The Big Lebowski Page #5

LEBOWSKI:

Are you employed, sir?

DUDE:

Employed?

LEBOWSKI:

You don't go out and make a living

dressed like that in the middle of a

weekday.

DUDE:

Is this a--what day is this?

LEBOWSKI:

But I do work, so if you don't mind--

DUDE:

No, look. I do mind. The Dude minds.

This will not stand, ya know, this

will not stand, man. I mean, if

your wife owes--

LEBOWSKI:

My wife is not the issue here. I

hope that my wife will someday learn

to live on her allowance, which is

ample, but if she doesn't, sir, that

will be her problem, not mine, just

as your rug is your problem, just as

every bum's lot in life is his own

responsibility regardless of whom he

chooses to blame. I didn't blame

anyone for the loss of my legs, some

chinaman in Korea took them from me

but I went out and achieved anyway.

I can't solve your problems, sir,

only you can.

The Dude rises.

DUDE:

Ah f*** it.

LEBOWSKI:

Sure! F*** it! That's your answer!

Tattoo it on your forehead! Your

answer to everything!

The Dude is heading for the door.

LEBOWSKI:

Your "revolution" is over, Mr.

Lebowski! Condolences! The bums

lost!

As the Dude opens the door.

LEBOWSKI:

...My advice is, do what your parents

did! Get a job, sir! The bums will

always lose-- do you hear me,

Lebowski? THE BUMS WILL ALWAYS--

The Dude shuts the door on the old man's bellowing to find

himself--

HALLWAY:

--in a high coffered hallway. Brandt

is approaching.

BRANDT:

How was your meeting, Mr. Lebowski?

DUDE:

Okay. The old man told me to take

any rug in the house.

WALKWAY:

A houseman with a rolled-up carpet on one shoulder goes down

a stone walk that winds through the back lawn, past a swimming

pool to a garage. Brandt and the Dude follow.

BRANDT:

Manolo will load it into your car

for you, uh, Dude.

DUDE:

It's the LeBaron.

DUDE'S POINT OF VIEW

Tracking toward the pool. A young woman sits facing it, her

back to us, leaning forward to paint her toenails.

Beyond her a black form floats in an inflatable chair in the

pool.

BRANDT:

Well, enjoy, and perhaps we'll see

you again some time, Dude.

DUDE:

Yeah sure, if I'm ever in the

neighborhood, need to use the john.

CLOSER TRACK:

Arcing around the woman's foot as she finishes painting the

nails emerald green.

THE DUDE:

Looking.

WIDER:

The young woman looks up at him. She is in her early

twenties.

She leans back and extends her leg toward the Dude.

YOUNG WOMAN:

Blow on them.

The Dude pulls his sunglasses down his nose and peeks over

them.

DUDE:

Huh?

She waggles her foot and giggles.

YOUNG WOMAN:

G'ahead. Blow.

The Dude tentatively grabs hold of her extended foot.

DUDE:

You want me to blow on your toes?

YOUNG WOMAN:

Uh-huh. . . I can't blow that far.

The Dude looks over at the pool.

DUDE:

You sure he won't mind?

The man bobbing in the inflatable chair is passed out. He

is thin, in his thirties, with long stringy blond hair. He

wears black leather pants and a black leather jacket, open,

shirtless, exposing fine blond chest hair and pale skin.

One arm trails off into the water; next to it, an empty

whiskey bottle bobs.

YOUNG WOMAN:

Dieter doesn't care about anything.

He's a nihilist.

DUDE:

Practicing?

The young woman smiles.

YOUNG WOMAN:

You're not blowing.

Brandt nervously takes the Dude by the elbow.

BRANDT:

Our guest has to be getting along,

Mrs. Lebowski.

The Dude grudgingly allows himself to be led away, still

looking at the young woman.

DUDE:

You're Bunny?

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