To Catch a Recruiter

[ Scene: A modern living room, the front door at one end and a kitchen at the other. Separating the two rooms is a long bar, upon which is a computer. Two barstools are present, one on each side of the counter. Cameras are located behind two-way mirrors and hidden behind furniture. ]

A knock at the front door. Staff scurry into their places. The young man (YM), hidden from view, speaks:

YM: Yo! C’mon in.

The door creaks open. A middle-aged man wearing an orange and blue jacket peeks his head in.

Man: Hello?!?

YM: Yeah! I’m here. Be down in a sec.

Man: Is ‘Lil_V_Young’ here?

YM: Yo. That’s me. Be down in a sec. You can sit down at the bar. Be down in a minute.

Man nervously sits down at the bar. His eyes scan the room, and he fidgets with the zipper on his jacket, then pokes at the computer mouse.

[ Chris Hansen (CH) enters the kitchen from the stairwell. ]

CH: Excuse me, who are you? What are you doing here?

Man: Uh… hm? What?

CH: I asked what you were doing here.

Man: Uh… just here to visit. Who are you?

CH: I’ll ask the questions here. What exactly are you doing here?



Man: Nothin’ man. Just, you know, just come by to visit someone.

CH: Who? What’s his name?

Man: Um. Why?

CH: Because I’d like to know why you’re here to visit this young man.

Man: He’s just a friend, you know. He invited me to come over, you know, hang out. Are you his father?

CH: No, I’m not. But I do have a couple of questions. What did you mean when you told him, “I can’t wait to see those long galloping legs with my own eyes”?

Man (sweating profusely): What?!? I didn’t say that to nobody, man.

CH: I’m gonna stop you right there; you see, I know who you are, gator4114. And I know why you’re here. My name’s Chris Hansen. And no, the young man you came to see is not here, and he’s not a teenage boy. You were chatting with one of my staffers, I’ve got all those seedy conversations right here, and you’re on television right now. There’s the camera.

Man: What? I don’t know what’s going on.

CH: Don’t. Just don’t. You’ve seen a show called ‘Dateline,’ haven’t you? Well, you’re on it, and these chat logs are disgusting. What do you have to say for yourself?

Man: …I dunno. I just thought… maybe he’d want to play for me. It was nothing.

CH: Nothing? You wrote, and I quote, “I love the way you protect those balls, el-oh-el.”

Man: …

CH: These officers will have a few questions for you. You’ll have to go with them.

Man (crying silently): I don’t know what I was doing… I’ve never done this before… I swear. I just thought… just thought…

CH: You need help.

Officers escort man out of frame as Hansen shakes head in disgust.

[ Scene continues… stage is quickly reset as another man approaches the door. ]

Knocking, YM speaks again:

YM: Yo! C’mon in!

The door opens wide, and a pudgy man (PM) with a round face confidently strides in. Little confetti-like flecks of paper coat the arms of his new blue sweatshirt. He brushes them off.

PM: Dude! Where you at? YO!

YM: Be down in a sec. Go ahead and have a seat.

PM: What? C’mon man, let’s see you.

YM: Taking a leak! Be down in a second.

PM: m’Kay! Walks around the room, looking at pictures, whisting & singing to himself.



PM (singing softly): mmm hmm hmm…. to the plaaaace…. mmHMHMM… mountain mam-

CH (Walking into frame): Excuse me.

PM: Huh? Who’re you, slick…?

CH: Who are YOU?

PM: Who’s askin? What’s going on? Is he coming down or what?

CH: Have a seat.

PM (scans around the room quickly): Don’t think so.

CH: Why not?

PM: Don’t feel like it. Who are you, anyway?

CH: Someone who wants to know what you were thinking when you tried to hit on a teenage boy in an Internet chat room.

PM: I never did anything of the sort.

CH: I’ve got the chats right here. See that? That’s you, ‘EnRod,’ and you were talking to a teenage boy, ‘Ain’tGotNoPriors.’

PM: That ain’t me, man.

CH: Oh, no? What about this: “w3rd. I’m sure that underneath that UnderArmour shirt lies abs as tight and tough as the Roaring Plains of the Monongahela.”

PM: I don’t know wha- (takes off at full gallop)

Officers close in quickly and tackle him to ground in the front yard. Paper dust flies everywhere in the scuffle.

[ Scene three, that evening. An elderly man (EM) shuffles to the door, and knocks quietly. ]

YM: Yo! C’mon in.

EM: What?

YM: Yo! C’mon in.

EM: Huh?

YM (loudly): COME IN!

EM: Er, okay.

The aged man opens the door. He shuffles into the room, looking around in apparent confusion. He takes his thick glasses off to wipe them clean.

CH (entering and startling the man): Hello!

EM: Oh, hello! Where am I supposed to go?

CH: You can have a seat right here.

EM: Thanks. Boy, this is different, eh?

CH: Who are you?

EM (laughs politely): You don’t know who I am?

CH: Oh, I know who you are.

EM: Nice. What’s your name? (offers his hand)

CH: My name’s Chris. (shakes hand, a puzzled look on his face)



EM: Pleased to meet ya. What do you do, Chris?

CH: Well, I’m a host anchor for a nightly news magazine show, Dateline NBC.

EM: Is that right? Good for you then. Wow. News reporter, that’s great. So, when are we going to get started?

CH: Uh, started with what?

EM: You know. The games. Where is everyone?

CH: Are there more coming?

EM: Usually, sure. I’ve never done this by myself, you know!

CH: Are you aware of what I’m doing here?

EM: You’re not here to play?

CH: No, I’m not. That’s disgusting. I’m here to discuss some very disturbing things with you.

EM: Oh, really? What do you mean?

CH: Well listen to this exchange, for instance:

JP_Ly’nRoar: I have to meet with you.
NotRelatedToRichard: Why?
JP_Ly’nRoar: I can’t stand thinking of you leaving home. I must have you.
NotRelatedToRichard: For what?
JP_Ly’nRoar: I need you to ‘run my spread,’ eleventy1!

What do you think?

EM: Sounds nice. I dunno. Sounds like some nice young men talking. Their names are weird though. Must be a club or something (laughs).

CH: Does that sound appropriate to you?

EM: Well, sure. Hey, when is this thing going to start?

CH: Do you even know what’s going on? How much trouble you’re in?

EM (eyes open wide behind glasses): Trouble? What have they done now?

CH: Enough! You’re JP_Ly’nRoar, aren’t you?!?

EM: What? Hm? I don’t understand what you’re saying, sonny. What do you mean trouble?

CH: Why are you here?

EM: Same reason you’re here. The bingo game. Jay told me to show up here, that there would be a late game.

CH: Bingo?!?

EM: Yeah. Play all the time. What, did I get the address wrong again?

CH: You said, “Jay” sent you here?

EM: Yeah, he watches out for his old man. Good kid.

CH: I think there’s been a mistake.

EM: Yeah? Too bad. I drank an extra Ensure; was hoping for an exciting night.

CH: Where is Jay now?

EM: I dunno. Said something about going to the playground around the corner from my house. He goes there a lot, helps him think. Asked if he could borrow my computer again.

CH: Well, thanks for your time, I guess.

EM: No problem. It’s been my pleasure. Wow, NBC, wow. Must be fun to work there.

CH (sighing deeply): Sometimes.

[ As the crew packs up, the young man is seen slipping out of the apartment and approaching a limousine. A middle-aged man wearing a vest opens the door for him, hands him a red shirt, says something quietly inspirational, and the two climb in. The sun, a blazing scarlet, is setting behind the gray clouds in the western sky as the two drive off. ]