WAYNE, A JADED ADVERTISING AGENCY MD, IS ON A LONG DISTANCE FLIGHT WITH AGENCY ACCOUNT EXECUTIVE, TRENT, WHOSE OVER-EARNEST RAMBLINGS ABOUT THE UPCOMING BUSINESS PITCH ARE KEEPING WAYNE AWAKE DESPITE HAVING RELIEVED THE PLANE OF ITS SINGLE MALT WHISKY STOCKS. TRENT WANTS TO REVIEW THE PITCH (TO INTERNATIONAL EQUESTRIONAGE, A BETTING 'INTELLIGENCE' COMPANY) DESPITE IT BEING THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.
SUDDENLY THE PLANE HITS TURBULENCE. TRENT HITS THE ROOF AND THEN BECOMES AS MAUDLIN AS A DRUNK IN A EUGENE O'NEILL PLAY.
TRENT: You need a holiday Wayne. Why don't you take this weekend off?
WAYNE: What's a weekend?
TRENT (DOESN'T GET SARCASM): It's the days in between Friday and Monday when other people relax, have long leisurely breakfasts, go and play golf, and play with their children.
WAYNE (DOWNING THE LATEST SCOTCH AND GETTING TEARY AND MOROSE):
Oh. I must have one soon then. I've got children, you know.
I wonder what their names are.
TRENT (ALSO DOESN'T GET RHETORICAL SADNESS): Rosie and Lachlan, Wayne.
WAYNE: What pretty names, Trent. I wonder who thought of them.
TRENT: Probably your wife, Wayne.
I wonder what her name is.
TRENT: Now you're being ridiculous, Wayne.
WAYNE (RATIONAL AGAIN, HAVING APPEASED HIS SORROW): No I'm not. I can't remember my own fucking name half the time, why should I remember my wife's?
TRENT: Oh, because you married her?
And your childrens' names because they're your children. You know, what you thought were the most important things in your life.
(LONG PAUSE. WAYNE REACHES MECHANICALLY FOR HIS GLASS WHICH IS NOW EMPTY)
WAYNE: Trent, one minute you're the world's greatest up-and-coming advertising executive, and the next minute you sound like a freakin' new age personal relationship columnist.
You know, people who solve the problems of world-wide recession, massive unemployment, terrorism, splintering economies and El Nino by saying read more bunny books to your kids. Great.
TRENT: Sorry, Wayne.
WAYNE: That's all right.
WRETCHEDNESS HITS AGAIN. HE STARTS TO CRY.
TRENT: What's the matter now, Wayne?
WAYNE (SNIFFLING): Nothing.
I just remembered the bunny book I had as a kid.
TRENT (SHAKES HIS HEAD): Christ. Lost the plot.
WAYNE (ALMOST TO HIMSELF): I loved that book.
I took it to bed every night. (SOBS) The bunny's name was Bobby and when he got lost in the forest I cried until he was saved by a badger called Stanley.
Now all I get to read is fucking inflight magazines full of ads for $200 business shirts and $10,000 watches and articles about carbon-neutral spa resorts in rainforests where you get to eat organic watercress. For breakfast.
TRENT: Yep. You definitely need a holiday Wayne.
WAYNE (SUDDENLY RALLIES, CALLS DOWN THE AISLE): Ah, hostess? Or stewardess or whatever your fuckin' job title is ... have we got time for another scotch before we crash?
May as well drink it.
It'll only go to waste.
TRENT IS FINALLY SILENCED.
WAYNE FALLS ASLEEP WITHOUT ANOTHER SCOTCH.
THE PLANE EVENTUALLY LANDS WITHOUT INCIDENT, TRENT WAKES WAYNE AND THEY CATCH A CAB TO THEIR HOTEL.
NEXT MORNING, TRENT'S LAPTOP MALFUNCTIONS DURING THE PRESENTATION, HE IS UNABLE TO PRESENT THE POWERPOINT SHOW, AND HAS TO REVERT TO USING HUMAN LANGUAGE SKILLS TO OUTLINE THE AGENCY'S CREATIVE PLANS.
EQUESTRIONAGE'S MD IS IMPRESSED, SAYING: 'I SACKED THE LAST AGENCY BECAUSE THEY SHOWED ME ONE TOO MANY POWERPOINT PRESENTATIONS. YOU'VE GOT THE ACCOUNT, GUYS!'
ON THE WAY OUT, WAYNE TELLS TRENT, 'I TOLD YOU SO.'
TRENT IS COMPLETELY SILENT FOR THE ENTIRE RETURN FLIGHT. THE PLANE LANDS IN MELBOURNE, AND AS THEY WALK THROUGH THE TERMINAL, TRENT THROWS HIS LAPTOP IN A DUMPSTER.