lived when I remembered that just the other day I was called a weenus for wearing a bracelet made from paperclips. It’s not entirely fair. How am I supposed to know what constitutes as universal weenus-like behavior? But still, who in the name of anything was going to want to have sex with a weenus labelled paperclip freak? I decided I would never try to impose that on anyone. Sex isn’t really something you can fake knowing stuff about. People pick up on it pretty fast so I save them the trouble of embarrassing me by wearing Toucan Sam paraphernalia, which, if you read between the lines, is code for sex noob. Can you believe Hallmark doesn’t have a condolence card for such a tragedy? Despite popular belief, I have learned a lot since I lost my right to crayons- like when cool people are talking about how they watched Jerry Springer after school you don’t include yourself in the conversation by saying that you preferred to watch Clifford while eating fruit by the foot instead. Why, with this kind of knowledge I am basically standing on the doorstep of adulthood…yet I can’t bring myself to knock…
So now I find myself at Queens – a place that is a lot bigger than I anything I could represent alone- and I smack into this guy taking too long at the coke machine… and he looks so sophisticated… but as soon as he turns around I recognize him. This was the same guy that held up the dessert line in the caf so he could put sprinkles on his ice cream. There really is a bit of kid still left in all of us. And creepily I stared at coke machine sprinkle guy, cherishing this moment of realization until he noticed, got scared and left abruptly. He might have run away but we share something… simply in that we are young and we are choosing to grow up at Queens. While I was writing a letter, suggesting that a tire swing be placed on every 18th tree on campus, I used a bigass word to state my case that I didn’t even know I knew while writing with a Disney princess pencil. Talk about a paradox… It was then that I had an epiphany. No, you can’t stop yourself from growing up…it is going to happen without your consent but you don’t have to give up Disney pencils, purple scarves, tire swings…. or even crayons. Those are mini joys that we are allowed to carry with us…always..
My mini joy is Jack Astors now because they give you crayons whether you are 5 or 105. Drawing on the table is not only allowed, it is encouraged. I fit right in.
KATRINA KEILHAUER (EXISTERE XIII)
Other than the apocalyptically loud drumming of my heartbeat in my ears, all I can hear is the laughter of my new floormates echoing down the hallway. It’s only been three days since our parents left, and somehow they are already all best friends for life. I want to go out and join them, but every time I go for the door, I jump away from the doorknob like its electric. I feel paralyzed. I can’t leave my room.
Don’t get me wrong, I have gone out – for all that get-to-know-you stuff with my floor and frosh week stuff. But the whole thing is sooo uncomfortable! My new floormates are like “Oh – my – GOSH! I loooove icebreakers!”And I’m like, “Me too!” But I don’t. I hate them. No one ever stops to consider that some people may not have an interesting facts about themselves. They all say stuff like “I was born on a plane flying over Brazil,” or “My dad invented toaster stroodle.” I don’t even know what stroodle IS!!! So when it comes to my turn, I’m so awkward. I’m like “Hi… my name is Kat… I’m from Markham… and I don’t have any interesting facts about myself.” Of course, they never believe this. They say “Oh come on! You can think of something,” or “I’m sure there is something interesting about you.” So I say, “My favourite colour is green?”
It’s the same in my frosh group. They’re all so totally excited to roll around in peat moss and shaving cream all day! But clearly, it’s not my thing. I find it terrifying! I wanna puke! Not to mention that those overalls don’t do anything for my figure. They asked me what I was doing tonight. They’re going out partying – they all think alcohol is nature’s social lubricant or something. I didn’t want to seem like a loser, so I said I was going out with my floor. And when my floor mates asked me what I was doing tonight, I told them I was going out with my frosh group. I didn’t know what else to say!! So now, here I am. Alone in my room. Oh. My. Gosh. I hope I’m not the only one who is this awkward.
LAURA LAYLAND (EXISTERE XV)
Oh April has come again! I do hate April and the four long, lonely months that follow! I do not feel that another individual could feel as alone and un-used as I do come the end of April every year. It takes me an awful long time to build a relationship with them, really it does, and then they just leave. They pack up their things, perhaps look back longingly and then they go, never to be seen again.
When I first meet them in August, it is always one at a time you see, they usually look at me with a look of disgust. I often hear things like, “It’s so small,” or “Ew, it is so stained,” and I can only imagine they are speaking about me because usually I am the only thing in the room. Then they come and sit on me, and usually proclaim, “It’s so hard!” (Which is not as complimenting as it sounds when you are a man like me, who prides himself on his softness and his ability to fit your every curve). So I have a couple springs loose? Who doesn’t? If only they knew the stories!
I’ve been here for 23 years and I have met 23 young, intelligent, often crazy individuals. I have supported males and females, and even one who wasn’t sure. I’ve partied with the best of them. I’ve been jumped on and cried on. I’ve been fucked over, and fucked on. I’ve been covered in rum; I’ve been covered in Tequila, usually not long after I am covered in vomit too.
I’ve watched relationships grow and relationships end. I’ve watched the best of friends become even better friends. I’ve watched people lie and I’ve watched people get high.
I was a comfort to Dean through his many all night study sessions, and I was a comfort to Melissa through her all night pleasure sessions.
So what if I am not latex or Tempur-pedic? I am a residence mattress, and believe me, I have seen it all. And I may be a little bit stained and a little too hard and a little too small, but I am going to be there for them, and I am going to comfort them very night from August when then move in, until that sad, lonely day in April.
CHARLOTTE MIGLIN (EXISTERE XIV)
So here I am sitting back in res while classes are going on. I’ve been left behind again, just like I was for yesterday’s art history class and I know I will be for tomorrow’s psychology class even though I provide lecture notes ready to go and quick abilities to record a professor’s every words … I’m left behind. I mean I know I would get used more often should I be in the hands of an able engineer, a clever commie, or a studious kinesiology student but no, here I am sitting on Charlotte Miglin, ArtSci class of 2011’s desk back in Vic Hall … fun times.
Maybe it’s just that Queens’s ArtSci students have a smaller workload than other faculties, I can hope right? But in reality I know that Charlotte just chooses to use and abuse me for things other than schoolwork. I really believe that she only owns me for three main reasons: First being Facebook, but that’s a must for any first year female who wants to know just how much that sexy guy who always sits in front of her in her history tutorial drinks on a Friday night … or what he looks like in a bathing suit on his trip to Cancun. Second, I’m always downloading movies and television shows from DC++ for her left, right and center, but again … this application is a must if you are a Queens student living in residence. As for the third thing which Charlotte uses me for is FreeCell. Doesn’t every first year play FreeCell as much as she does? You know, because it requires mad skills … and focused attention … and its what everyone does during class time because they don’t want to pay attention … oh who am I kidding? That girl just freaking loves FreeCell and doesn’t just play it during her lectures, I’ve been left behind remember? She plays it all of the time … she has an eleven game win streak.
Well anyway, so we’ve established that my owner, Charlotte, uses me for three things … one of which apparently no one else seems to play except her. But I’m sure that many other university students leave their laptops running all of the time too, whether it’s because I’m downloading music or movies, I am constantly on, kind of a waste of energy. In fact, I cannot even remember the last time I was officially “shut down” and not just “hibernating”. Regardless, I’m always plugged in so I’m fully charged and ready to go on the tricolour bus ride home with her on Thursdays at 4:30. Thanks to my skilled DC++ing abilities I’m able to provide Charlotte and friends with unlimited movies and Dexter episodes on their long ride home to Toronto; however, that girl has still not gotten me a nice cover and proceeds to somewhat half-ass wrap me in a t-shirt before stuffing me in her bag even though I see so many other laptops with it. Perhaps its because she takes less pride in me because I’m not a white macbook which everyone at Queens seems to have … EVERYONE, or perhaps it’s because she’s a student and well let’s face it … students are cheap, even when they have money flowing into their accounts from parents back home … they tend to think that a $15 laptop cover is too expensive but $5 cover at Smijie’s and another $30 worth of shots on top of that is acceptable to spend every Wednesday through Saturday.
Nevertheless I am always here for her, ready to go (partly because she never turns me off) and I have everything to offer should she just click the START button on the main menu. I am easy going and won’t take offence when she leaves me at home while she goes to the library to study because she knows that if she takes me with her … she’ll get distracted. I won’t complain either about the fact that I’m constantly working to download ridiculously stupid movies from the 90s while she is peacefully sleeping in her single bed. And I will always provide her with Microsoft Word applications should she choose to use her time here, which her parents paid large sums of money for, wisely. As for now, I will remain cooped up in this single room waiting for her to return from Economics so she can waste some more of her time finishing Dexter season two.
In fact, here she comes now … looking rather stressed actually, that look is new to me. I wonder if she’ll decide to watch some Planet Earth instead to calm her down. No, no instead it’s straight to the Queens homepage and onto her webmail account. I believe she’s checking her politics essay criteria due date being Wednesday March 5th … oh that was this past Wednesday. Wait a tic … I don’t recall her ever doing any research for this essay topic on me beforehand … actually, I don’t recall her ever even typing up a politics essay on Microsoft Word since November. Oh no, I can put two and two together. You know why is it that university students always manage to leave all of their work to the last minute … oh Charlotte, I can tell that I am going to be turned on all night long.
JULIA QUIGLEY (EXISTERE XV)
We arrive at this MuchDanceVideoAwesomenessFiesta and it’s a literal sauna. Everyone looked shitty. But everyone was drunk enough so it didn’t matter at all. From across the circle, a pair begins eyeing each other. It then turns sultrier. Eye sexing we call it. The more intoxicated of the two initiates the proposal of dancing together. The slightly less drunk party aggress as they have the “What the hell” mindset. The duo continues to dance as the night proceeds. Everyone has coupled up. Once coupled, forever coupled. For the night of course. In other words…no switching, or the slightly more inebriated member has a burst of uncontrollable rage.
Dancing turns more and more sexual as the alcohol begins to see through the circulatory system. Dancing also becomes more and more sloppy. It turns into more of a grope-fest than anything else. Then it begins to get ugly as the pair has created and knocked a couple of people out the way. The groping subsides and more regulated dancing continues. Then, in about 69% of cases, the groping morphs into a make-out session. Both parties believe that it’s so heated…usually one more so than the other, but they just play along. It’s that “What the hell” mindset again. When in reality, it is the least attractive, and most sloppy, all-over-the-place saliva exchange known to man. Not until the other party’s tongue is thoroughly massaging your tonsils do you realize what’s going on. Not until you do a double take do you realize this person looks awfully familiar.
When two people who live on the same floor commit any form of sexual relation at any time during their inhabitance, they are said to have committed the dirty, unacceptable act of FLOORCEST.
THOMAS TEVLIN (EXISTERE XIV)
I remember my first day in the Leonard Cafeteria. But that’s not what I want to talk about. No, the time I wish to discuss happened about a week after my first day at the Leonard Cafeteria. More like a week-and-a-half really. Could have been a week-and-three-quarters… anyways, for all extensive purposes, it was at a time very early on in the year in which I, presently myself, existed within the Leonard Cafeteria. However, this was no ordinary day, for what made this moment so important to my development as a student and a man, is that it was the first time I was in the Cafeteria alone. Oh yes, Frosh Week had led me to believe that my residence floor was going to be my social safety bubble, and for the first few days, I thought that bubble would never burst. We would live together, dine together and wash behind each other’s ears in both the metaphorical and literal sense….but most importantly we would dine together.
However it was not to be. For the laws of timetabling dictated that it would not be prudent for everyone on the floor to have the same schedule, and therefore that day, when my hungry stomach wolves came a-growlin’, all of my friends were in class. So there I was, standing alone in the cafeteria doorway wondering why my chipper floor-mates had deserted me, when the tattooed cafeteria worker held out her nicotine-stained hand and beckoned for my card. Not wanting to cause trouble, I gave it to her without even thinking. Then before I could protest, she swiped it through the meal-plan computer, and sealed my fate. No going back now.
I moved towards the first tray stand and noticed a rather attractive female grinning at me and reaching down for the trays. “Hey”, I thought to myself, “maybe I won’t be dining alone after all.” Then I realized that she had grabbed the last seven trays for her harem of men standing behind me. Shit. Oh well, real men don’t use trays anyways. I grabbed a ridiculously undersized glass of milk, approached the Classics food section and peered down at my options. Deciding to go with a food that expressed my feelings at the time I picked up the chicken. I noticed that the mashed potato level on my plate was relatively small but seeing as I didn’t have my usual 25-person dinner escort with me, I refrained from asking for more. The reason: I had recently heard from this guy who I met in the laundry room that all our cafeteria workers were ex-cons and fearing that a Prison Break-esque confrontation would result if I even one of them funny, I decided to make do with my pitiful, pitiful serving of mashed potatoes. Then came the seating, a task so easy when you have your armada of Frosh Week friends with you, but so difficult when you’re all by yourself. I didn’t want to be that guy who sits with a group of people he doesn’t know and makes them all lower their voices so he doesn’t find out how drunk they got the night before. So I resigned myself to sitting in a booth.
My God, I’m sitting by myself. I’m an outcast, a loner! I desperately began stuffing as much possible food down my throat as would go, trying as hard as possible to finish and escape from that place of evil when…. “Hey”. A tap on my shoulder. “You’re Tom right? I think I know you from Psyc.” “Ummmmmm…” “Remember, we had that conversation about how I just got this new eggshaker?” “Oh yeahhhhh! Mike, right?” “Yeah. Hey do you want to sit with us, I’m with a few of my friends and there’s an extra seat.”
And from that moment on I knew. University wasn’t about staying in the bubble. And it wasn’t about bursting the bubble either. It was about making the bubble bigger, until all of campus was inside it. Why stop there? Kingston, the world, it can all be inside your bubble! But I needed to make the effort. I needed to help blow the bubble. “Sure man, I’d love to sit with you.” University. It may pile some heavy stuff onto your cafeteria tray, but it’s alright, because there are always people there to help you carry it.