In the Weeds Page #5

Synopsis: It's Martha's first night as a waitress in an upscale New York restaurant. Veteran Chloe shows her the ropes and introduces her to the lives of the restaurant staff. Adam, a hopeful playwright, suffers for his art while dealing with a very indecisive (ex-?)girlfriend. Marlon is a cocky young actor, certain that his big break is just around the corner. When the restaurant's obnoxious owner, Simon, brings a special client in for dinner, pressures mount until an explosion seems inevitable.
Genre: Comedy, Romance
Director(s): Michael Rauch
Production: Glatzer Productions
 
IMDB:
6.2
R
Year:
2000
91 min
33 Views


Please, I'm begging you.

Take it easy.

Can you stay up here?

You don't have to do anything.

Just give me a minute.

Just a minute.

You know,

you're really sweating.

I feel like I'm about to have

a heart attack.

Okay, listen.

Repeat after me.

It's just a restaurant job.

It's just a restaurant job.

Wait, wait, wait.

Okay.

Now go.

Bye.

I asked for medium rare.

Too cooked.

Adam will take care of that

right away, won't you, Adam?

Here we go.

What do you mean,

it's not medium rare?

What the f*** do you call that?

It looks medium rare to me.

No.

See this?

It's pink.

You know what pink is?

This is pink.

You send it back to them.

Come on, man.

This is for Simon's table.

I don't care if it's for

Mahatma f***in' Gandhi.

They asked for medium rare.

They're gonna get medium rare.

Now, you get the f***

out of my face.

Hey!

Simon's looking for you.

Something about a steak.

Here you are, sir.

Medium rare.

Perfecto,

Enjoy your meal.

Mangia,

What are you staring at?

Nothing.

Just my best friend's life

almost unravel, that's all.

He takes this job

a little too seriously.

When he was growing up,

he had a paper route.

He was so concerned the

customers wouldn't get papers,

he'd ring the bell,

insist on handing it to them.

This is 5:
30 in the morning.

He got fired after one week.

I need a cigarette.

Try a Valium.

I'll give it back.

Great f***ing table.

11 bottles of wine.

I'm not just going

for the money.

I'm going for the record.

He scares me.

Yeah.

I don't know.

Maybe I should just

reconcile, you know?

Save the trouble.

Save the marriage.

Save the lawyer's fees.

That's assuming

Anne would take you back.

Would you take him back?

Take him back where?

She wouldn't get rid of him

in the first place.

Probably let me sleep

with half of Manhattan

and then thank me for not

sleeping with the other half.

Just for a chance

to get out of this life.

And into his plush

three-bedroom apartment

with Central Park views.

Or a spin in his Beemer.

I just traded in my Beemer

for a Mercedes.

I live on Central Park South.

And the interest

on my inheritance

is more than you'll see

in your 12-hour-a-day,

number-crunching,

fake-Armani-suit,

pathetic, little lives.

You touch me again, I'll

knee you in the balls so hard,

they'll fly out of your mouth

and into your mashed potatoes.

Enjoy.

Hi.

It's me again.

Just checking to make sure

you two are okay.

"Week 39.

Because you prefer whole milk.

"Week 40.

The way your feet dance

when you sleep. "

Are you ready for dessert?

- No dessert.

- Yes!

So, do you guys have

any grandchildren?

My grandparents have been

married 50 years.

They say they owe it all

to communication.

Talking, sharing.

Opening up to one another.

- Don't you think?

- Excuse us.

This is not couples therapy.

Those two are years of research.

I mean, if that's the future,

then all this hysteria

about finding the one

and all this pressure

to experience true love

when in the end you've got

nothing to say anyway...

What's the point?

- The b*tch is back.

- What?

It's like those horror movies.

She won't die.

- You want me to tell her to go?

- Yes.

No.

Wait.

F***!

Look, I'm really busy right now.

- Do you want me to go?

- I just -

I came back because I know

how difficult this is for you.

But it isn't especially easy

for me, either.

I'll get you out of my mind.

But then my parents

will ask about you.

Or my sister, my friends.

Every time I pass the Thai

restaurant on my corner,

the one you threw up in,

I think of you.

You're everywhere.

Yeah, except with you.

I'm too rational.

You know that.

I don't know if I should

follow my heart or my head.

Alice.

Alice, English.

English, please.

I'm sorry.

I'm so confused.

Okay, look, I am

in the weeds right now.

Can we grab a drink later?

It's just that when I was home,

they were playing the

Cline Dion song from "Titanic. "

I couldn't stop thinking

about you.

- I hate Cline Dion.

- I know!

I started to think about

all the people that you hate.

Michael Bolton.

The Spice Girls.

Hanson. Madonna.

How worked up you get about it.

And how cute and adorable

you are.

And you know...

And? And?

And I don't know.

Maybe I shouldn't have come.

I'm very vulnerable right now.

Bye, Adam.

So, what's Simon having

for dessert?

A chocolate lava and

a crme brle, two cappuccinos.

One decaf for Simon.

The Italian guy wants a regular.

Thank you.

What's she want now?

I don't know, man,

but I see her,

and my knees get weak

and my hands start shaking

and I get these butterflies

in my stomach.

That's called nausea.

It's how I feel

when I see her, too.

For dessert tonight -

Whoa, whoa.

What?

No menu?

Oh, of course.

We don't get to look

at the prices.

Well, all our desserts

are $ 7.50, sir.

$ 7.50?

Marlon, you should tell

your boss,

or whoever it is

that sets these prices,

that Hagen-Dazs only costs

three bucks a pint.

Perhaps the lady -

Perhaps the lady's fine.

Was that your girlfriend

in here before?

Yep.

She's pretty.

It's just a front.

So, did you guys

patch things up?

Well, she's upset.

She wants me back.

Really?

What are you gonna do?

Well, I don't want to

break her heart.

But at the same time,

I got to think about myself.

You can't live your life

for someone else.

Certainly can't.

- Ready?

- Ready.

Well, you two are certainly

getting cushy, aren't you?

He's just so wounded.

Have you ever dated

a struggling artist?

No.

Okay.

Best-case scenario.

You two fall in love,

live on your waiters' pittance.

But it's romantic.

Okay, you're young.

You cook pasta with ketchup

every night.

You comfort your husband

during his writer's block,

have a baby.

Then what do you know?

One of his plays gets

turned into a movie.

And then suddenly he's this big

hotshot writer everybody wants.

Flavor of the month.

Okay?

You can't believe

how lucky you are.

Junior's in kindergarten.

All the hard work's

finally paid off.

Then to celebrate.

To reward you for sticking

by him through the dark days.

He dumps you for some

19-year-old actress named Storm

from Bumblefuck, North Dakota.

And then it's you and Junior

eating your meals at McDonald's.

Sipping your root beer out of

special-edition souvenir cups

given away to promote

your ex-husband's

new summer blockbuster movie.

You've thought about this.

I had a crush on him once, too.

- Here you are.

- Thanks.

Marlon, Marlon, Marlon.

Wait a minute.

Were you looking

at my wife's cleavage?

Honey, he wasn't.

- Shut up.

- Excuse me?

- Honey -

- Shut up.

Were you looking at her tits?

I may have glanced once

accidentally.

They're...

They're what?

You're a very lucky man.

And you're a waiter.

So keep dreaming.

Come on.

Let's get out of here.

I have to go to the bathroom.

- Can't you wait till we go home?

- No.

- Come on.

- Just get the car.

All right.

Look, I'm really sorry.

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Michael Rauch

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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