Brian is sitting with Roy at a table.
Brian: Do you have any idea what you’re about to eat?
Roy: I’d say it’s a hot dog.
Brian: Try tube of death. Well, let’s start with the fact that they basically dump a horse into a grinder then they add heaping portions of steroids, antibiotics, preservatives, chemicals, dyes, and fillers, then from our friend, Mr. Pig, snouts, ears, lips, and bristles, and finally they top it all off with…
Brian: Yes, it’s allowed by the government, 1.5 parts per million of rat droppings. Now, what on earth would make you wanna eat that?
Roy: A little more relish.
Roy puts a teaspoon of relish on his hotdog and scrumptiously takes a bite.
Joe is in his office talking on the phone.
Joe: Uh-huh. Mmm-hmm.
A miniature remote controlled blimp flies over the door and into Joe’s office.
Joe: Uh-huh. Yeah. Yeah, I got that. Ok, good. 2 cases of engine oil, and a case of filters.
Joe is slightly startled by the blimp hovering over his head.
Joe: Uh, listen. I’ve gotta go, the Hindenburg just flew in my office.
Lowell enters Joe’s office.
Lowell: Actually, it’s the Graf Zeppelin, Joe, but that’s an easy mistake to make.
Joe: Lowell, it is beautiful. It’s fantastic. Where did you buy this?
Lowell: Buy it? No, I made it myself from scratch.
Joe: You’re kidding.
Lowell: No, it took me 6 years, every day, 2 hours a day. Wife almost divorced me?
Joe: Wow, I can imagine. It really cut into the old family time, huh?
Lowell: No, I think I got a little too friendly with the girl that works at the hobby shop. Yeah, I’m gonna enter it in the model air show on Saturday. I was wondering if I could store it in here until then.
Joe: Yeah—yeah, sure. This really is incredible, Lowell. 6 years.
Lowell: Yeah. Everything is exactly to scale and historically accurate, even the toilets flush, except for the one in the forward cabin, but I put a little sign on the door.
Joe: Unbelievable. Hey, Lowell, let me fly it.
Lowell: Absolutely not, Joe. No way. No one touches this but me. No one.
Joe: Lowell, I’m a pilot.
Lowell: And a damn good one.
Joe: So, let me fly it.
Lowell: Never! Now, I’m gonna put this right in here, Joe.
Lowell puts the remote control inside the top drawer.
Lowell: You let me know if anyone touches it or even looks at it.
Joe: Ok, Lowell, whatever you say.
Lowell looks at Joe with suspicion.
Lowell: You were looking at it.
Joe: Okay Lowell.
Joe takes a seat on his desk chair and resumes with his work.
Joe: All right.
Lowell: Oh, and, Joe, don’t be alarmed if you hear music. That’s just the orchestra playing in the Grand Ballroom.
Lowell leaves. Joe looks at the blimp.
Outside, Roy is at the lunch counter reading a letter.
Roy: Oh, this stinks. Y-yeah? Well, what about my rights?
Helen: What’s the matter Roy?
Roy: Ah, I need another pilot, and the equal opportunity commission strongly suggests I hire a woman. Well, and I strongly suggest they blow it out their yu-yu. I don’t want some skirt flying my planes.
Helen: Oh, Roy, why don’t you hire a woman? God knows it wouldn’t be the first time. Well, it would be the first time in daylight.
Roy: Oh, you broads always stick together.
Helen: Did some Sherpa in Tibet just chip you out of the side of a glacier? Women pilots have been around since the beginning. What about Amelia Earhart?
Roy: Sorry, Helen. I need someone who can handle a roundtrip. Let me tell you something. There isn’t a man in his right mind who would step on a plane with a woman in the cockpit.
Helen: Oh! Shut up, Roy.
Roy: No, I—
Helen: Just shut up. Shut up! And give me back my food.
Helen grabs the sandwich from Roy who was about to take a bite.
Roy: Hey, I paid for that ham sandwich.
Helen: Well, I wouldn’t want you to eat your own kind.
Roy: Oh, you…
Helen goes over to a man sipping his coffee at the lunch counter.
Helen: Can you believe that guy? He probably thinks all women are good for is cooking and caring for their men folk. Can I get you a piece of apple pie? I just pulled one out of the oven.
The man nods.
Upset Fay arrives still wearing her tennis outfit, and is smacking everything in her way with her tennis racket including the cat inside a cage. The cat yowls. Fay steps back to the caged cat.
Fay: Oh, I’m so sorry.
Brian: I—I take it the tennis tournament didn’t go as well as you hoped.
Fay: I had it right in my hands and I let it slip away.
Brian: Oh, it’s too bad. Well, there’s always next year.
Joe steps out of his office.
Joe: Hi, Fay. How did the tournament go?
Fay: I lost.
Joe: Oh, gee, that’s too bad. Well, there’s always next year.
Fay: If one more person tells me that, I’m gonna serve his face.
Fay: Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been the senior woman’s champion for the last 5 years, and I should’ve won again.
Brian: Well, what happened?
Fay: I don’t know. I—I did fine in the semifinal match. Thelma Barrette has a cataract, so I kept hitting to her left. Had her swinging at air all morning, but then in the finals, my opponent was Constance Lloyd. She has this paralyzing fear of dogs. So every time she got near the ball, I barked.
Joe: You barked?
Fay: No, I know it was a vile and a repugnant thing to do. I just wish it’d worked.
Brian: Fay, I’ve never seen this side of you.
Fay: Oh, well, belive me, I’m not proud of it. It’s just that when it comes to Tennis, I’m so competitive when I slip those socks on with those little puff balls, I’m a different person, I’m a warrior. Although, I wasn’t much of one today.
Joe: Fay, you’re overreacting. Yeah, you just had an off day is all.
Brian: Hey, Fay, I’ll tell you what, tell you what we’ll do. What don’t you and I go out and we’ll hit some balls around, just for fun. You and me.
Fay: I didn’t know you played tennis.
Brian: Oh, yeah. I used to be pretty good. Almost made the Freshman Team at Princeton. Except for that incident.
Fay: What incident?
Brian: Ah, a trumped up story about Ben-Gaying the coach’s athletic supporter. Now, I couldn’t possibly have done it because at the time I was dressing a pig in the coach’s wife’s lingerie.
Joe: You were in the lingerie or the pig was
Brian: I was. What do you take me for, a pervert? What do you say, Fay? You wanna play?
Joe: Yeah, yeah, go ahead, it’s a slow day. I’ll cover for you.
Brian: Yeah, come on, come on.
Fay: Uh, ok, I’ll meet you on the court in 15 minutes.
Brian: All right.
Fay walks away.
Joe: Go easy on her.
Brian: Of course, Joe. I’m just gonna take her out there, I’m gonna build up her confidence, you know, warm her up a bit, suggest a match, and I’ll let her win.
Joe: Hey, you know, you better watch it. You gonna put a stop to all that talk about you bein’ a crass, juvenile, self-centered guy.
Brian: Who says that?
Joe: Well, me.
Helen walks over to Roy at the Aeromass counter.
Helen: Hey, Roy, is that your new pilot?
Helen points at the man in uniform sitting at a table near the lunch counter.
Helen: Ha ha, you couldn’t do it, could you? You just didn’t have the human decency to hire a woman.
Roy: What are you talkin’ about? I did, that’s her. Audrey Grant.
Roy points at the man.
Roy: She’s got some pretty impressive credentials for a woman.
Helen: Roy, I’m talkin’ about that person sitting at the table.
Roy: So am I. You know, you made me realize what a big chauvinist pig I was being. Thank you, Helen. You made me see the light.
Helen: Roy Biggins, that is not a woman.
Helen points at the man.
Helen: That’s a man.
Roy: Well, I admit the uniform does accentuate the flaws in her figure, but a man, pelase.
Helen: Come on, Roy, are you out of your freakin’ mind? What the hell are you trying to pull here?
Roy: Hey hey, hey, you watch your language. There’s a lady present.
Helen: Don’t move. Joe, you see that person over there?
Helen walks over to Joe, and points to the man at the table.
Joe: You mean that guy readin’ the newspaper?
Helen runs over to Roy.
Helen: Roy, that’s a man.
Roy: I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.
Helen: Ah! Ok, ok. If you really think that’s a woman, why don’t you go over there and give her a little hello kiss?
Roy: Oh, sure, that’s all I need, is a sexual harassment suit. In the good old days, you could at your help on the fanny, but not anymore.
Helen: Oh, knock it off, Roy. That is a man, and I’m gonna prove it.
Helen: Um…simple. I’m gonna go ask him.
Roy: Well, that’ll really boost her self-confidence. While you’re at it, why don’t you ask her why nobody took her to the prom? Better yet, why don’t you ask her why they all laughed at her when she showed up for the cheerleader tryouts?
Helen: Oh, come on, Roy.
Roy: Not every woman can be a s feminine as you are, Helen. Just ‘cause you have no facial hair and small bones, doesn’t make you any better than her, but go ahead. No, you ask your question. Go on, destroy what’s left of her life. Go on, go on.
Helen stands near the man’s table, but she could not bring herself to ask the man.
Helen: Damn it!
Brian and Fay return from their tennis match.
Joe: So, how’d the tennis match go?
Brian: Well, I thought I was gonna give Fay a few pointers, but as it turned out, she taught me a lesson.
Joe: Is that so?
Fay: I crushed him.
Brian: Yeah, she sure did. She sure did. Yeah, we had a little match, and I’ll be darned if she didn’t beat me fair and square.
Joe: Good for you, Fay. Now, you see? You haven’t lost it.
Fay: And, I never played better in my life. It’s too bad you weren’t my opponent in the tournament. I would’ve beat you like a gong.
Brian: Yeah, you sure would, boy.
Roy: Fay, did I hear you beat him at tennis?
Fay: 6-0, 6-0.
Fay: But it was closer than it sounds. You know, you’re really not a bad, little player, Brian. All you need to do is work on your lateral movement. I mean, it was like you were hauling a trailer around out there.
Brian: Oh, good tip. Thanks, Fay.
Fay: Well, and it might help if you planted your feet a little earlier, and follow through. You know, for a man, your forehand is pretty weak.
Roy laughs, and Lowell too, but Brian looks pissed.
Brian: I’ll, uh, I’ll try to work on that.
Roy: Hey, uh, Hackett, maybe you better try playin’ somethin’ a little bit more your speed, like, uh, shuffleboard or Gin Rummy.
Lowell: Or professional ice hockey.
Roy: Don’t help me.
Inside the Sandpiper Air Office, Joe is playing with Lowell’s remote controlled blimp. Joe hears a metal falling. He turns his head, and the blimp starts to slowly fall to the floor.
Joe: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Phew that was close.
Joe saves the blimp from falling, and it now floats behind the door beside the filing cabinet. Roy enters Joe’s office.
Roy accidentally smashes the blimp onto the cabinet. It falls down on the floor like a swatted fly. Joe is all pale.
Joe: Roy, do you realize what you just did? You crushed Lowell’s blimp! Why didn’t you knock?!
Roy: Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I guess I just should’ve assumed there was a blimp behind the door.
Joe: Well, I always do when I knock on yours.
Joe: I’m sorry. I’m just upset. What am I gonna tell Lowell?
Lowell enters Joe’s office from the hangar.
Lowell: Tell me what, Joe?
Joe: Lowell, I…
Lowell sees the flattened blimp, and he looks like he is about to cry.
Lowell: Nooo! Nooo! Noooooooooooooo!
Lowell kneels down next to the blimp, and picks it up. Lowell begins to sob, and cry.
Joe: Lowell, I’m so sorry.
Lowell: You’re sorry? You’re sorry?!
Joe: Lowell, it’s understandable that—that you’re attached to your blimp, but—but I know that deep down you realize it’s—it’s just an inanimate object and that—
Lowell: You killed my baby!
Lowell continues to sob, carrying in his arms the flattened blimp.
Joe: Lowell, I—I—I didn’t mean to. I was flying, and I—
Joe’s jaw drops after realizing his mistake.
Joe: It was Roy’s fault! He crushed it behind the door when he opened it.
Lowell: Well, it wouldn’t have been behind the door if someone had kept his hands off it like someone else asked him to.
Joe: Uh, uh, look, wait, wait, here. Here, see, I’ll give you everything I got in my wallet. Here’s, uh, what, $20, $80, $85.
Lowell: $85 for 6 years of my life?
Roy: Lowell’s right. Throw in another $10.
Lowell: Nothing you could do on earth would ever make up for this. Nothing.
Joe: I—I’ll fix it.
Lowell: Sure you will! It took me 6 years of exacting, painstaking, tedious detail work. I had to do some of it under a microscope with tiny tweezers.
Joe: Well, I—I—I would really like to try.
Roy: This, uh, doesn’t seem to involve me.
Roy makes his way to the door when he steps on something.
Roy picks up the piece he stepped on.
Lowell: Captain Jazzbo? You’ve murdered Captain Jazzbo! I’ll see you fry for this, Biggins!
Lowell leave’s Joe’s office still crying. Roy tosses the broken Captain Jazzbo then leaves. Joe picks up Captain Jazzbo, and the flattened blimp.
Joe: Oh, the humanity.
Brian returns from his flight.
Roy: Hey, Bjorn. I hear you’ve entered the Little Sisters of Perpetual Hope Tennis Tournament. Now, let me give you a little tip. Make Sister Mary Catherine go to her right. She always gets tangled in her beads.
Fay: Hey, Brian, look at this. We made the paper.
Brian: What are you talkin’ about, Fay?
Fay: Um, here in the sports section under “Odds and Ends”. “Senior tennis player Fay Evelyn Cochran defeated former Princeton tennis champ Brian Hackett in a grudge match at the tennis center yesterday.”
Brian: What? Let me se e this. “Ms. Cochran was at the top of her form as she easily defeated the tiring younger player.”
Fay: I’ve gotta cut this out and frame it.
Brian: Fay, Fay, did you call the newspapers?
Fay: I didn’t call anyone.
Brian: Well, then who did?
Brian: Oh, man, this is—this is public humiliation.
Fay: Oh, don’t worry about it. Nobody ever reads these things.
A passenger reading a newspaper turns to his wife.
Man: Hahaha! Get a load of this. Some hotshot Princeton brat just got his clock cleaned by somebody’s grandma.
Brian: That’s it, Fay. That’s it. I want a rematch.
Fay: Oh, now, isn’t that silly, Brian? I beat you before. I can beat you again.
Brian: Wake up and smell the coffee, Fay. I didn’t wanna tell you this before, but I let you win.
Fay: Oh, Brian, is your ego that fragile?
Brian: It’s not that, Fay. I have a reputation to clear.
Fay: Oh, and you think you’re gonna do that by beating a Senior citizen?
Brian: I’m counting on it.
Fay: Well, ok, Brian, if you need me to restore your manhood.
The waiting passengers look at Brian. Brian returns their perplexed looks.
Brian: On the courts! See you at 3:00 sharp, Fay, at the tennis center.
Brian: I want you, Fay. I want you!
The waiting passengers give Brian a strange look.
Brian: On the courts! Must it always be sex with you two?
Joe sits beside Lowell at the lunch counter.
Joe: Hey, Lowell, how’s it goin’?
Lowell turns away from Joe.
Joe: Did you get a chance to, uh, catalog those parts out on the tool bench for me?
Lowell remains silent.
Joe: How’s that soup today?
Lowell still does not answer.
Joe: Oh, look, Lowell, you’re gonna have to say something sometime.
Lowell: Blimp killer! Blimp killer!
Lowell walks away.
Joe: Well, it’s a start.
Roy’s new pilot arrives at the terminal. Helen follows him.
Roy: What are you gonna do?
Helen: Oh, I’m gonna put an end to this once and for all. I’m gonna ask that woman if he’s a man.
Roy: You can’t.
Helen: Why not?
Roy: She’s pregnant.
Roy: Yeah, it’s—it’s her first, and the doctors predict a very difficult delivery, what with her narrow hips and all.
Helen: Give me a break, Roy.
Helen goes over to Roy’s new pilot.
Helen: You, stand up.
The pilot stands up.
Helen: I’m gonna ask a question, and I want a straight answer. Are you a woman?
Helen: Then you admit that you’re a man?
Pilot: Of course I’m a man!
Helen exclaims and jumps for joy.
Helen: Aha! I knew it!
He points at the pilot while talking to the people at the terminal.
Helen: This is a man! This is not a woman, no. This is a man, and I knew it all along.
The people give Helen a strange look.
Helen: Well, see, there was some question earlier. And, uh, see, what had happened—well, just move along. Come on.
Helen runs to over to Roy.
Helen: You thought you were gonna slip that one by me, huh? You see, I knew that it was a man all along.
Roy: Of course, it’s a man, Helen. Any idiot with two eyes could see that. I was jerkin’ you around.
Roy: You chicks are so gullible.
Roy laughs and walks away. The pilot walks over to Helen.
Helen: If you ask me, it was an easy mistake.
Brian arrives at the terminal in crutches. Fay follows him.
Fay: Uh, uh, now, take it easy, Brian.
Fay: How’s your ankle?
Brian: Oh, it’s—it’s killing me, Fay. It’s really killing me. I think it’s starting to swell.
Joe: What—what—what happened?
Fay: Oh, we were playing the match, and Brian twisted his ankle when he dove for the shot.
Brian: Yeah, at least the pain was worth it. Got to the ball, made the point.
Brian walks into Joe’s office.
Fay: He missed it by a mile.
Joe follows Brian in to his office, and closes the door behind him. Brian groans. He puts down his crutches.
Brian: I don’t believe this.
Joe: Brian, I thought your ankle was injured.
Brian lifts his leg that has the injured ankle.
Brian: W-what? This one, here?
Brian kicks the filing cabinet and Joe’s desk with his supposed injured ankle.
Brian: She was beatin’ me, Joe. She was whippin’ me. I—I was playing my butt off. She’s good. The woman is actually good.
Joe: You’re kidding?
Brian: No! She was returning every shot I made. Lob shots, drop shots, passing shots. Uh, she was a blur of—of tennis sneakers and ruffled panties.
Joe: So, you faked an injury to salvage your dignity?
Brian: Yeah, I must be slowing down.
Joe: Ah, you haven’t played in a long time.
Brian: No, I mean it took me almost an hour to come up with this crutches scam. Hey, Joe, Joe, you were there, I mean, you were there when it all started. I was only trying to do something nice.
Joe: You’re new to that, Brian. Just don’t be discouraged.
Brian takes his crutches and resumes his fake injury. He groans as he walks out of Joe’s office.
Joe returns to his desk to resume working on Lowell’s damaged blimp.
Lowell: Joe, can I come in?
Joe: You’re talking to me?
Lowell: Wasn’t I? I could hear it in my head.
Joe: Yes, yes, y-yes, you were, Lowell. Uh, c-come on in, what’s up?
Lowell: I just wanted to apologize and ask for your forgiveness.
Joe: You, wanna ask for my forgiveness?
Lowell: Funny, I seem to be hearing every word I say.
Joe: No, it’s not that I can’t hear you, Lowell.
Joe: It’s just…never mind. Go on.
Lowell: I feel awful about the way I treated you.
Joe: Lowell, it’s me that owes you an apology. Can you ever forgive me for what I did?
Lowell: No. That’s the problem. I wanna stay friends with you, but I can’t seem to forgive you.
Joe: You know, I—I stayed up all night trying to put this thing back together and I…it took me two hours just to get Captain Jazzbo’s arm back on.
Joe hands Captain Jazzbo to Lowell.
Lowell: Well, that’s not his arm, Joe. It’s part of the auxiliary generator.
Joe: Y-yeah, you see? I—I just don’t know how I can make it up to you. Uh, but I wanna stay friends, too. What do we do?
Lowell falls on his knees.
Lowell: Pray with me, Joe.
Lowell pulls Joe down to his knees.
Lowell: Pray for guidance. I know you’re Jewish, but we both pray to the same God.
Joe: Lowell, I’m not Jewish.
Lowell: You’re kidding? With a name like Hackett?
Lowell puts his hands together in prayer, and closes his eyes.
Lowell: Heavenly Father above, you’re looking down on two tortured souls. We are but mortal men with feet of clay. We are not perfect. We make mistakes. Yet sometimes we cannot find it in our hearts to forgive. Please, show us the way.
Lowell falls silent. Joe looks at him, but he has his eyes wide shut.
Joe: Are we done now?
Lowell: No, no, we have to stay quiet and wait for a sign.
Joe: What kind of a sign?
Lowell: A sign that says we’ve suffered long enough and can once again call each other friend.
Joe sighs. He looks at his watch.
Joe: How long does this usually take?
Joe: Lowell, my feet are falling asleep.
Lowell: So are mine. That’s it! That’s the sign.
Lowell stands up. He pulls Joe up. Joe stutters.
Joe: That saws the sign?
Lowell: Come on, Joe. How man times can he part the Red Sea?
Joe: So, we’re friends?
Lowell: You betcha, Joe.
Lowell and Joe hug.
Joe: Hey, come on, Lowell. I—I’ll buy you a beer.
Lowell: Uh, first things first. A little prayer of thanksgiving.
Lowell falls down on his knees. Joe scoffs.
Joe: You’re kidding?
Lowell pulls Joe down to join him.
This is not the actual script. This is my own transcription of the episode. The “The Tennis Bum” episode was written by Peter S. Mehlman. Wings is owned by CBS Studios Inc., Paramount Pictures and Grub Street Productions.
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