Train in Vain

There's something about the Florida Man-style news items that never fails to capture my imagination. For me, it goes deeper than the shock of the dramatically abnormal. In the past, I've written fact-based plays about a luggage handler who stole a passenger jet and a wannabe pilot who took flight in a lawn chair tied to weather balloons. There's something quintessentially American about these stories.

This week, a man in Van Nuys (good for you, FLA) was arrested for tormenting his neighbors with dozens of train horns he installed around his property. The wall of noise he unleashed on his neighbors was constant and unrelenting. As I watched footage of the raving perpetrator led away in cuffs, I admit, as often happens, finding a certain solidarity with his admittedly deranged mission.

A Warning is a monologue about the moment when the usual options don't seem to be enough anymore. It's a feeling a lot of us can relate to these days.

A Warning (a very short monologue)

MAX, a middle-aged suburban man of undetermined race.

A series of overlapping train horns rises in the distance, reaching a crescendo, and abruptly stops.

MAX
You know me.
You might not know my name.
But you've seen me.
On the news. A meme on your feed.
The crazy horn guy.
Google it.
You'll get thousands of hits.

Me, in cuffs, being led out of my home by authorities.
Ranting. Raving.
The klaxons blaring across my sunny suburban street.
I know how it looks.
Another crazy American.

“Mental health crisis” is what the haircut with a microphone said as he stood in front of my house.

(Pretending to hold a mic and be a network reporter)
"The catalyst for this unhinged behavior is unknown at this time."

Listen. I know perfectly well how it looks.
Installing dozens of train horns around your yard is not normal.
But these are not normal times.
And to be honest, I didn't know what else to do.

My neighbors hate me. I get it.
Blasting sirens 24-7 is not a good strategy if you’re looking to make friends. They couldn't sleep at night with all the racket.

But that was my point.

With everything that's happening in our country, in our world right now? How can anyone sleep?

Military parades. Concentration camps. People being disappeared in broad daylight? Genocide?

I exhausted the normal responses.

Signing petitions.
Leaving voicemails with representatives.
I even joined protests.
No one cares.
Nothing changes.
Not only that–it’s only getting worse.

It’s just like when Covid hit us.
I stayed inside. Kept my distance from everyone.
A week into it, I ran out of supplies.
Drove out to the supermarket. Uncertain. A little afraid.
Then it hit me.

The bars, the shops, even the fucking bowling alley.
Full. People everywhere. Like it was just another day.

These people, my neighbors, my fellow Americans?
They don’t give a shit about anything.

As long as they can get their beer, their 99-cent wings, and roll a few strikes.

Life. Death. Disease? A million people gone, did any of them even mourn? What does it take to wake up a people so deeply asleep?

Turns out, dozens of train horns at full blast will do the job.

So, call me crazy.
A meme. A joke.
Call me the horn guy.
My neighbors call me much worse.
But at least, I tried.

(The horns return.
(Yelling)

At least I’m awake.

(Horns reach a crescendo. MAX doesn’t break eye contact with the audience.)

Lights quickly out.