Normal.INT. - RESTAURANT FLORENT - MIDNIGHT
WAITRESS MISS MARISOL, 30, dark hair and smudgy eyeshadow. She wears black short shorts and a white mesh shirt that reveals a lacy bra with pink bows. Around her neck is a black studded collar purchased from a pet store and on her feet are 4 inch, red patent leather platform heels. Marisol stands before a table with six women in their mid-twenties. They all have sadly coiffed do's and carefully filed fingernails.
One woman, MISS INFORMED, grasps her menu and furrows her brow.
I'll have a grilled cheese.
What kind of cheese would you like?
What kind? Whatever's normal.
I guess that depends on what you find normal. What do you like?
I don't know. I want what's normal. What do you normally put on a grilled cheese?
Miss Informed, clearly flustered, turns to her tablemates to urge their assistance.
What do they do at Denny's?
Marisol walks away from the table, grasping her sides and laughing uncontrollably. She regains composure slightly and returns to the table.
I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. (NOTE: SHE'S LYING.) It's just that, I don't
really consider Denny's normal.
Honey. Look at where I work. Look at what I'm wearing! My boss is a drag queen. . .
I don't get it.
No one expects you to. Look. Life is hard, sweetie. But I know what kind of cheese I like.