DREW walks down the street toward the subway station, leaving a voice message for HIS WIFE RENATE. A WOMAN approaches, waving at him.
WOMAN
Excuse me? Hi. Hello?
Drew looks at the woman, then looks at his phone as if to say, “I’m on the phone.” The woman waits expectantly.
DREW (into phone)
Uh, I guess I’ll call you back.
WOMAN
Hi. Where’s 150 West Wacker?
After a moment of measured annoyance, Drew explains he’s not from these parts, but attempts to give the woman directions. After that fails, he points her towards an office building where there is surely a desk clerk who knows where 150 West Wacker is (West Wacker?). The woman’s response as she walks off:
WOMAN
Oh, that’s all right.
(Fade to black.)
EXT. UNION STATION – ANOTHER EARLY EVENING
Sent on a dreaded mission to buy his wife’s monthly Metra pass, Drew quickly discovers the entrance to Union Station at Madison and Canal is really an entrance to the train platforms. At the same time, A WOMAN, looking lost, turns to him in desperation:
WOMAN
Can you get to the ticket area from this entrance?
DREW
That’s what I’m trying to do, but I don’t think so.
The woman turns away in disgust.
WOMAN
These f–king cabs.
(Fade to black.)
I’m forming a courtesy brigade. If you join, we can discuss uniforms, but first and foremost, we need the right tools.
Each of us will be armed with a modified airhorn that blares an ear-piercing “you’re welcome” when the trigger is pressed, giving our righteous indignation the public attention it so richly deserves.
Perhaps a bullhorn is also necessary for incident-specific messaging. For the guy who throws his coffee cup on the bus floor: “I SAW THAT, LITTERBUG.” For the person who stands steadfast in the doorway of the subway car while twenty people wait to get on: “MOVE YOUR A– OUT OF THE WAY.”
Big things start small. Join today and someday people will say they knew you when. And they’ll thank you.