Five or six middle-aged men at a BBQ. One of them holds a pair of tongs - they are ’CHEF’. Chef is very pleased with himself there cooking the steaks to a tasteless ‘well-done’ (old mate’s not much in the kitchen, but give him a bloody barbie and he’s king of the world).
The other men linger in a circle, hands clutching their stubbies, watching their mate cook the steaks like a real man. They make menial conversation - but are so bored after rough thirty seconds intervals, they each have little more to exchange within the group and try to act as if their attention has been brought to a more important task at hand (simply from the forced bored conversation).
A lot of ‘yeah… yeah…’, a lot of PAUSES. A lot of ‘so how’s Mary’s new job garn?’
So every so often, one of them shouts at their kid kicking a ball or hogging a frisbee, unnecessarily, just to have something to break the conversation. This will often follow with a typical remark like ‘ah, mate - he really should learn how to share.’
The conversation slowly descends in to nothingness and the only words the men can say are:
BARBEQUE
YEAH
THE MRS
LITTLE JIMMY
They can never leave the circle.
Suddenly they’re all alone. On a field. Their wives and children are gone.
The crickets have begun. Night has fallen. Shit - Has Chef overcooked those steaks? Nah they’re right. No wukkas. He’s a wizard with the tongs.
They all stand in the same semi-circle - with the same demeanour, never comfortable. Never fully there. No where else to go.
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