This is a Tall Tales competition speech, printed as a performance script rather than as prose — stage directions and all.
Tall Tales rewards exaggeration, so the story is told at full tilt. But the reason to publish the working version is the blocking: one speaker plays five people, and the whole scene is held together by where he is standing and who he is looking at. Left is Cynthia. Right is her father. Centre is the narrator talking to you. Almost every laugh is a turn.
It began life under a better title: How I Accidentally Dated a Sliding Door.
Walk–walk–walk — WHUMP. Stagger back. Freeze. Turn to centre.That… is the sound a sliding glass door makes when you walk into it.
Centre.How do I know? Because it happened to me at a high school party hosted by none other than my teenage crush… Look left.Cynthia Chen.
Centre.And in those circumstances, that sound might as well have been —
45° right; small open-hand gesture, quick.“SHAZAM.”
45° left; same gesture, quick.“KAPOW.”
Snap back to centre; calmer.At least… that’s how it felt. Because I didn’t just walk into it.
Centre.I face-planted, stumbled, and fell backward onto the grass — flat on my back — leaving a museum-quality face print in the middle of the world’s most pristine sliding door.
Slow sweep across the audience as “teenagers”.Silence. Fifty teenagers. Snap back to centre.One mortally wounded ego.
Centre.So I do the only reasonable thing: I spring up, fling my arms wide, and declare —
Hold the pose; then a quick glance left, like “did she see?”“Ta-da!” No applause — only laughter.
Look left, as Cynthia.But then Cynthia appears. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”
Centre, narrating.She takes my arm, leads me down the hall, and sits me on the edge of her bed — before I’ve even processed that I’m sitting in the bedroom of my teenage crush. Look left, softer.She’s gently brushing my hair back when —
Snap look right; go still.her father walks in.
Right; minimal movement.Not angry. Worse.
Right; stiller still.Calm.
Right, Dad voice.“What,” he asks, “is going on here?”
Look left, Cynthia, whispering.“Tell him you didn’t have your glasses.”
Turn right, panicked.I nod — too fast — and blurt, “Yes, sir. I didn’t have my —”
Quick turn left, incredulous aside.“…I don’t wear glasses.”
Turn right, sincere.“But if I did… tonight would’ve gone a lot better.”
Look left as Cynthia, but angle the face slightly right on “Dad”.“He face-planted into the sliding glass door, Dad,” she says, forcing me to relive it out loud.
Look left, Mom voice, authoritative.Her mom hurries in, sees the lump rising on my forehead, and says, “Oh wow. You might have a concussion. We should go to urgent care.”
Look left, Mom voice.“Honey, go get some ice,” she tells her husband.
Centre, narrating.Then she and Cynthia switch into Mandarin.
Centre; small awkward smile.And I’m sitting there nodding like I understand… because nodding feels safer than moving.
Look left, Mom voice.Then her mom turns to me and says, “David, would it be okay if we moved to the kitchen?”
Centre, quick internal aside.Yes. Let’s get out of your daughter’s bedroom. Please. That’s all I’ve been thinking about since this whole thing started.
Centre; tiny “escape” step.So naturally, the second I stand up, I rush to escape —
Snap right; collision reaction.and collide with her dad returning with the ice.
Right; recover.I don’t go down… but I stumble sideways and bump a framed picture off the hallway wall.
Eyes track down-right as it falls.It hits the floor with a crisp, expensive —
Down-right.CRACK.
Right; Dad voice, calm and deadly.Dad stares at the broken frame. “That,” he says, “is my great-grandmother from Taipei.”
Centre, apologetic.“I’m so, so sorry, sir — it was an acc—”
Look left; Mom cuts in.“Of course it was an accident,” her mom says.
Look left.“Honey, keep an eye on things. I’m taking David to urgent care,” she tells her husband.
Look left; hopeful.“I’m coming too, Mom,” Cynthia says — Centre.and hope blooms.
Look left; Cynthia, big eyes.Then Cynthia glances at me and whispers — “Ask if Josh can come.”
Centre, confiding.…Josh? Why Josh?
Centre, narrating.Josh is my friend. Josh is also a prankster, homework copier, serial shenaniganist. Josh and I are “friends” in name only.
Centre.But not wanting to reveal my devastation, I nod. “Mrs. Chen, would it be okay if my friend Josh tagged along?”
Centre, narrating.We head out. They live in a very big, fancy house in Tucson, Arizona — giant brick steps leading down from the front door.
Look right; Josh, whispering.As I’m backing down them, Josh leans in and whispers, “I thought you liked Cynthia. Why am I coming?”
Right; Josh grin.Then he flashes a grin… and gives me the smallest little push —
Snap down-centre; miss the step.just enough that I miss the next step.
Eyes down at the hand.I throw my hands out to break the fall and end up fracturing a thumb.
Centre.So if I didn’t need urgent care before… I definitely do now.
Set the “car” eyelines: down-left is the window, left is Cynthia, right is Josh.Back seat of the car: me by the window, Cynthia in the middle, Josh on the other side — Centre.me silently plotting the end of my friendship with Josh.
Look right; Josh.Josh says, “You should be more careful, David. Tonight just isn’t your night.”
Centre.Here’s the twist: after that ride, Cynthia didn’t like Josh anymore. Apparently, the way he acted was… a turn-off.
Quick look right, like “served”.Shocking, I know.
Look left; warmer.And Cynthia? We went on to date after that.
Centre; quick grin.So yes — everything went exactly according to plan.
Centre.And what did I learn?
Centre.If love doesn’t open the door… check for a handle first.
Centre; slow.Because sometimes —
Centre.when one door closes…
Look left; hopeful.another one opens.
Centre; bow, smile.“Ta-da!”