The following play by the blogger ibikunle Abraham laniyan is a one-act comedy in the style of contemporary, naturalistic theater. It is set in a confined location with a small cast and focuses on a single incident, making it suitable for a new playwright or a small theater production. The dialogue is designed to feel authentic and conversational, with interruptions and small tangents that add realism.
The Assembly Required
Characters:
ANNA: A meticulous, high-strung woman in her late 20s.
MILES: A laid-back, overly confident man in his late 20s, Anna's new boyfriend.
Recalling Bernard Grebanier's definition, a one-act play is an elaboration of a single, significant incident with a twenty to sixt...
Setting:
The living room of a small, modern apartment. Two large, unlabeled, flat-pack boxes sit on the floor. Various parts, including screws, wooden dowels, and oddly shaped pieces, are spread out on a blanket. The instructions—a single sheet of paper covered in inscrutable diagrams—are on the floor between the boxes.
(The play begins with ANNA holding a single wooden dowel, staring intently at the instructions. MILES enters, carrying two cans of soda.)
MILES
(Handing Anna a can.)
Here we are. The tools of our trade. Sugar and caffeine.
ANNA
(Doesn't look up.)
What is this? What does this mean?
MILES
(Sits on the floor, crossing his legs.)
Relax, babe. It's just a coffee table. It's not a nuclear reactor.
ANNA
(Gestures with the dowel at the instructions.)
"Just a coffee table" wouldn't require a flow chart to explain how to assemble a single shelf. Look at this. It's like a cave painting depicting a brutal battle.
MILES
You're overthinking it. It's intuitive.
ANNA
Intuitive? Miles, the first step is a drawing of a smiling man holding a wrench, followed by a frowning man holding the same wrench. What does that tell me?
MILES
It means the wrench is optional. The smiling guy just likes his job.
(Miles picks up a piece of wood and immediately starts trying to slot a dowel into it.)
ANNA
(Snatching the wood away.)
Miles! Stop! You'll break it! We haven't even—
MILES
I'm just getting a feel for it. You have to understand the material. It's a dialogue between man and particle board.
ANNA
This is not a dialogue. It's a unilateral demand that we figure out how to put this together with zero guidance. The only thing I understand is that "part F" is now "part 7," but the diagram clearly shows a hexagonal shape.
MILES
(Picks up a handful of screws.)
You know what my dad always said?
ANNA
No, but I'm guessing it involved power tools and a trip to the emergency room.
MILES
"When in doubt, use a bigger hammer."
(Anna stares at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated horror.)
ANNA
We are not using a hammer. We are using the correct tools. The ones that came in the box.
MILES
(Holding up a tiny Allen key.)
This? This is a child's toy. This is what you get with a toy car from a cereal box.
ANNA
It is the only tool provided.
(Miles sighs dramatically and lets the screws drop back onto the blanket.)
MILES
Okay, fine. Let's start from the beginning. Give me the holy scripture.
(Anna hands him the instructions. Miles holds them upside down for a moment before flipping them around.)
MILES
(Studying the page.)
See? Easy. Step one: assemble the base. All you have to do is connect the vertical and horizontal supports.
ANNA
(Looking over his shoulder.)
And which ones are those? All the pieces look the same. They're all the same beige color with pre-drilled holes in random places.
MILES
(Pointing.)
This is a vertical. This is a horizontal. It's all in the orientation.
(Miles holds up two identical pieces of wood. He turns one 90 degrees.)
ANNA
They're the same piece. You just rotated it.
MILES
Exactly! It's a test. A test of our perception. This is more than a piece of furniture, Anna. This is a journey of self-discovery.
ANNA
I don't want a journey. I want a coffee table.
(Anna picks up a long, flat piece of wood. She holds it out in front of her.)
MILES
(Grabs a smaller piece.)
This is the top. It's got the logo on it.
ANNA
Why would they put the logo on the bottom? No, this is definitely the—
(A loud cracking sound comes from one of the boxes. A part inside shifts and splits.)
ANNA and MILES
(In unison.)
The base.
(They stare at the silent, dented box. Anna slowly puts down her piece of wood and looks at Miles.)
ANNA
You were saying something about a hammer?
(Miles grins slowly, his confidence returning. He picks up one of the cans of soda and pops the top with a triumphant hiss. Anna does the same, and they both clink their cans together in a mock toast.)
(The lights fade to a soft blackout.)
The End
ANNA
This must be the top. It has the nice, finished edge.
continue
(The lights come up again on ANNA and MILES. They are now visibly disheveled. The floor is a battlefield of wood, metal, and plastic. A partially assembled, lopsided frame stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking less like a coffee table and more like a minimalist sculpture of a failed endeavor.)
MILES
(Staring at the wobbly frame.)
You know, I think it's got character. Rustic. A little bit... avant-garde.
ANNA
(Dusting particle board crumbs off her sweater.)
It's going to collapse the moment we put a book on it. And by "character," you mean it looks like a drunken scarecrow.
MILES
No, no. See? The tilt. That's a conversation starter. "Hey, where did you get that?" "Oh, we built it ourselves. We're very creative."
ANNA
(Holding up a screw.)
Miles, this is a hex screw. The instructions clearly show a Phillips head. They sent the wrong hardware.
MILES
(Exasperated.)
Fine! We'll just... improvisé. You know? Go off-script. We'll make it our own.
(Miles picks up the tiny Allen key from before. He examines it with an air of profound thought.)
MILES
(Whispering.)
Wait. What if it's not a wrench? What if it's a key? A key... to unlocking the table's true potential.
ANNA
(Groaning.)
Miles, please.
MILES
No, seriously! The little L-shape. It's like a divining rod. It's telling us... (He holds it up to the air.) ...it's telling us to find a different way.
ANNA
What are you doing?
MILES
MacGyver. I'm going full MacGyver on this thing. We're not following the rules anymore. We're a renegade team of furniture rebels.
(He starts to tie the spatula to one of the wobbly legs with the shoelace.)
ANNA
You're going to put our coffee on a spatula?
MILES
It's a temporary support structure. A little bit of guerrilla engineering. See, this is the problem with your process. It's too rigid. You gotta embrace the chaos. Embrace the—
(Just as he finishes the sentence, the top of the coffee table, which Anna had placed precariously, slides off and clatters loudly to the floor.)
MILES
(Frozen.)
...embrace the... oh.
(Anna stares at the now-split piece of wood. She slowly walks over to it and picks it up.)
ANNA
(Holding the wood.)
The smiling man... and the frowning man... they were a warning.
MILES
Okay, so maybe a little bit of chaos. But we're a team! We can still do this. We'll just... glue it back together.
ANNA
(Eyes wide.)
Glue. The instructions didn't mention glue.
MILES
That's the spirit! Improvisation! I'll get the superglue. We can watch it dry together. It'll be a bonding experience.
(Miles rushes off to find the glue. Anna stands alone in the wreckage, holding the broken piece of wood. She looks at the soda can still in her hand, the can they toasted with hope. She sighs, then, with a new, quiet determination, she takes a long, slow sip.)
(When Miles returns, a minute later, with a small bottle of glue, Anna has already started unscrewing a different section of the table, working methodically.)
MILES
(Holding up the glue.)
I found it! And I found a YouTube tutorial on how to fix furniture with—
ANNA
(Without looking up.)
Put it away.
MILES
What?
ANNA
I said put it away. I'm taking it apart.
MILES
(Deflated.)
But... we were so close!
ANNA
(Firmly.)
We were close to an earthquake. I'm starting over. Properly. With the proper instructions.
MILES
(Sits on the floor, looking defeated.)
But the instructions are—
ANNA
(Holds up her phone.)
I found a video. In English. And it's animated.
(Miles looks at her, dumbfounded, then at the half-disassembled mess. He slowly gets up and walks to her side, pulling up a piece of the blueprint and trying to compare it to the video.)
MILES
(Grinning.)
Teamwork.
ANNA
(Still focused on the phone.)
Don't get used to it.
(She points to a section of the video. Miles, finally listening, picks up a piece of wood and begins to follow her directions. He still looks a little unsure, but for the first time, there is a hint of genuine cooperation. The living room is still a mess, and the coffee table is still a long way from being finished, but the silent, cooperative work has finally begun.)
(The lights fade out completely.)
The End
ANNA
(Looking at the instructions.)
The script is a series of poorly drawn images and a note in a font so small it must have been written by a hummingbird. We've been off-script from the beginning.
(Miles stands up and begins to pace around the apartment. He grabs a spatula from the kitchen and a shoelace from a stray shoe.)
continue
(The lights rise on ANNA and MILES. They are still on the floor, surrounded by the remnants of the flat-pack fiasco, but now there is an air of focused, determined silence. Miles holds the phone, squinting at the screen, and Anna holds a long, flat piece of wood, carefully studying the corresponding animated diagram.)
MILES
(Quietly.)
Okay. The video says to take "Part D"—the long one—and join it to "Part J," the square one.
ANNA
(Doesn't look up.)
No. See the indentation? On my screen it's saying to connect the dowels on "Part A" to the pre-drilled holes in "Part G."
MILES
(Confused.)
The video I'm watching doesn't have a "Part G."
(They both look at their screens and then at each other.)
ANNA
(Sighs.)
Did you find a video for the exact table?
MILES
It said "Coffee Table Assembly" and showed a blonde woman smiling at a box. What more do you want?
ANNA
(Takes the phone from him.)
This is for the "Zenith 5000." We bought the "Minimalist Cube."
MILES
It's just a coffee table, Anna. How different can it be?
(Anna, seeing this as a teachable moment, takes the "Part G" from the floor and shows it to him.)
ANNA
This piece is completely different. The holes are in different places. The Zenith probably has a secret compartment for your keys. The Cube is literally a box.
(A quiet descends. Miles looks at the pieces, then at Anna's stern but calm face, then back at the phone. He finally lets out a deep, cleansing sigh and nods.)
MILES
Okay. Your video. Your rules.
(Anna looks at him, surprised by his surrender, and a soft, hesitant smile touches her lips. She points to a spot on the video.)
ANNA
First, we put all the screws in the right pile.
MILES
(Starts separating the screws.)
This is a metaphor, isn't it? For our relationship. You know, "the foundation," "the connection points," "the wrong screws..."
ANNA
(Looks at him and smirks.)
Miles, I just want the coffee table.
(They work in silence for a few minutes. He is less of a rogue and more of a partner now. He holds the pieces steady as she fits the dowels into the holes. They don't talk, but they are communicating with glances and gestures. The table begins to take a proper shape, slowly and methodically.)
ANNA
(Holding up a nearly complete leg.)
It's... solid.
MILES
(Taps it.)
Rock solid. Looks like we didn't need the spatula after all.
MILES
What about this guy? The little wooden thingy.
ANNA
(Looks at the video.)
Ah. That's a cosmetic cap. It covers the screw hole.
MILES
(Nods, then holds up the cap.)
Perfect. For the inevitable wrong turn we took. A cap for the screw-up.
(He winks. She shakes her head, but she's still smiling. They finish the assembly in a more efficient, less stressful manner. Finally, they stand back and look at their handiwork. It's not perfect. The veneer on one side is slightly scuffed, and one of the drawers doesn't close completely flush. But it's there. It's a coffee table.)
ANNA
(Runs her hand over the top.)
It's... good.
(He moves to sit down on it triumphantly. Before he can, Anna reaches out and grabs his arm.)
ANNA
Miles. Don't.
MILES
What? It's sturdy.
ANNA
It's brand new. We don't know its limits yet.
MILES
(Sighs dramatically.)
There's the Anna I know. Always thinking ahead.
(He sits next to it on the floor instead. He looks at her, and she sits down beside him.)
ANNA
(Looking at the table.)
You know... we still have that bookshelf to put together.
MILES
(Looks at her, eyes widening.)
Anna...
ANNA
(Holding up her phone with a newly found instructional video.)
It's in Portuguese, but the animations are very clear.
(He stares at the phone, then at her, then lets out a long, theatrical sigh. He smiles.)
MILES
I'll get the sodas.
The End
ANNA
(Smiles.)
We would have been living in a house full of spatulas.
(He smiles back. The feeling of success is small but potent. He reaches for a final piece, one that's been discarded earlier, a small wooden peg.)
MILES
(Pats her on the back.)
We did it.
(The lights fade out.)
(The lights rise. The bookshelf is assembled. It's a bit crooked, leaning subtly to the left, but it is, without a doubt, a standing, functional bookshelf. A single Portuguese instructional video still plays silently on Anna's phone, now propped up against a soda can. A small stack of books and a single houseplant already sit on the top shelf.)
MILES
(Stretching, then admiring their work.)
I told you it had character. A little... leaning.
ANNA
(Looking at the silent video.)
I don't think "character" is the word. Maybe "pre-stressed."
MILES
(Walks over and touches the top shelf.)
No, it's good. It shows we made it. Not some factory machine. This was built with blood, sweat, and several tears of sheer, unadulterated rage.
ANNA
(Smiling softly.)
Just the usual relationship milestones, then.
(Miles sits on the floor and pulls Anna down beside him. They look at the finished bookshelf together.)
MILES
You know... we still have that dining table. The one that came with the benches.
ANNA
(Stares at him, and her eyes widen with a playful, theatrical terror.)
Oh, no.
MILES
(Grinning.)
It's got a special feature.
ANNA
(Whispering.)
What special feature?
MILES
No instructions at all.
(Anna stares at him for a moment, then reaches for her phone. Miles, still grinning, intercepts her hand and holds it.)
MILES
This time... no video. We'll do it your way. The intuitive way.
ANNA
(Raises a skeptical eyebrow.)
Are you sure? Last time we tried that, we almost killed a coffee table.
MILES
(Looks at the leaning bookshelf, then at her.)
Yeah. But we learned something, didn't we?
ANNA
(Thinks for a moment, then smiles.)
We learned that my phone's battery lasts longer than my patience.
(He laughs. She laughs too. The sound of their shared humor fills the room. He pulls her closer, and they sit there, amidst the remaining flat-pack detritus, bathed in the soft, triumphant glow of a newly assembled bookshelf.)
(A single screw falls from the top shelf and clatters to the floor.)
MILES
(Looks at the screw, then shrugs.)
A souvenir.
(He kisses her. The lights fade to black.)
The End
Act 1, Scene 11
Characters:
ANNA: A meticulous, high-strung woman in her late 20s.
MILES: A laid-back, overly confident man in his late 20s, Anna's new boyfriend.
Setting:
The living room of a small, modern apartment. The bookshelf stands, a little crooked, but functional. A new, much larger, and significantly more intimidating flat-pack box rests in the center of the floor. It is simply labeled "THE BENCH." The coffee table, assembled in previous scenes, sits quietly in the background.
(ANNA is on her knees, meticulously laying out all the wooden dowels, screws, and other parts for the bench. MILES enters with two cans of soda, as he did in Scene 1.)
MILES
(Grinning.)
Round three. This time, we're seasoned veterans. We've earned our stripes. We're a well-oiled, flat-pack-assembling machine.
ANNA
(Doesn't look up.)
Don't get cocky. This is the big one. The benches. We're building furniture meant for people to sit on. The stakes are higher.
ANNA
(Accepts the can.)
Did your dad also say, "Make sure the elephant is properly seasoned and doesn't contain any toxic, poorly labeled parts"?
MILES
(Sits on the floor, crossing his legs.)
That's the confidence talking. And speaking of confidence, I've got a new approach for this one.
ANNA
(Suspicious.)
And what's that? A new MacGyver technique involving the leftover screws and a kitchen sponge?
MILES
(Holds up his hands, palms outward.)
No, no. I've been studying. I found a forum online. It's for people who love flat-pack furniture. They call themselves "The Assemblers."
ANNA
(Raises an eyebrow.)
And what do "The Assemblers" say?
MILES
They say the instructions are a mind game. The smiling man and the frowning man? It's not about the wrench. It's about your mental state. You have to start in a state of Zen.
ANNA
(Stares at him.)
You're not serious.
MILES
Completely. The Zen approach. Find your center. Be one with the particle board.
(Miles closes his eyes and starts humming softly. He picks up a wooden dowel, holding it upright like a small totem, his eyes still closed. Anna watches him with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. Suddenly, Miles's humming stops, and his eyes pop open.)
MILES
(Whispering.)
Wait. The instructions.
ANNA
(Sighs.)
What about them?
MILES
(Points a shaky finger at the sheet of paper on the floor.)
I think I see it.
ANNA
(Leans in closer.)
See what?
MILES
The dots. The dots on the schematic. They're not just dots. They're braille.
(Anna stares at him, open-mouthed, for a long beat. Miles, emboldened by his "discovery," picks up the instructions and starts running his fingers over the tiny dots on the page.)
MILES
(Excitedly.)
It's a code! It's a message! It's telling us to... to... (He closes his eyes again, concentrating.) ...to use "Part Q." What is "Part Q"?
(He scans the parts laid out on the blanket. He holds up a small, metal bracket. Anna, who has been quietly organizing the screws, holds up a different, smaller, curved piece of wood.)
ANNA
I thought "Part Q" was this. It looks like a boomerang.
MILES
(Shakes his head emphatically.)
No, no. The braille is clear. It's this one. The metallic-y one. It's telling us to join "Part M" and "Part P." I see it now. The A
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