So a few years ago I was on a little bit of recreational inspiration and decided that I wanted to make a TV show. That lasted about a month. Then I picked up the idea again about a year later, and that lasted about a month again. Then this year, like Groundhog Day, it happened again, but this time I met with a friend who was far more familiar with screenwriting. She told me, the idea sounds great, but, I should start off small. She recommended that I start off with a spec script of an existing television show, and immediately I thought of an idea based on The Bear. So I decided to put it off for about 2-3 months. Old habits die hard.
About 4 to 5 weeks ago, I decided to put pen to paper (finger to keyboard), and outlined the idea of the show. It ended up being even more topical than one would have liked with the past few weeks, but I did want to put it out to the world before the final season of The Bear released this week.
It’s the first script I have ever finished, so it’s a bit nerve wracking to put it out to the world. So I hope that you guys aren’t too brash with me, but I would appreciate any and all constructive criticism. I’ve copy and pasted it below, but the link below will probably be a better option to read it (highly recommend to set it to Print Layout if you’re on a handheld screen). Hope you guys like it.
Google Doc of Script for El Pollo.
INT. KITCHEN IN MEXICO - BEFORE NOON
A NANA over the stove, in her cooking bib, with a child observing at her hip watching over the stove. The ingredients, tomatillo, garlic, finely diced onions, a small serrano, sizzle and char.
NANA
Mijo, pásame el pollo, porfas.
(My child, pass me the chicken, please)
INT. BENEATH AN UNIDENTIFIED TRUCK- VARIES
It’s dark, uncomfortable, and loud from the outside. Vaguely clear, a few human bodies flowing into each other like candle wax in a fucked up game of tetris, their encasement rattling. Then, chickens are rushed and crammed from the outside towards a shed. The chickens scurry into their coups. The human bodies squirm for comfort, but quietly, holding their breaths. The chickens’ movement is limited to the wispy pivots of their necks. The dark encasement of humans cracks, wood snapping. The night outside is revealed. The humans tumble apart, but refrain from liberating themselves and stepping out of the side of the truck’s now revealed hidden enclosed space inside of the closest wall to the cab. JORGE steps out. A small off-brand backpack that has a tightly rolled up sleeping bag tied to the bottom of it is held close to his chest. He and the other few that step out are met by the man who smuggled them into the United States.
POLLERO
Mis “Pollos,” llegaron.
(My “chickens,” you’ve arrived.)
INT. BUS ON ROAD — NIGHT
JORGE wakes up on a greyhound bus that’s hauling ass. Overhead he sees a sign that reads I-55N.
INT. "GROUP HOME"- MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
JORGE knocks on a door at a dingy apartment complex. A man, PANCHO, opens and greets him at the door. JORGE’s new home, a jumble of things in the common area the size of a small bedroom: a kitchenette, a small couch, and a television with some exposed cables. Nowhere to hide.
PANCHO
Pues, me avisaron que ibas a llegar por estos días. Soy Pancho. ¿Necesitas jale? Me dijo un pajarito que sí. Ven, a descansar cabrón para que no andamos valiendo verga mañana.
(Well, I had been told you’d arrive around now. I’m Pancho. Need a gig? A little birdie told me you do. Come on, get some rest fucker…so you’re not worth dick tomorrow.)
PANCHO leads JORGE to a room with a couple of bunkbeds. They are full, but on the floor there's a space for an additional body that’s JORGE’s. PANCHO hands JORGE a piece of paper with an address and a name on it.
PANCHO (CONT.)
Tempranito, caéle. Un compa avisó que hay jale aquí.
(Early, show up. A homie gave the heads up that there’s work here.)
(Jorge is handed a pillow)
PANCHO (CONT.)
Pero esa es mía. Encuéntrate una en el mercadito.
(This one’s mine. Find yourself one at the market.)
PANCHO lifts his index finger to his lip as some of the others start to toss and turn. He points at the ground. JORGE sets his tattered sleeping bag in the empty space on the floor. JORGE lays down on top of it, sets his bag between his knees, and then exhaustion engulfs him straight to sleep.
INT/EXT. FROM ROOM TO BACK OF THE YARDS - DAWN
JORGE wakes up abruptly to feet dodging his body and face, rushing out the door. He realizes he doesn’t have a towel, and there’s already a line for the bathroom. He washes his face and then his armpits over the kitchen sink. JORGE puts the address into his well-kept but not-so-in-vogue-phone as he walks out the front door. We see him navigate Chicago on foot and via transit to get to the address, located in the Back of The Yards.
INT. LOADING DOCK/WAREHOUSE
JORGE shows the name on the piece of paper to a man near the rolling gate of the warehouse. The man barely looks at him, then points to an office just past the loading docks. JORGE weaves through a bevy of men and cargo towards the office. He sheepishly knocks on the open door.
JORGE MORENO
… Buenos dias… I look for Jimmy? Jimmy here?
JIMMY SANCHEZ
¡Sí señor! Soy él. Aquí se dice: “Good morning. How are you?”
(Yes sir! I’m him. Here you say: “…”)
JORGE MORENO
Bie— eh… Goud!
JIMMY SANCHEZ
Buscas trabajo? I have some work for you. What’s your name?
(Looking for work? …)
JORGE MORENO
Pleez. I am Jorge.
JIMMY SANCHEZ
Jorge! Soy Jimmy. Jimmy Sanchez. I’m going to put you on a truck with Strats.
JORGE MORENO
¿Strats?
JIMMY SANCHEZ
Strats. Un vato medio cabrón, pero te la vas aguantar si quieres jale. Con cuidado. Ok. No more Spanish by the end of the week. You’ll be, or be able to pretend to be, fluent in English. ¿Ok?
(Strats. Sort of a fucker, but you’re going to stick it out if you want a gig. Careful[…])
JORGE MORENO
Sí Señor. Eh–
(Yes sir)
JIMMY SANCHEZ
Yes sir. Se dice: “Yes sir”. Obvio que no tienes papeles, did you find a Social?
([…]You obviously don’t have [legal documentation][…])
JORGE MORENO
¿Sou-shall?
JIMMY SANCHEZ
(Shushed)
Si. Social Security Number, for payroll. Para poder pagarte. Encuéntrate uno.
(Yes.[…]. To be able to pay you. Find yourself one.)
(Normal)
Hey Strats! Found your new partner, don’t go running this one out too, you hear me?
STRATS abruptly stops his loaded magliner a foot past the door and leans his head back to shoot in an unwelcoming stare.
STRATS
Fuck you Jimmy. Not my fault you can’t find any good help. You–
Staring directly at JORGE. He snaps and points at the loaded Magliner.
STRATS (CONT.)
Let’s get this shit on the truck. Now.
JORGE looks back at JIMMY, who is already waving him off with a couple soft waves of the hand to hurry up.
JORGE MORENO
Yehs ser!
INT. TRUCK CAB - DAY
JORGE and STRATS jump in and out of the cab as the truck stops at grocers and restaurants all over the Chicago metro area. At their stops, STRATS shoots the shit and shares smokes with staff as he yells at JORGE, pointing and directing him to do the brunt of the work, then they both get back in the cab.
STRATS
Faster next time. You understand? I don’t want to be late because your ass is too stupid to know what’s coming out of my mouth. Kahmpraynday? The least y’all could do is do the job right.
JORGE flinches at the word stupid, but brushes it off.
JORGE MORENO
Yes, sir.
A few more stops come and go. JORGE is lugging everything as STRATS does the most to do nothing. They pull up behind The Bear. RICHIE is out back smoking a cigarette. STRATS pops out the truck with bravado and tilts his chin up at RICHIE. JORGE calmly gets out of the passenger’s side, and waits for a directive from STRATS.
RICHIE
‘Sup prick. You going to come around with some bullshit again today? Oh shit, they lent you a helping hand? Who’s he?
STRATS
Fuck if I know. Just another, “Bad hombre,” waiting to fuck up.
RICHIE
Goddamn. You’re a real fucking asshole you know that?
RICHIE signals at JORGE to come his way. JORGE brings the already half-loaded Magliner over to where STRATS and RICHIE are simmering over some old beef.
Richie (CONT.)
Ay, muchacho. Whats your name? ¿Cómo te llamas?
STRATS
What in the hell are you do–
RICHIE
How about you wheel that shit in and work off that gut you’re gettin’? Give the kid a break, I can see he’s still sweating from the last stop. I know you.
STRATS
Ahh fugg off Rich, let me get a smoke.
RICHIE
Maybe after. Now, be a good boy.
RICHIE waves his hand in a circle to get STRATS moving. JORGE watches on a bit confused. STRATS begrudgingly rips the Magliner out of JORGE’s hands and heads inside, mean-mugging the both of them with a grin of disgust.
RICHIE (CONT.)
Don’t mind Strats. Es pendejo. Want a smoke? Cigarro?
JORGE MORENO
No… no thank you.
RICHIE
Wow. Good kid, huh? So, what’s Good Kid’s name?
JORGE MORENO
Ermmm…my name is… Jorge.
RICHIE
…Jorge… OK, so, Georgy? Georgy!
JORGE MORENOGEORGYJor…gy? ¿Me llamo Georgy?
(Jor…gy? My name is Georgy?)
RICHIE
Fuck yeah, we’re calling you Georgy. Let me know if you need anything. Remember though, Strats? Pendejo.
GEORGY tries not to laugh too hard, but a smile creeps through.
INT. BACK OF THE BEAR- DAY
STRATS, pushing the empty Magliner, & CARMY walk out the back.
CARMY
Your chicken liver, it's good? I need great, not good.
STRATS
Probably. I’ll bring a sample or somethin’.
CARMY
Sure. If it’s great, we’ll do 20.
RICHIE
Damn. 20? Pounds? For a special? That’s heavy handed Carm.
CARMY
Shut up.
CARMY, turns and scoots back into the kitchen. STRATS shoots a glare at RICHIE and GEORGY.
STRATS
Sure. Right on it boss. AYY KID!
STRATS pushes the emptied Magliner towards the truck, and snaps his fingers at GEORGY.
STRATS (CONT.)
Pack up. Andale.
GEORGY jumps back into the truck, starts reorganizing, sliding and unstacking sweating boxes towards the walls of the truck. RICHIE peeks into the truck.
RICHIE
Alright, later Georgy. I’ll try to catch you back here tomorrow. Be good, alright?
GEORGY nods. RICHIE looks at STRATS, then gestures to offer him the cigarette butt. RICHIE flicks the butt at the ground, mocking STRATS. GEORGY laughs under his breath.
RICHIE (CONT.)
Strats, eat a dick.
STRATS
Fuck you. Eat 2.
RICHIE
Sorry, I’m allergic. Snitch.
STRATS is heated and catches a glimpse of GEORGY’s laugh. STRATS is pissed.
STRATS
Nice you made some friends, but less of that and more of hurry the fuck up and let’s get on outta here. Rapido, andale.
GEORGY
…Yes sir.
INT. TRUCK CAB - DUSK
The back’s empty, and GEORGY closes the cargo door. It’s been a long day. STRATS is driving back towards the warehouse. GEORGY, grimey and beat from a long day’s haul, is dozing off. As soon as his eyes shut—
STRATS
So…I guess you might not be so bad. Right? Ha. What’s your name?
GEORGY sits up and shakes off the exhaustion.
GEORGY
Name? Mmm… Jo… Georgy. Mi no– My name is Georgy.
STRATS
Georgy? Ha! Alright, Jorge. Let’s be re–
GEORGY
Georgy. My name is Georgy.
STRATS
(Scoffing, rolling his eyes.)
“Georgy,”..Smartass.
MONTAGE. HOME, COMMUTE, WORK, DELIVERIES, REPEAT - DAWN TO DUSK
GEORGY arrives home, with a towel, showers and knocks out. He wakes up and repeats the day he just had over and over.
GEORGY sits in the passenger seat, hands and bag in lap, shoulders slightly caved in, staring ahead. STRATS takes up space, toothpick hanging from his bottom lip. He spits it out the window.
STRATS, never breaking eye contact from invoices, is rapidly yelling orders and pointing at different corners of the packed truck to puppet GEORGY around in. GEORGY lifts and stacks back of the truck onto the ledge. GEORGY carefully gets off the back and stacks the boxes to fill the Magliner.
GEORGY wheels in the order.
GEORGY wheels the empty Magliner back on the truck.
GEORGY accidentally crushes some eggs on the top of the front stack unloading a box from the back stack by sliding it forward. STRATS screams and wags his finger at GEORGY.
GEORGY takes the tray of 24 eggs into THE BEAR, RICHIE shrugs off the mess by taking the few broken ones into the trash behind him, and hollers at STRATS. RICHIE points at the invoice. STRATS stomps towards them rolling his eyes.
GEORGY locks the back of a now empty truck.
STRATS looks forward with his right hand on the wheel, left arm hanging out the window, slightly bobbing his head to some 90’s rock.
GEORGY lays to fall asleep. He has his own pillow now.
GEORGY wakes up to his phone flashing.
GEORGY is back on the truck, but looking through his bag. STRATS is being nosy, his eyes moving back and forth from the road to the passenger seat.
GEORGY slowly steps out of the cab and into the back of the truck and glances at the invoices. STRATS is right behind him, and snatches the invoices to continue his puppeteering, but breaks eye contact from them, as GEORGY has already pulled 3 of the correct boxes.
GEORGY wheels in an overloaded Magliner and CARMY and STRATS are in the way, speaking. GEORGY is out of CARMY’s line of view, but STRATS looks and ignores GEORGY’s trajectory as the momentum picks up and the boxes begin to lose balance. EBRAHIM hollers and points towards
GEORGY and the stack. CARMY shoots a firm hand up to save the stack. It stops swaying. CARMY grabs and passes an otherwise inaccessible box to STRATS, and EBRAHIM takes another himself. No issue to be had.
GEORGY locks up the back of a now empty truck.
GEORGY leans back a bit in the passenger seat with his hands out of his lap and his bag at his feet. STRATS has both hands on the wheel, tapping with his left.
GEORGY lays to fall asleep. He now also has a sleeping pad and an eye mask.
GEORGY wakes up to his phone flashing.
GEORGY jumps on the truck, takes the invoice and reviews it quickly, and hands it to STRATS. GEORGY has everything stacked in order and easily slides out 2 columns of various boxes.
GEORGY speaks to SYD in English, he raises a spread palm and mouths the word “Five.” Then points out back, then only has the peace sign as he mouths “Two More.” As SYD signs the invoice, you see her mouth say and a positive tilt of her head say, “Hablas muy bien Inglés,” and hands GEORGY back the merchant copy of the invoice. TINA is seen smiling at her station. STRATS is at the back of the kitchen looking on at the interaction, arms crossed. STRATS launches a hand in the air, GEORGY looks and jets out.
Both of STRATS’ hands grip the bottom of the wheel, staring at the road ahead. GEORGY is relaxed, staring up, out the window.
GEORGY lays to fall asleep. He has a second pillow in between his knees, his backpack now tucked under a newly empty bed, and is wearing ear plugs.
GEORGY wakes up to his phone flashing.
At different locations, various different customers hollering “Georgy!” at the sight of the truck. STRATS is visibly annoyed at Georgy’s rise in popularity.
GEORGY shuts and locks the back cargo door.
GEORGY calmly lays to fall asleep in the bottom bunk bed, he adopts the sheets that were there and leaves the sleeping pad on the ground for the next person that needs it. His backpack and sleeping bag are tucked under his bed.
GEORGY wakes up before his phone flashes. GEORGY is grinning.
EXT. BACK OF THE BEAR - AFTERNOON
They pull up, per usual, RICHIE is out back with a smoke. He puts it out and approaches the truck.
RICHIE
Georgy! And… dickhead. How’s it going fellas?
CARMY pops out the back before STRATS has a chance to hurtle a comeback at RICHIE.
CARMY
Ay, guy! Lemme holler at ya real quick.
CARMY waves STRATS into the back. STRATS lets out a grumble, frustrated, then follows CARMY into The Bear.
GEORGY
Wazzup Richie!
GEORGY puts his hand out and does a sick handshake with RICHIE. NEIL peeps out the back door..
NEIL
Dude! What the hell?! Cousin’s got a secret handshake with Georgy? I want a freaking secret handshake with Georgy!
RICHIE
Jesus, can’t have anything nice without you trying to get in on the action. Don’t you have some shit to fix before service?
NEIL
Cousin, why do you always gotta be so mean!? I’m a server now, anyway. I forgot how to fix shit. I am of the bourgeois now.
NEIL then turns to face GEORGY, sets lifts his right hand up and tilts his head to the side:
NEIL
Wazzzzah Georgy!?
GEORGY
Wazzzzzah!
GEORGY and NEIL do their own secret handshake.
RICHIE
Goddamn, behind my back? No mames.
They share a good laugh. Then CARMY comes back out the back of The Bear with STRATS.
CARMY
Alright, it’s good enough. Add 20 pounds of the Chicken liver for tomorrow.
STRATS nods at CARMY confirming the order. STRATS strikes a glare over at GEORGY and the boys. Strats huffs out the semblance of a laugh.
STRATS
Alright, Jorge. Back on the truck. Fuck you, Richie.
GEORGY daps up NEIL and RICHIE, and heads back to the truck.
RICHIE
You too, you rat bastard. Later Georgy!
Him and Neil flip Strats the bird as they get on back the truck. GEORGY flips them a playful pair of birds back. They all let out a laugh except for STRATS. He’s fuming.
INT. TRUCK CAB - DUSK
It’s been a few weeks of back and forth on the truck. STRATS hasn’t shown any good will or wavered his standoffish demeanor. GEORGY sits taller now, less tired and grimy from his daily duties. He’s getting used to this.
STRATS
So, uh… Jorge… you’ been working your ass off huh? Tell you what–
GEORGY looks over at STRATS wide eyed and a bit confused at the compliment. He’s visibly taken aback.
STRATS (CONT.)
Chill out, um… Georgy! It’s all good. Bueno? You know? Well, I was going to say, if you wanna sleep in a bit tomorrow, you can meet me at 8 instead of the warehouse at 6. Should be a slow day.
GEORGY
Huh? No, no. It’s ok. I work tomorrow. I like work–
STRATS
I’m saaying, meet me at Mariano’s at 8, instead of the warehouse. I’ll load in, you' been working too hard. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re good.
GEORGY stares intently and wearily at the man who’s shown him nothing but grief the past couple of months. He takes the bait, looks down at his phone, pulls up Mariano’s, and presents the screen to Strats.
GEORGY
…Here? Eight?
They pull into the warehouse.
STRATS
Yes, Hore-hay. Now get. Gon’ get some rest tonight and I’ll see you there tomorrow.
GEORGY finally accepts the gesture. Smiling. Looking forward to his rest.
GEORGY
Yes sir. Thank you.
STRATS
Oh-cho. Comprende? Mañana.
GEORGY
Mariano’s. Eight. Tomorrow. …Thank you, Strats.
STRATS laughs, and waves GEORGY off with the back of his hand.
INT. GROUP HOME - NIGHT
GEORGY is cooking himself some quesadillas and chicken tinga in the kitchen. We see him chopping some onions and chilis, and pulling out some cheap ingredients but making it work. PANCHO walks in. GEORGY hands him an envelope.
GEORGY
¿Quihúbole? Aquí está la lana para la renta.
(What’s good? Here’s the cash for rent.)
PANCHO takes the money, but never breaks eye contact with GEORGY’s cooking.
PANCHO
¿Quihúbole tú wei? ¿Nunca te he visto cocinando? Y además, pa’ esta hora siempre ya andas roncando. ¿Qué pedo? ¿Te corrieron?
(What’s good with you dude? I’ve never seen you cook? And by this hour you’re always already snoring. What’s up? You get fired?)
GEORGY
No mamessss. Chill, bro. Párale con esas malas vibras. Me dio chance el pinche güero llegar unas horas tarde mañana.
(Get outta here. Chill, bro. Stop it with the bad vibes. The damn whitey gave me a chance to show up a couple hours late.)
PANCHO
Jajaja, sorry, sorry… Pues no mames, que buen pedo el güey. Suerte que te tocó uno buena onda, porque la neta, pueden caer bieeeeeeen mamoncillos los cabrones.
(… Well, shit, what a good dude. Lucky you got a chill one, because honestly, they can be reeeeeallll cocksuckers the fuckers.)
GEORGY
Pues… la neta? Este güey, Strats? Ni tan tan buen pedo el cabrón. Solo se ha portado sangrón y sin respeto, ¿pero como que hoy quería hacer la paz? Y pues, ¿quién soy yo para no aceptar?
(Well… real shit? This dude, Strats? the fucker isn’t that chill of a dude. He’s only acted standoffish and disrespectful. But like, today he wanted to let bygones be bygones? And well, who am I to decline?)
PANCHO
¿A la mejor agarró la onda? Que sólo estás allí como todos estamos. Jalar duro y ganarnos nuestro dolarito bonito. ¡Tenemos hambre!
(Maybe he got the gist? You’re just there like all of us are: Work hard and earn our beautiful little dollar. We’re all hungry!)
GEORGY
¿Ah, sí? Pues con suerte. ¡Hice extra cabrón!
(Oh, yeah? Well you’re in luck. I made extra!)
PANCHO
¡No! No… ¿cómo crees? No te estaba dicie–
(No! Not like that. I was only saying—)
GEORGY
Ya sé, ya sé güey, pero sí hice extra y necesito que alguien más lo pruebe para ver si sí o no perdí el toque.
(I know, I know dude, but I made extra and I need someone else to try it to see if I’ve lost my touch.)
GEORGY hands him a paper plate with two tacos on it. The tortillas are perfectly charred on the open flame. The onions diced beautifully, a simple but rich salsa macha, and a juicy shredded chicken with a hint of green topped with some cilantro. PANCHO just stares at the tacos wide-eyed, mouth hung half-open.
GEORGY (CONT.)
Que no se te enfríen güey. ¡Dále!
(Don’t let them get cold. Go for it!)
PANCHO takes a monstrous bite of the taco, then chews slowly. His eyes somehow get bigger.
GEORGY (CONT.)
…¿Y? ¿Cómo están?
(And? How are they?)
PANCHO swallows the bite and takes a breath.
PANCHO
¿Y? ¿Donde chingados te enseñaron a cocinar tan bien pinche Georgy?!
(So? Where the fuck did they teach you how to cook so damn good Georgy?
GEORGY’s grinning, finishing up his first taco.
GEORGY
Me enseñó la mejor: Mi abuelita. ¿Quién más?
(The best taught me: My grandma. Who else?)
PANCHO
Pues a mi, mi tía, pero… no habría sido pedo si me adoptó tu abuelita porque shhhhhhhiiii–
(Well for me, my aunt, but… it wouldn’t been an issue if your grandma had adopted me because shhhhiiii-)
PANCHO is whip-snapping his fingers above his head and GEORGY is laughing.
GEORGY
Gracias güey.
(Thanks dude.)
PANCHO
¿De qué? Gracias a ti pendejo. ¡Qué madre tan buena! ¿Y qué pedo para mañana? ¿A dónde te mandaron?
(For what? Thanks to you dumbass. This shit’s so good. What’s the word for tomorrow? Where’d they send you?)
GEORGY
De nada cabrón. Me da gusto que te gustó. Necesito estar en el Mariano’s para las ocho el más tardar.
(No worries dude. It gives me joy that you enjoyed. I have to be at Mariano’s by 8 at the latest.)
PANCHO
¿Mariano’s? ¿Al lado del lago? Yo voy para ese lado también, me voy con un compa, no creo que haya pedo si agarras raite.
(Mariano’s? By the lake? I’m going to that side too, a homie is driving, I don’t think you catching a ride should be a problem.
GEORGY
¿Neta? Eso estaría a toda madre.
(Really? That would be awesome.)
PANCHO
Ni pedo güey, para que no digas que te debo los tacos. Pero, lo único es, que te dejamos como cuarto para las ocho. ¿Está bien?
(Not a problem dude, but it’s so you can’t say I owe you some tacos. But, the one thing is, we’d have to leave you a quarter to 8. That good?)
GEORGY
¡Perfecto! Shhhhhiii– Mil gracias hermano.
(Perfect! Shhhhhiii— Thank you so much brother.)
PANCHO
Ni pedo, y si te quieres jetear, yo le limpio aquí. No te preocupes. Vete a descansar. Buenas noches güey.
(No problem, and if you want to knock out, I’ll clean up here. Don’t worry. Go rest. Night dude.)
GEORGY lets out a sigh of relief, and gives Pancho a fist bump. He heads to the room. GEORGY sets a new alarm, lays down, and with his eyes closed, plugs in his phone to charge. The charger is not plugged into the wall.
GEORGY’s alarm rings, he clicks it off and jumps up to the shower. He comes back. He hears the door open in the distance.
PANCHO
¡Ay! ‘Amonos Georgy! Ya está mi compa afuera.
(Ay! Let’s go Georgy! My homie’s outside!)
GEORGY
Fahk… ¡OK, ya voy!
(…OK, I’m going!)
INT. CAR TO WORK - MORNING
A shot of his phone at 3% battery.
GEORGY
Fahk…
PANCHO is getting some shut eye in the back on the way to work. GEORGY sits with the driver in the front, stressed out about his phone.
DRIVER
You good homie?
GEORGY
Si, si… Perdona, ¿tienes d’este cargador?
(Excuse me, do you have this kind of charger?)
DRIVER looks unsure, then shakes his head.
DRIVER
Sorry, foo. I only got a thunder cable.
GEORGY nods, and rushes a text to STRATS: “I be there soon”. He sees a text come in, Sender: JIMMY. GEORGY’s phone dies. They start to pull up to Mariano’s. The car clock says 7:43.
EXT. MARIANOS - MORNING
GEORGY foot is tapping the ground, standing right outside the open gate of the loading dock. Waiting. He looks back at the clock inside, 8:15. His truck is in sight. A sigh of relief. Strats pulls it into the dock and puts it in park, then gets out with a shit eating grin.
STRATS
Now, where the fuck were you this morning? Had to load this whole bitch by myself!
STRATS is overly loud, loud enough for people to notice, and others on the docks are now staring. GEORGY confused, STRATS glad.
STRATS (CONT.)
Alright, quit dickin’ around. Let’s get this shit off.
INT. TRUCK CAB – DAY
Truck pulls up to a variety of markets and restaurants on the route. Staff coming out with a variety of hand gestures alluding to either hurry up, or where the hell were you?
EXT. BACK OF THE BEAR
Arriving at the back CARMY immediately locks in on Strats and flicks out his cigarette towards the truck. STRATS and GEORGY step out of the truck. GEORGY goes straight to the back to run the order in on the magliner.
CARMY
Yo! Where the fuck is it? Need that liver ASAP.
STRATS
This shithead-
(Points at Georgy)
-decided to sleep in and they had someone else pack the order. Sorry Car—
CARMY
What the fuck?! You know we needed this shit today. Fuck you.
STRATS
HEY! Ain’t my fault. I told you: your boy Georgy didn’t show up this morning. Fucked everything–
CARMY stomps toward GEORGY with his hand raised ready to gesticulate.
CARMY
You know what the fuck you just did? You fucked us.
(Turns and points at Strats)
And fuck you too.
GEORGY is frozen, all his joy is drained. RICHIE catches wind of something in the back and rushes out.
RICHIE
What the fuck Carmy? What’s with the screeching?
RICHIE winks at GEORGY and pats him on the back to take the order inside. GEORGY, with no expression other than fear, doesn’t say a word and rushes the rest of the order into The Bear.
CARMY
2 hours late, no fucking chicken liver. Kid didn’t show this morning and Strats didn’t–
STRATS
Ay! I told you. Your boy Georgy forgot to pack the shit.
RICHIE looks over at GEORGY. RICHIE sets a hand on the back of his head, thinks for half a second, then points at STRATS.
RICHIE
Mmmmmm… I don’t buy it. I just don’t buy it. Last dude conveniently got canned too. The fuck? Dude was great. Earned his buck. Something’s up and I knooooow you. I don’t fucking believe you. You’re up to some shit. Fuck you Strats.
STRATS is taken aback. His composure is penetrated.
CARMY
Huh? What the hell are you talking about cousin?
RICHIE
Mmmmm… I don’t buy it. Nope. Just don’t. Last dude conveniently got canned too. You’re up to some shit Strats.
STRATS
Richie you don’t know shi-
RICHIE
Yeah, Carm, dude fucking snitched on one of Mikey’s guys back in the day. Throws anyone under the bus.
CARMY
Huh? We need this chicken liver–
STRATS
The kid–
RICHIE
I said: Shut. The. Fuck. up.
CARMY
Fuck. What are we going to do about the menu–
RICHIE
CARM. In a sec. We’ll figure that out.
RICHIE’s eyes signal at GEORGY wheeling out the magliner back to the truck, his head down. CARMY looks over at GEORGY, then back at STRATS.
CARMY
Goddamnit… Fuck you forreal Strats.
CARMY turns takes a couple steps over towards GEORGY forcing some eye contact –
CARMY (Cont.)
Georgy… I’m Sorry. Perdon. Sorry dude.
CARMY rests his hand on GEORGY’s shoulder. GEORGY timidly half-looks up. CARMY quickly turns to STRATS and RICHIE who are now facing off with each other.
CARMY (CONT.)
Ay! Richie, let’s get that shit checked and signed and get back in there. We're behind.
RICHIE snatches the invoice out of STRATS hand and the pen out his shirt. Scribbles some semblance of a signature and throws the papers on the ground.
RICHIE
Rat bastard.
INT. TRUCK CAB - END OF DAY
Truck is empty. STRATS has a shit eating grin listening to some country music. GEORGY is blank-faced and solemn, his eyes are glossy. They pull into the warehouse and all of a sudden STRATS’ expression transforms into one of frustration and disgust. He jumps out the truck and slams the door, rushing to the door of the office. GEORGY hasn’t made it out of the truck. STRATS is pointing at him just finished having said something. JIMMY beelines out the office towards GEORGY. GEORGY barely finished getting out as JIMMY, hands in pockets, meets him by the truck.
JIMMY
Pendejo… ¿Primero en la mañana no llegas a cargar, y ahora nos falta producto? ¿El hígado? Salte…
(Dumbass. First you don’t show up for load-in, and now there’s product missing? The liver? Get out.)
GEORGY
Pero—
(But—)
JIMMY
“Pero” ni madre cabrón. He trabajado muy duro para que me cagues todo. No me vas aventar este pedo a mi. Hay otros que no me van a fallar. Salte.
(“But,” nothing asshole. I’ve worked too hard for you to take it all to shit. You’re not putting this on me. There’s other people that won’t fail me. Get out.)
GEORGY is about to say something, but nothing comes out.
INT. BUS - NIGHT
GEORGY is on the bus home. No tears, but an aura of anger and sadness. It cuts short to a deep breath realizing he needs to find a job.
EXT. GROUP HOME FRONT DOOR - MORNING
GEORGY is dressed for work and running out the door.
EXT. FRONT OF THE BEAR - MORNING
GEORGY is crouched with his backpack in front of The Bear, waiting for anyone to show up. CARMY is walking up and recognizes the crouched figure in front of the restaurant. CARMY is still guilty about before, but a bit cautious because GEORGY is here and not on the truck.
CARMY
Hey, uhhh… what’s up Georgy? You good?
Georgy looks up and makes confident eye contact with Carmy.
GEORGY
Goodmorning.
INT. THE BEAR KITCHEN – BEFORE OPEN
CARMY and RICHIE are in the kitchen, GEORGY is standing out in the dining room.
RICHIE
So the kid needs work? Fuck Strats.
CARMY
Fuck Strats.
RICHIE
Front of house is packed.
CARMY
Kitchen’s packed.
RICHIE
…Washing dishes?
CARMY nods and RICHIE follows suit.
INT. THE BEAR - NIGHT
Shot of the Every Second Counts clock. Sounds of the kitchen.
GEORGY blasting through the dishes in the back-sink. RICHIE walks by
RICHIE
Goddamn Georgy. Leave some work for the other guys.
Shot of a cook on the line cutting the tip of his finger off dicing onions and mincing garlic–
COOK
FUHHHHHHHHH–
RICHIE
Fuck.
SYD’s eyes go wide. The cook runs off to the back. CARMY begins to signal at someone to take over, but before he can holler anything– GEORGY wipes the counter down with bleach and swaps the soiled knife and cutting board for a fresh set. He continues the dicing and mincing but at twice the precision and speed.
SYD
Does he even have a food handler’–
CARMY
We’ll get him one.
RICHIE
Yeah. That.
GEORGY finishes the task at hand and is about to take the board and knife back to his dishwashing station–
TINA
¡Ay! ¿A dónde vas?
(Hey! Where you going?)
TINA comes over with another pile of onions and points at them.
TINA
Rabanadas. Córtalas finitas. Más chico que chiquito. Órale.
(Slices. Slice them finely. Smaller than small. Come on.)
She smiles at him. GEORGY can’t help to reciprocate the smile with his nod of confirmation.
MARCUS
Whoa. Is this our first Mexican on the line?
RICHIE
Tina? You’re not Mexican?
TINA tsks, sucking her teeth, and rolls her eyes at the comment. They all laugh.
MONTAGE– THE BEAR/GROUP HOME/OFFICE BUILDING- COURSE OF A MONTH
GEORGY clocks into the bear. Ties on his apron.
EBRAHIM hands GEORGY a pot and points at a variety of ingredients.
GEORGY preps the pot. GEORGY sets it on the stove. TINA gets near, looks at the pot, smiles and pats GEORGY on the shoulder.
TINA opens up one of the lowboys and points throughout the dated and labeled containers. GEORGY organizes the containers, and pulls out a container of meat. SYD is there to meet the container at the prep table with a thermometer she pulls out her apron, unsheathes, and inserts. The thermometer reads 39ºF.
The printer in The Bear’s office spits out text heavy sheets.
GEORGY sits at his home’s kitchen counter reading printed out PDFs of food establishment sanitation rules and regulations from the Chicago Board Of Health.
MARCUS is filling a pastry with a cream filling. GEORGY looks on, salivating in awe. MARCUS looks around if anyone is looking and hands the pastry to GEORGY to taste. GEORGY takes a bite and lights up. MARCUS exchanges the pastry for the piping bag, and dogs the rest of the pastry in a bite, walking away and pointing at the rest of the unfilled pastries. GEORGY finishes injecting the pastries.
RICHIE gives him a crass, but heartfelt affirmation, then pulls him towards the front counter. CARMY is plating a dish, and RICHIE signals with his eyes to take a look at the process. CARMY shapes a starchy base, elegantly smears the sauce, and then the star of the main course plate is propped on. CARMY looks at GEORGY, then back down at the plate adding the finishing touch of garnish, then back at GEORGY, placing an empty plate in front of him. CARMY hollers at SYD to come look on, and looks at RICHIE and signals that they need to step elsewhere. RICHIE rolls his eyes.
GEORGY walks into a room with tests laid out. GEORGY sits down and can’t seem to find his pen. A pretty girl nudges him, and hands him one. GEORGY blushes, smiles and says thank you.
The test is underway and GEORGY’s is getting filled at a moderate speed.
GEORGY begins the same plating process. CARMY’s technique for the base and the sauce are mimicked perfectly.
Others turn their finished tests in. GEORGY doesn’t look up.
GEORGY carefully floats the piece of meat from the pan, identically props it on the base like CARMY did. SYD watches, looking to and from the dish to GEORGY.
GEORGY is the 5th out of 10 people to turn in his test. 3rd person to turn the test in was the pretty girl. It’s graded on the spot. Her test is handed back to her and she’s smiling at the results.
GEORGY taps her on the shoulder with the closed pen and hands it back smiling at her. She takes it, waves goodbye and she walks out. He waits behind the 4th person to turn it in to receive their grade.
GEORGY puts the garnish on top of the piece of meat. The plate looks perfect.
INT. THE BEAR - MORNING
Shot of Georgy looking at his food handlers card and what looks to be a shot of a name that isn’t his and a SSN on a piece of paper. Syd hollers:
SYD
Yo, GEORGY. Can you do this? It’s for the SPECIAL tonight. I have to handle something with CARM.
SYD hands him a notebook of CARMY’s handwriting. It’s the recipe for the Chicken Liver sauce.
SYD (CONT.)
Reduce the white wine, los ajos al horno, muela como, ummmm, molcajete? Y umm… los habanadas, van frescos al— Here.
From the office:
CARMY
SYYYYYYYD!
SYD glances over at the office.
SYD (CONT.)
Here’s Carm’s recipe.
SYD points at the notebook. GEORGY nods.
SYD (CONT.)
Let me know if you have any questions.
SYD is holding up GEORGY’s food handlers card. GEORGY nods.
SYD (CONT.)
Also, thanks for getting this.
GEORGY takes a blurred look at the writing, the ingredients sticking out to him.
GEORGY is finishing the sauce, SYD turns the corner.
SYD
GEORGY! shit.
(Grabs the sauce pan)
SYD (CONT.)
Doesn’t look right. Fuck. Gimme. Go take out those boxes over there.
GEORGY
Sorry…
GEORGY tilts his head down and rushes to the boxes and carries them out back.
EXT. BACK OF THE BEAR - NOONISH
GEORGY is breaking down the boxes out back to throw out. GEORGY hears a honk that startles him. STRATS and the truck pull up.
STRATS
AY! You here now you little shit? Thought you’d be long gone. They know you a thief? Ha.
GEORGY is biting his tongue, eyes filled with rage, MARCUS is headed out back and caught the tail end of the interaction.
MARCUS
Whoa. Nah. You have to go. What are you doing? That’s not cool man.
STRATS tries sizing up MARCUS now off the high from bullying GEORGY. MARCUS doesn’t flinch.
STRATS
“That’s not cool.” Whatever. Keep the little thief.
STRATS realizes MARCUS is not the one. So he shoves the single box of chicken liver into GEORGY’s chest. Then puts the invoice in front of MARCUS.
STRATS
Sign.
MARCUS scribbles on the invoice and slaps the papers on STRATS chest. STRATS rips them from MARCUS and steps back on the truck
STRATS
See you around Jorge.
INT. THE BEAR KITCHEN
SYD and CARMY stand over the counter where GEORGY made the sauce.
CARMY
Looks wrong. What the fuck?
SYD
It is wrong.
CARMY
Then shit. Make it again.
SYD
Can’t. Out of habanadas.
CARMY
What the fuck? What’d you do?
SYD
I didn’t do shit. Georgy fucked it up. Out of peppers.
CARMY takes a baby spoon and takes a taste. His eyes widen with intensity.
CARMY
It’s better.
SYD
Better?
CARMY slightly bobs his head and glares at the sauce.
CARMY
Yeah, better. And it doesn’t look bad. It works. We got enough for the night?
SYD
Yes, chef.
CARMY looks up and sees GEORGY meekly headed back into the kitchen. He rushes GEORGY over with a wave and points at the sauce.
CARMY
Yo! This is good… Muy bueno, chef.
GEORGY lights back up, eyes widened.
CARMY (CONT.)
Tomorrow, you’re showing me what you did. Comprendes?
GEORGY nods smiling ear to ear. Can’t hide his glee. SYD looks on bittersweetly.
INT. THE BEAR - NIGHT
Shot of CHICKEN LIVER TICKET. Shot of plated Chicken Liver Dish in the kitchen. RICHIE hands NEIL the dish along with another.
RICHIE
Table 5!
NEIL lands CHICKEN LIVER DISH on TABLE 5. Patron from a nearby table with MENU open in hand taps NEIL on the back, and points at the dish.
Cuts of CHICKEN LIVER TICKETs printing, Chicken Liver Dishes getting served, then,
SYD
Fak! Special’s been 86d.
NEIL
What? Fuck… Dude, wait, WHAT?! Fuck Yeah!
RICHIE
…fuck yeah.
CARMY
Hell yeah. Thank you chefs!
Everyone is smiling, cleaning up. GEORGY makes his way to the back to grab a mop after cleaning his station. Two hands on him hugging and shaking him.
RICHIE
El Jefe! Ladies and gentlemen, the good kid showed up tonight!
(he lets go and throws a couple faux punches at GEORGY’s chest)
Fuck yeah Georgy!
MARCUS lays a hand on his shoulder and floats a fist to be bumped in front of him. They connect.
MARCUS
Good shit Georgy.
NEIL pulls up into the kitchen.
NEIL
DUDE!!! Everyone freaking loved the chicken liver dish. Holy moly guacamole Georgy. You sexy sexy boy.
GEORGY is visibly confused but still smiling.
RICHIE
Jesus Christ, chill. Fucking weirdo.
TINA walks up to GEORGY and delivers a long big hug. She lays a motherly hand on his cheek.
TINA
Georgy, mijo… Nada de pinche, pinche chef!!!
GEORGY is visibly overwhelmed by the love. His eyes are swelling up.
SYD
Georgy. Go home. Good job tonight.
SYD gives him a two finger salute. Still a bittersweet expression on her face. The whole kitchen starts clapping him out the front of the restaurant. NEIL throws a big ‘ol Mexican whistle.
EXT. THE BEAR - NIGHT
RICHIE is locking the door behind GEORGY as he takes a few steps. Carmy is outside smoking a cigarette to the side of the building
CARMY
GEORGY!!! Mañana!
CARMY, staring straight at GEORGY, uncharacteristically lays both hands on GEORGY’s shoulders.
CARMY (CONT.)
You going to show me how you did that? Mañana?
GEORGY
Yes, chef. Mañana.
EXT. CHICAGO SUBWAY STATION - NIGHT
Georgy looks up into the sky, full of hope. He’s arriving at the station. As he’s walking in there is a sudden shift in mood. A hand reaches for his arm, he moves, but then another grabs his other and he’s trapped.
THE HANDS
JORGE MORENO.
The station is empty.
INT. CHICAGO SUBWAY - NIGHT
The subway has a few people on it. None of them Georgy.
INT. GROUP HOME - SUNRISE
Georgy is absent from his sleeping pad and bag.
EXT. BACK OF THE BEAR - NIGHT
RICHIE is squatting, head down, with a cigarette in his hand. CARMY steps out to join, and stands near the dumpster.
RICHIE
Man… Georgy.
CARMY
What the fuck. It makes no sense.
RICHIE
Maybe what Shithead Strats told us yesterday was true… No fuck that.
CARMY
Fuck that. You saw how that kid moved? He wasn’t stealing shit. He showed up early for a month straight.
RICHIE
…”Bad Hombre,” fuck that. That was a good kid.
CARMY
A great kid. And that sauce– goddamnit. I don’t think I want to run the dish without him. I don’t know.
RICHIE
That sauce… I get it. Feels wrong. Fuck…
They both look off into the night. Lost. Take a sec.
RICHIE (CONT.)
You think he’s good though? Like… he’s safe?
They drop their heads, less lost, but more worried than before.
CARMY
Cousin. Man. I don't know. He should be. I hope he is.
RICHIE
You think… he got picked up? You know his paperwork wah—
CARMY
Shut up Cousin. I don’t even want to think about that. Can’t speak that shit into reality.
RICHIE shakes the notion off, but he and CARMY expressed no resolve.
RICHIE
You’re right, you’re right. Can’t be the case. Nope. That’s a good kid. Bad things like that don't happen to good kids. Right?
The silence is loud. RICHIE’s squat collapses and his ass hits the ground, back on the wall. CARMY flicks his cigarette and hits the dumpster with the outside of his fist on his way back into The Bear.
CUT TO CREDITS
(Dijeron Que No La Iba Lograr by Chino Pacas play)