The Best Polish in Chicago
CHARACTERS
MARTY, counterman and manager of stand
SERGEANT, police officer (can double with LIPTON)
WOMAN, customer, in her twenties
LIPTON, customer, an elderly gentleman
DORIS, the cashier
MARIE, a fry cook, a young or middle–aged Latina
SERGEANT, police officer (can double with LIPTON)
WOMAN, customer, in her twenties
LIPTON, customer, an elderly gentleman
DORIS, the cashier
MARIE, a fry cook, a young or middle–aged Latina
LOCATION
A venerable Southside Chicago hot dog/Polish stand off of Roosevelt Road
A venerable Southside Chicago hot dog/Polish stand off of Roosevelt Road
(A long chest–high counter, centerstage, simulating a hot dog stand. There is a chair for the cashier behind the counter at the far end, stage right, and another chair further behind the counter.
(There is no need for much additional props. The actors will simulate constructing and wrapping sandwiches, preparing fries and scraping the grill, tabulating checks, and so forth.
(At rise, MARTY, wearing an apron and a cap, stands behind the counter, a bit towards stage left. He takes the orders, works the steam trays, wraps the sandwiches. MARIE is behind him, slightly downstage, also wearing an apron and a cap or a head wrap; with her back to the counter, she works the deep fryer and the grill. DORIS is sitting behind the counter at the far right end, at the cash register. She’s dressed neatly, but casually, without an apron.
(Two customers are lined up, downstage left, in front of the counter. SERGEANT, a portly police officer, is first in line. Behind him stands a younger WOMAN, and although well–dressed in casual business attire, she seems unsure of herself, out–of–place. She stares at the menu posted behind and above the counter, trying to decode it.)
(At rise, MARTY, wearing an apron and a cap, stands behind the counter, a bit towards stage left. He takes the orders, works the steam trays, wraps the sandwiches. MARIE is behind him, slightly downstage, also wearing an apron and a cap or a head wrap; with her back to the counter, she works the deep fryer and the grill. DORIS is sitting behind the counter at the far right end, at the cash register. She’s dressed neatly, but casually, without an apron.
(Two customers are lined up, downstage left, in front of the counter. SERGEANT, a portly police officer, is first in line. Behind him stands a younger WOMAN, and although well–dressed in casual business attire, she seems unsure of herself, out–of–place. She stares at the menu posted behind and above the counter, trying to decode it.)
MARTY
Well, if it ain’t Sergeant Bucik. Welcome back, Sarge.
SERGEANT
Shut up, Marty. I don’t need any more of your lip today.
MARTY
What? Another tough day on the beat?
SERGEANT
What’d I tell you? Another word out of you and I’ll haul your ass in as a menace to public health.
MARTY
Ok, mum’s the word, but first let me ask, you want your usual, with fries?
SERGEANT
Yeah, only make that a double fries. And not to go, I’ll eat it here outside at the table.
MARTY
Long lunch hour, huh?
SERGEANT
Didn’t I just tell you . . . ?
MARTY
Fries! Twins!
MARIE
Fries! Twins!
(MARTY pulls a hot dog from a steamer, places it on a bun, covers it with condiments, and places it on a plate and a tray. MARIE prepares the fries.)
WOMAN
Sir?
MARTY
Marty. Marty’s the name. What’ll it be?
WOMAN
Well, Marty, Lonely Planet says you’ve got the best Chicago hot dog in all of Chicago.
MARTY
The best Polish, too. And Lonely Planet is never wrong.
WOMAN
I’ll do the hot dog.
MARTY
Steamed or grilled?
WOMAN
Steamed. And can I have it on a bun that’s gluten–free?
MARTY
We’ve got buns with poppy seeds or buns without poppy seeds. What’ll it be?
WOMAN
Without, please.
MARIE
Fries! Twins!
(MARIE hands MARTY a bag of fries and he places it on the tray for the SERGEANT who slides the tray over to the CASHIER.)
MARTY
And what do you want on it? We’ve got . . . .
WOMAN
I’ll have it plain. And make it to go.
MARTY
Plain it is.
(MARTY removes a dog from the steamer, places it on a bun, and wraps it in a bag to go. In the meantime, SERGEANT has reached DORIS, the cashier.)
DORIS
Coke, right?
(DORIS reaches back to get a coke from the cooler behind her and places it on SERGEANT’s tray.)
SERGEANT
Right. Not much business today, huh?
DORIS
Lunch is about over, but it’ll pick up as soon as school lets out. For you, that’ll be a dollar.
SERGEANT
(he hands her two dollars). Here’s two. Keep the change.
DORIS
Want a receipt.
SERGEANT
(he laughs). Sure, like I’ve got an expense account.
(Exit SERGEANT, still laughing.)
(MARTY hands the WOMAN her order.)
MARTY
Enjoy. You’ll find the mayo in packets over there by the cashier.
WOMAN
Thank you.
(As WOMAN approaches DORIS, LIPTON enters. He is an elderly gentleman wearing an elegant suit several sizes too large for him. He walks slowly, as if hindered by age or pain or both.)
WOMAN
He never asked me if I wanted fries.
DORIS
Did you want fries?
WOMAN
No, but how did he know that? And how did he know I like mayonnaise on my sandwiches?
DORIS
You work around here for a while and you can’t help but get to be a little bit psycho. Diet coke?
WOMAN
Yes, but how did , , , oh, never mind.
(DORIS removes a coke from the cooler behind her, hands it to the WOMAN, and begins to tally the bill while the WOMAN unwraps her hot dog and applies some mayonnaise to it.)
(MARTY, who has been busying himself behind the counter, looks up to find that LIPTON has finally reached him.)
MARTY
Mr. Lipton. Nice to see you here again.
LIPTON
Hello, Marty. It’s been a while hasn’t it? I haven’t been getting around much lately. I’ve been a little under the weather, you know.
MARTY
Well, the important thing is that you’re here now, alive and kicking. The usual? One steamed on a plain bun?
LIPTON
No, sir! A grilled Polish, charred, with plenty of onions and peppers.
MARTY
You’re sure about that, Mr. Lipton? Maybe you’d better stick with the steamed dog. Last time you were here, your wife was pretty strict about nothing richer or spicier than a steamed dog.
LIPTON
My wife’s dead, Marty.
MARTY
I know that, but even dead people can be right sometimes.
LIPTON
A grilled Polish with everything. I used to eat two, sometimes three of those in my day, and never thought twice about it. And don’t forget the fries. Make that double fries.
MARTY
Ok, you’re the boss. Fries! Twins!
MARIE
Fries! Twins!
LIPTON
And make that for here. It’s a nice day, and I’ve got all the time in the world.
(MARTY turns back to the grill to make the sandwich. DORIS, waiting for the WOMAN to rewrap her dog, hands her the check.)
DORIS
That’ll be four ninety–five, hon.
WOMAN
You only charged that man a dollar. And he had double fries, too.
DORIS
That man serves and protects. What do you do?
WOMAN
I . . . oh, never mind. Thank you.
(She pays and exits.)
MARIE
Fries! Twins!
(MARIE hands MARTY the bag of fries and he places it on the tray with the Polish for LIPTON.)
LIPTON
I used to eat two of these Polish a day. Sometimes three if I was really hungry!
MARTY
Come back and see us again real soon, Mr. Lipton.
(LIPTON moves down the line and reaches DORIS.)
DORIS
Something special to drink, hon?
LIPTON
Can you make me a chocolate phosphate?
DORIS
I don’t even know what that is.
LIPTON
Everything’s gone to hell around here, hasn’t it?
DORIS
I don’t know nothing about that.
LIPTON
A coke then, and not one of those diet things.
(DORIS picks up a coke, places it on his tray, but as she is about to tabulate his bill, she notices MARTY waving at her and shaking his head.)
DORIS
That’s it, sir. This one’s on the house.
LIPTON
Well, thank you. That’s very kind of you. I think I’ll join the policeman over there. I believe I know him.
(LIPTON exits, and with no more customers in line, MARIE finds a seat behind the counter and falls into it, wiping her brow.
(MARTY, cleaning his hands on his apron, comes out from behind the counter to the outside and approaches DORIS, as if eager to flirt with her. DORIS anticipates him.)
DORIS
So that’s Mr. Lipton? I heard you and Nick talking about him a while back. He used to come here a lot?
MARTY
A regular. Almost every day, and every day he’d order the same thing. Two Polish grilled with the works. “And don’t forget the double fries, Marty.” That is until his wife made him switch to plain steamed dogs when he started to have stomach troubles. “And I don’t want to see no more fries in that bag ever again, Mister!” His wife, she used to always say that to me.
DORIS
He worked around here?
MARTY
He owned a store right across the expressway on Roosevelt. His wife worked there, too. His family goes back a long way. I think his father started out with a pushcart on Maxwell Street when Maxwell Street was still Jewtown. “Shmatas,” he used to say. “That’s what I sell, shmatas.” Men’s wear. Sport coats, dress slacks, all knock–offs and seconds.
DORIS
Well that explains the fancy suit he was wearing. Only it was about two sizes too large for him.
MARTY
He’s lost a lot of weight since I last saw him. He used to be a pretty big guy. I guess he doesn’t want to waste money on anything new.
DORIS
Across the expressway on Roosevelt. I can’t picture it.
MARTY
Where the Home Depot is now. It’s been a couple of years.
DORIS
Oh, before my time. . . . I wonder where all those Home Depot people go for lunch. I never see any of their uniforms around here.
MARTY
Don’t know. Probably the California Pizza Garbage Kitchen.
(His attention is drawn by some commotion towards the picnic table, offstage left.)
MARTY
Oh, Goddamit! . . . I knew it! I knew it! . . . Goddamit! . . . No, not there!
DORIS
(leaning over the counter to see) Oh my God! . . . Oh, God! . . . What a mess!
MARTY
You should’ve seen him jump! I’ve never seen a cop move so fast.
(The DORIS turns behind her.)
DORIS
Marie! Clean up at the picnic table! Customer sick! Bring a bucket!
(MARIE slowly gets up from her chair and begins to search behind the counter. She will eventually emerge from behind the counter and cross over toward stage right, mop and bucket in hand.)
MARTY
(towards the wings). No, no, stay right where you are, Mr. Lipton. You don’t have to clean up a thing. We’ll take care of everything! ! (Turning back toward the DORIS). Doris, take over the counter for me, will you? I’ll be back in a snap.
(He takes off his cap, and then his apron, which he tosses to DORIS.)
DORIS
Where do you think you’re going? It’s the middle of the day.
MARTY
School won’t let out for another hour, and somebody’s got to see Mr. Lipton home. Look at him. He looks awful.
DORIS
You can’t just leave. Nick . . .
MARTY
Nick won’t be around ‘til evening, and Mr. Lipton lives right down by River City. I’ll be back before anyone knows I’m gone.
DORIS
Ok, it’s your skin.
MARTY
I’m coming, Mr. Lipton. I’ll take you home myself. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll get you home. Just leave a couple of bucks on the table for the help.
(MARTY exists, stage right.
(MARIE, crossing over to stage right, is mumbling under her breath, something in Spanish. As she approaches the wings, stage right, she pauses, retreating a few steps.)
(MARIE, crossing over to stage right, is mumbling under her breath, something in Spanish. As she approaches the wings, stage right, she pauses, retreating a few steps.)
MARIE
Oh, Santa Maria, Madre de Dios!
DORIS
(again leaning over to assess the damage). Looks like you might need another bucket or two.
MARIE
Sometimes I think I spend my whole life cleaning up after white people.
DORIS
I guess you were just born lucky.
MARIE
Bitch!
(MARIE exits. The DORIS calls out after her.)
DORIS
Yeah, life’s a bitch, ain’t it!
Blackout.
About the Author
A member of the Dramatists Guild, J. Weintraub has had over 50 independent productions of one-act plays and staged readings produced throughout the United States and in Australia, New Zealand, India, and Germany. He has published fiction, essays, and poetry in all sorts of literary places, from The Massachusetts Review to Modern Philology and, as a translator he has introduced the Italian horror writer Nicola Lombardi to the English speaking-public. His two-act adaptation of Carlo Goldoni’s canonical Villeggiatura trilogy, The Summer Season, was recently published in The Mercurian: A Theatrical Translation Review and can be read here: https://the-mercurian.com/2020/11/24/the-summer-season/. In addition, his annotated translation of Eugène Briffault’s Paris à table: 1846 was recently published by Oxford University Press. Find out more at https://jweintraub.weebly.com/