Fast Times at Ridgemont High Page #17

THE RAT:

You come on.

They stand there, gesturing, neither one of them

wanting to make the first move.

DAMONE:

No. You come on, you wuss.

Assistant Coach Mr. Sexton comes running out of the

boy's locker room, and steps in front of the two

boys.

SEXTON:

Hey! Knock this crap off!!

The Rat stalks off, disappearing into the crowd of

onlookers.

DISSOLVE:

TO:

EXT. RIDGEMONT DRIVE - NIGHT

The Ridgemont Drive strip is filled with cars,

cruising for parties. There is a lot of honking,

and yelling out windows. Everyone is headed towards

the beach. We stay on a lowly 7-11 store near the

freeway entrance.

EXT. 7-11 STORE - NIGHT

A yellow Firebird slowly, menacingly cruises the

empty parking lot. It does not stop.

Then, around the corner, walks Jeff Spicoli. We see

him in the neon 7-11 light, his hands stuffed deep

into the pockets of baggy jeans. He walks inside

the store. He is the only shopper.

INT. 7-11 STORE

Brad Hamilton stands behind the counter in a red

and white striped shirt and cap, making fresh

coffee. Jeff Spicoli trudges up to the counter. He

looks at Brad. Brad looks at Spicoli. There is an

unspoken edge between them.

SPICOLI:

Hey, mon, can I use the bathroom?

Brad squints his eyes, looks at the sign on the

back room door.

ANGLE ON:

sign which reads: Rest Room For Employees Only.

BRAD:

Go ahead. Just make it quick.

SPICOLI:

Totally.

BRAD:

It's the first door on your left.

Spicoli disappears into the back room. Brad sighs,

looks at the clock. It reads: 11:15. Then he hears

Spicoli from the back room.

SPICOLI (O.S.)

I can't find it, mon!

BRAD:

It's the first door on your left!

SPICOLI (O.S.)

On the ledge?

BRAD:

First door on your left!

SPICOLI (O.S.)

There it is!

Brad sighs again. He loads a new filter into the

coffee maker.

EXT./INT. 7-11 STORE

A moment later, the yellow Firebird pulls into the

7-11 parking lot. A man in a windbreaker comes

hurtling out of the car, into the store. He spray

paints the scanning camera above the door. He

hustles up to the counter, produces a .45 Magnum

and points it chest high at Brad. There is a glazed

and nervous speedy edge to his voice.

ROBBER:

I want money. And I want it all --

now.

Brad looks pale and young under the fluorescent 7

11 light.

He speaks slowly.

BRAD:

They empty and close the big safe

here at midnight.

ROBBER:

(getting tougher)

I know this store. I know where the

safe is.

He bangs the gun on the counter, hard.

ROBBER (CONT'D)

Over there behind the donut case.

Now move!

Brad slowly moves to the donut case, like a zombie.

BRAD:

I'm instructed to tell you that we

are on a video alarm system and

there are other hidden cameras in

the store ...

ROBBER:

Just give me the money. Move it.

BRAD:

Okay.

(legs are shaking)

I just started here, and they just

taught me the procedure. I'll give

you the money, just let me figure

this out.

ROBBER:

(very menacing)

Move it. Move it.

Brad opens the phony back of the donut case and

fiddles with the strongbox combination.

ROBBER (CONT'D)

(more menacing)

Let's go, stupid.

Brad looks at the gunman.

BRAD:

You motherf***er. Get off my

f***in' case.

The Robber is about to react when the bathroom door

opens and Jeff Spicoli starts out, wiping his hands

on his pants.

SPICOLI:

No towels, mon...

The Robber turns to look at Spicoli, and that is

all that Brad Hamilton needs. Just like it is the

most natural thing in the world, Brad reaches for

the hot, steaming coffee pot he has just made and

throws it into the gunman's face and hands.

ROBBER:

Aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrr!!!

The .45 falls out of his hand and rattles to the

floor. The gunman is still grabbing his face, and

looking at his skinless hands in horror when Brad

snaps up the gun. In the parking lot, the gunman's

accomplice, poised behind the wheel of the yellow

Firebird, spots the foul-up and screeches out of

the parking lot.

BRAD:

There goes your ride home.

Brad pulls the under-counter alarm with newfound

confidence. Jeff Spicoli stands there, mesmerized

at the entire event.

SPICOLI:

Awesome. Totally awesome.

EXT. RIDGEMONT MALL - NIGHT

Kids are pouring into the Ridgemont mall. Summer

banners are already up.

INT. THE MALL - NIGHT

In the midst of all the kids and shoppers, we see

The Rat walking slowly down the promenade. He is

wearing an Army surplus jacket, and his hands are

buried deep in his pockets.

Two girls pass his way. One smiles briefly at him,

and The Rat turns to watch her pass. He is about to

say something to her, then no. He walks on, sees

Swenson's Ice-Cream Parlor up ahead. The Rat

decides to walk the other way.

INT. SWENSON'S - NIGHT

The place is busy again, filled with shoppers and

teenagers in summer-type clothing.

We see Stacy Hamilton, once again, at the cash

register wearing an Assistant manager name tag and

a hostess gown.

She handles a customer's bill, then stands there a

moment, looking glum. Linda Barrett approaches.

STACY:

Another summer of working at

Swenson's.

LINDA:

Come on. There's lots of men around

here. Keep your eyes open.

STACY:

You know, Linda. I've finally

figured it out. It's not sex I

want. Anyone can have sex.

LINDA:

What do you want?

STACY:

I want romance.

LINDA:

Romance in Ridgemont? We don't even

get cable TV.

ANGLE ON:

the back kitchen door, which swings open, and out

comes Mike Damone in a peppermint Swenson's shirt.

He wipes some grime on his pants.

STACY:

Mike! You have a mess on C-9!

DAMONE:

All right. All right. I just

cleaned B-8. Give me a break.

STACY:

Get going.

The two girls smile, go back to their posts.

INT. JEFF SPICOLI'S ROOM - NIGHT

Jeff Spicoli sits in his room, and it is his

castle. Clothes lie in disarray on the floor. A

huge half-waxed surfboard is propped against the

window. We see Spicoli dressed in a too large white

short-sleeved shirt, attempting to tie his father's

fat paisley tie. He stops to take a hit from his

bong, all the while talking on the phone. The music

of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird" plays on the radio.

SPICOLI:

I... am... so... wasted, mon. What

is in this sh*t?

(pause)

Doesn't that stuff cause brain

damage?

(pause)

Bitchin'.

Spicoli listens for a moment. He rubs his eyes,

shakes his head. He is really buzzed.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)

Hey, mon, I am going to Mexico as

soon as school is out. Two more

weeks, bud. Week from Wednesday.

(pause)

I am gonna take both boards, my

duck feet, many cases of beer, and

just jam.

(pause)

No, mon, from school. I'm leaving

as soon as school gets out. I'll be

at Sunset Cliffs by nighttime.

(pause)

Totally.

(pause)

Later.

Spicoli hangs up, and concentrates on tying his

tie. He almost strangles himself. Then suddenly the

door to his room flies open and Spicoli's little

brother Curtis bursts in.

CURTIS:

Jeff you have company!

SPICOLI:

Go away, Curtis. If you can't

knock, I can't hear you.

Curtis slams the door and leaves. A moment later

there is a knock.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)

That's better. Come in.

The door swings open and Jeff Spicoli sits in

stoned shock at the sight before him. There,

standing in the doorway of his room is Mr. Hand.

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