Quarantine Really Sucks From My Apartment, My Parents’ House, My Parents’ Vacation House, and My Parent’s Vacation Guest House: A Microplay

Lights up on a Very Early Twenty-Something wearing a tie dye hoodie and designer leggings. She’s adjusting the phone on her tripod, getting the best angle for her shot. As she squares up in frame, “Buttercup” by Jack Stauber starts playing lightly in the background, giving it the feel of a TikTok #StoryTime.

Act I

VERY EARLY TWENTY-SOMETHING:

Hey y’all. Long time no video. Sorry about that. Quarantine is weird, but I wanna get back to what makes me happy. I’ll tell you what doesn’t make me happy. Coronavirus-19. Like, my body my mask, people—come on…

Jump to next TikTok slide. She picks up her phone from the tripod and sits down on the wrap-around couch. In the shot, we see book shelves and a gallery wall.

Anyway, this apartment is wearing on me. The private outdoor space is claustrophobic. The hammock is like a coffin… and, I don’t even have a desk. I have to use my West Elm dining table. Which is for eating. But bars are for drinking. And we can’t go to them. So the world is pretty upside down, you know?

Jump to next TikTok slide. She spreads out on her wrap-around couch.

I’ve been able to get food—thank God—but the concierge is really passive aggressive, and like, far away. And the Instacart people always get the wrong Sushi.

Jump to next TikTok slide. She sits up with a straight spine and reveals a loft space with an indoor garden. It’s filled with people.

A lot of you have talked shit in the comments about the other people in my posts. But before you blow your hate loads, let me assure you, I am keeping my circle small. I have only been seeing my pilates instructor, my favorite bartender, my two favorite yoga instructors, my Bumble boo thang—and to slow the spread, we’ve agreed to be exclusive on Thursdays—, @Decolonize_Britney, an activist friend I met through DMs, and Anthony Fauci’s niece’s best friend’s personal stylist. I am networking because this has inspired me to work in public health one day.

Jump to next TikTok slide. She is walking back to the kitchen and sees a fully garnished martini on her kitchen island, picks it up as her face says, “I forgot about you,” and takes a stylish sip.

I realize I am lucky. Not everybody can work on their screenplay from home. And not every apartment has a doorman, even if mine is passive-aggressive. But this still sucks, and I am going crazy. Anyways, much love TikTok fam, more content soon…

She makes out with her Bumble boo thang. Blackout.

Act II

Lights up as the Very Early Twenty-Something sets up her tripod in an enormous TV room. We see a pool table, many framed photos, and an enormous TV with theater style seating. She’s wearing a light sweater, spaghetti straps, and lululemon yoga pants. “Buttercup” returns, same TikTok #StoryTime feel.

VERY EARLY TWENTY-SOMETHING:

Hey fam, what’s Gucci? Besides this sweater. But seriously I feel gross. Sorry for my…

She makes a nauseated face…

Lack of trying. So… I’m at my parents house. Lots of haters have been asking how I got here, and uh, whatever, I took the train, but I only talked to people if they talked to me first. And we wore masks… unless we made out…

Jump to next TikTok slide. She settles into one of the big theater chairs.

I have been here two days, and must admit I am going a little crazy. The backyard is cramped and stifling. There’s only so much to do on a trampoline and zip line. And no pool. I’ve had to work on my screenplay from a guest room, whose original Magrittes have been unsettling. Now is not the time for surrealism…

Jump to next TikTok slide. She’s walking around the pool table, dragging one finger on its edges wistfully.

The food is okayyyy, my mom does all the groceries, but she is also really passive aggressive. She doesn’t respect my vegan culture… oh yeah, I’m vegan now! Follow for upcoming vegan fashion tips. And the tub in the bathroom isn’t clawfoot…

She rolls her eyes and lays down on the pool table. This angle reveals that there is a massive party going on around her.

And again, people, before you prematurely ejaculate your prejudice, I am following CNN guidelines. My social circle is entirely limited. I’m only seeing our health club masseuse, my favorite Whole Foods barista, the three best health club mixologists, the five people I want to have sex with from high school the most, @Suburban_ThirstTrap (a burlesque urban planner I met on TikTok), and Antoni’s manager’s cousin’s dental hygienist (she’s from my hometown!).

Jump to next TikTok slide. She is walking to the bay windows and sees an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon on the wet bar. She picks it up like “Oh hey there,” pops the cork with no overflow, and takes a flawless sip straight from the bottle.

I know I am fortunate. Not everybody’s parents have houses. Some of them have condos. But still, this scene kind of blows. Anyways, much love TikTok fam. More content soon!

She makes out with the three mixologists. Blackout.

Act III

Lights up on the same Very Early Twenty-Something in a stylish one piece bathing suit. She sits on a desk in front of wood panels galore and stunning art. Again, “Buttercup,” … it’s #StoryTime.

VERY EARLY TWENTY-SOMETHING:

Hey fam… hey there. Sorry for the days off. We moved around again. And before the HATERS sound off on our transportation choice, we rented an RV, so social distance. But its wifi couldn’t stream more than two shows at once, and the hot tub didn’t really work, so it was kind of like mobile jail…

She swivels in her chair and puts her feet up on her desk.

There’s a pool here, but it sucks that it’s not an infinity pool. As a matter of fact, the sheer finite-ness of the pool is strangling me. I have to work from my dad’s boat. Which is fine, I guess, but whenever he wants to sail I have to pause my creative production. He suggests I could use the guest apartment as an office, but I find being earthbound blocks it all for me..

Jump to Next TikTok Slide. She’s standing on the boat’s deck. Her background is crystal blue water as the sun shimmers on its surface.

Our live-in assistant, who we towed behind us in our guest RV, does all the groceries now. And he’s nice and I support him and all that—my parents gave him time-and-a-half minus the cost of food and energy he uses in the vacation home—but he is really bad at picking out gluten-free food. Oh, I am a lifestyle celiac now. More celiac fashion tips coming soon…”

Jump to next TikTok slide. She is now on the back of the boat, whose name is SIX FEET. She pans her phone up and reveals a social gathering on par with the “Big Pimpin'” Music Video.

And before you nocturnally emit all your deep-seated vitriol… I have kept my circle small. Here, I have only been seeing The Yacht Club social media manager, my favorite shaved ice vendor, the fuck-up kid who sells weed at the Yacht Club, the seven most interesting people I met at the town bar, @TalkNautyToEachOther—a boat enthusiast and sex therapist TikToker, and Chris Harrison’s 19 year-old son… who is essential the executive producer of The Bachelor right now.”

Jump to next TikTok slide. She sees a stack of money on one of the yacht’s bar tables, picks it up like “Why is this here?” then tosses it, without looking, at the feet of a deckhand who is picking up champagne bottles.

I realize I am lucky. A lot of people’s vacation homes don’t have yachts. They might just be speedboats. Which would be dull and comparable to the pain of war. But, I don’t know, I just miss people, ya know? Much love fam, more content soon.

She makes out with the seven most interesting people from the town bar. Blackout.

Denouement

The lights are dim. Our Very Early Twenty-Something is tucked under her satin covers, head barely propped on a pillow, surrounded by designer handkerchiefs.

Hey fam, sorry for the delay, I feel like shit. But I don’t think it’s coronavirus-19. My only symptoms are being so hot, like passing out from day drinking in a sauna hot, and shortness of breath… like taking a bong rip then trying to go skiing shortness of breath… and fatigueeeeee… like five days of molly at Coachella fatigue.

But I’m not worried. Still, my parents are being lame and making me stay in the Vacation Guest House.

I am trying to stay positive, you know, stop and smell the roses, but I have no sense of smell.

She groans and turns over to her side.

At least MiMa and Papa get here tomorrow. They always make me feel better. Can’t wait to give them a hug and a kiss.

She coughs violently. There’s nobody to make out with. Curtain.