旅行终点 The End of the Tour Movie Script

LIPSKY:

Really.

DAVID:

I had to wear this polyester uniform, and walk under these fluorescent lights, twirlin’ my baton, checking in every ten minutes: [mimes a walkietalkie] “All clear at this cubicle!” Like, every bad '60s novel about meaningless authority.

LIPSKY:

And were you thinking, “My God, I had two books come out when I was in my early twenties and here I am...”?

DAVID:

No. As a matter of fact, one reason I liked that job is, I walked around not thinking. In a really like, “Huh: there's a ceiling tile.”

LIPSKY:

And after the security guard thing?

DAVID:

This is the worst: I worked as a towel boy at this chichi health club.

LIPSKY:

A “towel boy?”

DAVID:

They called me something other than a towel boy, but I was in effect a towel boy. Who every once in a while was entrusted with the job of checking people in, having them show their i.d?

LIPSKY:

Uh huh.

DAVID:

Anyway, I'm sitting there, and who should walk in to get their towel, but this guy, this writer I knew.

37.

Who received a Whiting Writer's Award the same year I had, like two years earlier.

LIPSKY:

Oh, sh*t...

DAVID:

So I see this guy that I'd been up on this f***ing rostrum with, having Eudora Welty give us this prize -

LIPSKY:

Oh, God!

DAVID:

-And two years later, I'm like … It's the only time I've literally dived under something, to have somebody avoid seeing me.

LIPSKY:

Did you think you were done then?

DAVID:

Yeah. I was pretty sure life was over.

LIPSKY:

This is after your suicide watch?

David blinks. A beat.

DAVID:

How’d you know about that?

LIPSKY:

I read it somewhere. McLean’s, right?

How long were you there?

DAVID:

Eight days, I think.

LIPSKY:

Why were you there?