Post by Mercedes Vargas on Aug 31, 2012 22:45:58 GMT -6
“I got here as soon as I could.”
“Hallelujah! My prayers were answered.”
(Our scene opens at the Queensboro Correctional Facility in the Long Island City neighborhood of Queens, New York as we view Mercedes sitting with Hans, the Hot Dog Vendor in his jail cell.)
Mercedes: Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t make bail?
Vendor: It’s a long story.
Mercedes: I’ve got time.
(Mercedes glances at the clock on the wall.)
Mercedes: Fifteen minutes, but I’ve got time. So, how are you doing?
Vendor: Okay. Not great, but okay. How are you doing?
Mercedes: Me? Wonderful. Especially considering that I got through midday traffic to see you. How much did you say you were short of?
Vendor: Apparently, they set bail to $1,000. I could only come up with half of it.
(Mercedes looks around the jail.)
Mercedes: So, I'm guessing Martha Stewart isn't around to offer advice anymore? This place looks depressing.
Vendor: I think that's kind of the point. Things aren't that bad, just okay. I even got a room to myself. It's no Motel 6, but I think I've been able to manage.
Mercedes: What do you do?
Vendor: Watch TV, take a few naps, write some haiku, play some pool, and now it’s about lunchtime. I wouldn't eat the crap here even if they paid me.
Mercedes: You ever thought about going back to vending again?
Vendor: I don't know, still thinking about it.
(Two officers walk in, one behind the other. The first clears his throat, causing Mercedes and the vendor to turn towards them.)
Officer #1: Um, ma’am, are you going make up the difference for his bail? If you don’t have it, then I’m afraid we’re going have to ask you to leave. Visiting hours are over now.
(Mercedes slowly gets up and walks towards the cell door, staring at the second officer.)
Mercedes: Hey, I remember you! You’re the one who took my chili dog!
Officer #2: I bet you don’t forget about a lot of things.
(After the officer opened the vendor's cell door, Mercedes steps out.)
Officer #2: So, what? You’re going to do something about it?
Mercedes: No…Yeah! Of course I’m going to do something about it, Officer… (looking at his name tag) KIRKpatrick!
Vendor: Mercedes, forget it.
Mercedes: I will most certainly NOT!
Officer #1: That dog could not have been more than $2.00 tops. I don’t see what the big deal here is.
Mercedes: What’s the “big deal”? WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?! He set me back $2.38!
Vendor: Actually, that’s $2.43, plus 8% sales tax…
Mercedes: $2.43, plus 8% sales tax! You owe me a chili dog!
Officer #2: What? I don’t owe you a dime, lady.
(Mercedes then pushes her index finger against the officer's chest a few times, almost taunting him. The first officer then looks at her, shocked.)
Mercedes: You don't know who you're dealing with, buster. (lightly pushes him again) I can make life very miserable for you.
Officer #1: That's assault, you do know that, right?
(He moves in to arrest her, but the second officer pulls him back.)
Officer #2: No, no, Kurt, let her vent. There's something about the look on her face that I get so much pleasure out of. What was the best part of the chili dog? Maybe it was the Vienna beef, or the chili, or the onions, or the bun?
Vendor: Hello? Am I getting out of here, or what?
Officer #2: Well, it's funny you asked that. I don't see you getting out of here any time soon. Thanks to your friend here, your bail is denied. Have a good night, sir.
(As Mercedes is escorted by the officers, Hans leaps from the bench, shaking the prison bars and yelling after them.)
Vendor: WAIT! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE! CAN I AT LEAST GET A PLEA BARGAIN?!
(As soon as the officers were out of earshot, he sinks to his knees and looks up in despair.)
Vendor: DAMN YOU, MERCEEEEEDEEEES!!!
I must have really done something to piss someone off this week. It’s the only reason why I have a match against the very same person I beat only two weeks ago. I wonder how this happened? What, did our names get drawn out of a hat? No, no, no. Were we given numbers chosen at random? Oh, wait, I know! Our names were chosen by throwing darts at a board. Yeah, that has to be it.
You said after I beat you that every dog has its day. Well, riddle me this, Alycat: What does that make Jennifer Williams after she beat you not once, but twice? Don’t blame Steve Awesome. Don’t blame him, because he had nothing to do with the fact that you still couldn’t get the job done. Let’s face it, Alysson: Jennifer Williams was a little too much for you, and, yet again, overconfidence got the best of you.
So allow me to pose this interesting question: If you are superior to me, as you like to claim, wouldn’t that make Jennifer superior to you? No, come on, Alysson, inquiring minds want to know. Is Jennifer, the woman you lost the belt to, superior to you? At Picture Perfect, just like at A New Dawn, you failed to leave the world talking. You didn’t fail to leave me talking, though. Pretty sure I’m not alone. Talking about just how far you’ve fallen, and how you’re now reduced to being part of a novelty act.
I found it ironic that you pinned Crystal Hilton in your match last week. Do you want to know why? It’s because the two of you, strikingly, share something in common.
You’re both in denial.
That right, I said it. Denial. Now, see, Crystal is in denial because after unretiring for the 45th time, she can’t face the fact that her best days are behind her. Long behind her. And it’s because of that, it’s because of not finding a Mercedes Lewis, or a Shelly Taylor-Jones, or another person’s backside to pucker up to, that she’s crawled back to NCW on her hands and knees. And on top of that, she can’t seem to get it through that thick skull that Sydney is past her EMF days and wants nothing more to do with her.
But as for you, Alysson? As for you, after everything I said last week, after everything I’ve seen these past few weeks, it’s clear that – and I will continue to make this point because I want this to sink in until it’s become a mantra - you’re losing your touch.
And it’s because you’re losing your touch, Alysson, it's because you failed to become that one woman revolution why you’ve now resorted to “Plan B”.
So, let me see if I got this: You, Ayla and Emma are the NEW Bitches with Attitude, huh? Like the NEW Coke? OK, I guess I can see it. I know this may sound a bit dated, but let me tell you a little story of that invention: the new Coke? It turned out to be a failure, nothing more but a marketing ploy, a novelty act. Kind of like how you three will be remembered after all this blows over. You think after beating up poor little Jenny that you run this town? You better keep thinking, sweetheart. The last I check, Kelly Fox was the owner of NCW.
And your boss.
And just like a madam, she’ll use you and your girls for every penny you’ve got if it’s to help fill her pockets, but what do I know? I’m just Mercedes Vargas.
What happened to fighting for yourself? What happened to being a role model, hmm? What happened to stating your claim as the best woman on the roster? You know, it wasn’t too long ago that I said that you were the spiritual successor to BWA, and lo and behold, I was right. Now, allow me to refresh your memory on where you stood during the battle lines during the first initiation. See, while your BFF, Ayla, and Rayne was declaring their holy war on the women’s division, you, being the supposed badass that you are, stood on the sidelines, and decided to look out for yourself. Funnily enough, you also wanted nothing to do with BWA's invitation whatsoever.
How times change.
See, I’ve come to know that you may be right. Maybe you are my better. The difference between you and I couldn’t BE any more different. Here’s the thing, no one expects anything from me. They usually expect me to go out there and lose matches, but when it comes to you, well, that’s an entirely different story. This brings us to our match Saturday night, Alysson, because I know what to expect. Either A) losing to you, or B) kicking your ass again. I really hope it’s B. In fact, I’m going to make sure of it. I can also expect one other thing, and that is probably being the next victim to feel the wrath of your group. Well, I say, do your worst. The more, the merrier.
I passed your tests, I jumped through your hoops, I did everything required of me: I lasted more than 30 seconds, kept up with you during the match, took you to your very limits, kicked your ass – and here comes the good part, ladies and gentlemen – I pinned your shoulders to the mat for the 1,2,3.
You wanted that match, you NEEDED that match, but you didn't win that match.
Coincidence?
Fluke?
Lucky break?
That’s what you probably thought about losing to Jennifer Williams.
After I beat you again, just like her, you won’t be saying that for long.
Except to say that you’ve met your match.
“Hallelujah! My prayers were answered.”
(Our scene opens at the Queensboro Correctional Facility in the Long Island City neighborhood of Queens, New York as we view Mercedes sitting with Hans, the Hot Dog Vendor in his jail cell.)
Mercedes: Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t make bail?
Vendor: It’s a long story.
Mercedes: I’ve got time.
(Mercedes glances at the clock on the wall.)
Mercedes: Fifteen minutes, but I’ve got time. So, how are you doing?
Vendor: Okay. Not great, but okay. How are you doing?
Mercedes: Me? Wonderful. Especially considering that I got through midday traffic to see you. How much did you say you were short of?
Vendor: Apparently, they set bail to $1,000. I could only come up with half of it.
(Mercedes looks around the jail.)
Mercedes: So, I'm guessing Martha Stewart isn't around to offer advice anymore? This place looks depressing.
Vendor: I think that's kind of the point. Things aren't that bad, just okay. I even got a room to myself. It's no Motel 6, but I think I've been able to manage.
Mercedes: What do you do?
Vendor: Watch TV, take a few naps, write some haiku, play some pool, and now it’s about lunchtime. I wouldn't eat the crap here even if they paid me.
Mercedes: You ever thought about going back to vending again?
Vendor: I don't know, still thinking about it.
(Two officers walk in, one behind the other. The first clears his throat, causing Mercedes and the vendor to turn towards them.)
Officer #1: Um, ma’am, are you going make up the difference for his bail? If you don’t have it, then I’m afraid we’re going have to ask you to leave. Visiting hours are over now.
(Mercedes slowly gets up and walks towards the cell door, staring at the second officer.)
Mercedes: Hey, I remember you! You’re the one who took my chili dog!
Officer #2: I bet you don’t forget about a lot of things.
(After the officer opened the vendor's cell door, Mercedes steps out.)
Officer #2: So, what? You’re going to do something about it?
Mercedes: No…Yeah! Of course I’m going to do something about it, Officer… (looking at his name tag) KIRKpatrick!
Vendor: Mercedes, forget it.
Mercedes: I will most certainly NOT!
Officer #1: That dog could not have been more than $2.00 tops. I don’t see what the big deal here is.
Mercedes: What’s the “big deal”? WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?! He set me back $2.38!
Vendor: Actually, that’s $2.43, plus 8% sales tax…
Mercedes: $2.43, plus 8% sales tax! You owe me a chili dog!
Officer #2: What? I don’t owe you a dime, lady.
(Mercedes then pushes her index finger against the officer's chest a few times, almost taunting him. The first officer then looks at her, shocked.)
Mercedes: You don't know who you're dealing with, buster. (lightly pushes him again) I can make life very miserable for you.
Officer #1: That's assault, you do know that, right?
(He moves in to arrest her, but the second officer pulls him back.)
Officer #2: No, no, Kurt, let her vent. There's something about the look on her face that I get so much pleasure out of. What was the best part of the chili dog? Maybe it was the Vienna beef, or the chili, or the onions, or the bun?
Vendor: Hello? Am I getting out of here, or what?
Officer #2: Well, it's funny you asked that. I don't see you getting out of here any time soon. Thanks to your friend here, your bail is denied. Have a good night, sir.
(As Mercedes is escorted by the officers, Hans leaps from the bench, shaking the prison bars and yelling after them.)
Vendor: WAIT! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE! CAN I AT LEAST GET A PLEA BARGAIN?!
(As soon as the officers were out of earshot, he sinks to his knees and looks up in despair.)
Vendor: DAMN YOU, MERCEEEEEDEEEES!!!
_______≈₪≈______
I must have really done something to piss someone off this week. It’s the only reason why I have a match against the very same person I beat only two weeks ago. I wonder how this happened? What, did our names get drawn out of a hat? No, no, no. Were we given numbers chosen at random? Oh, wait, I know! Our names were chosen by throwing darts at a board. Yeah, that has to be it.
You said after I beat you that every dog has its day. Well, riddle me this, Alycat: What does that make Jennifer Williams after she beat you not once, but twice? Don’t blame Steve Awesome. Don’t blame him, because he had nothing to do with the fact that you still couldn’t get the job done. Let’s face it, Alysson: Jennifer Williams was a little too much for you, and, yet again, overconfidence got the best of you.
So allow me to pose this interesting question: If you are superior to me, as you like to claim, wouldn’t that make Jennifer superior to you? No, come on, Alysson, inquiring minds want to know. Is Jennifer, the woman you lost the belt to, superior to you? At Picture Perfect, just like at A New Dawn, you failed to leave the world talking. You didn’t fail to leave me talking, though. Pretty sure I’m not alone. Talking about just how far you’ve fallen, and how you’re now reduced to being part of a novelty act.
I found it ironic that you pinned Crystal Hilton in your match last week. Do you want to know why? It’s because the two of you, strikingly, share something in common.
You’re both in denial.
That right, I said it. Denial. Now, see, Crystal is in denial because after unretiring for the 45th time, she can’t face the fact that her best days are behind her. Long behind her. And it’s because of that, it’s because of not finding a Mercedes Lewis, or a Shelly Taylor-Jones, or another person’s backside to pucker up to, that she’s crawled back to NCW on her hands and knees. And on top of that, she can’t seem to get it through that thick skull that Sydney is past her EMF days and wants nothing more to do with her.
But as for you, Alysson? As for you, after everything I said last week, after everything I’ve seen these past few weeks, it’s clear that – and I will continue to make this point because I want this to sink in until it’s become a mantra - you’re losing your touch.
And it’s because you’re losing your touch, Alysson, it's because you failed to become that one woman revolution why you’ve now resorted to “Plan B”.
So, let me see if I got this: You, Ayla and Emma are the NEW Bitches with Attitude, huh? Like the NEW Coke? OK, I guess I can see it. I know this may sound a bit dated, but let me tell you a little story of that invention: the new Coke? It turned out to be a failure, nothing more but a marketing ploy, a novelty act. Kind of like how you three will be remembered after all this blows over. You think after beating up poor little Jenny that you run this town? You better keep thinking, sweetheart. The last I check, Kelly Fox was the owner of NCW.
And your boss.
And just like a madam, she’ll use you and your girls for every penny you’ve got if it’s to help fill her pockets, but what do I know? I’m just Mercedes Vargas.
What happened to fighting for yourself? What happened to being a role model, hmm? What happened to stating your claim as the best woman on the roster? You know, it wasn’t too long ago that I said that you were the spiritual successor to BWA, and lo and behold, I was right. Now, allow me to refresh your memory on where you stood during the battle lines during the first initiation. See, while your BFF, Ayla, and Rayne was declaring their holy war on the women’s division, you, being the supposed badass that you are, stood on the sidelines, and decided to look out for yourself. Funnily enough, you also wanted nothing to do with BWA's invitation whatsoever.
How times change.
See, I’ve come to know that you may be right. Maybe you are my better. The difference between you and I couldn’t BE any more different. Here’s the thing, no one expects anything from me. They usually expect me to go out there and lose matches, but when it comes to you, well, that’s an entirely different story. This brings us to our match Saturday night, Alysson, because I know what to expect. Either A) losing to you, or B) kicking your ass again. I really hope it’s B. In fact, I’m going to make sure of it. I can also expect one other thing, and that is probably being the next victim to feel the wrath of your group. Well, I say, do your worst. The more, the merrier.
I passed your tests, I jumped through your hoops, I did everything required of me: I lasted more than 30 seconds, kept up with you during the match, took you to your very limits, kicked your ass – and here comes the good part, ladies and gentlemen – I pinned your shoulders to the mat for the 1,2,3.
You wanted that match, you NEEDED that match, but you didn't win that match.
Coincidence?
Fluke?
Lucky break?
That’s what you probably thought about losing to Jennifer Williams.
After I beat you again, just like her, you won’t be saying that for long.
Except to say that you’ve met your match.