11x18 - That Blasted Cunningham

[bunniefuu]

in the sky

a piece of the pie

in the kitchen

on the grill

in the big leagues

it's you and me, baby

with that

in the sky

a piece of the pie

How do you like my
new jogging shoes,
Mrs. Jefferson?

Oh, they're real nice.

Thank you.

When are you going to
try them out?

Right now.

I love that cushioned heel.

Will you get that, please?

Would you mind?
My feet are sore
up to my shoulders.

If I didn't have to
get the door,

I'd take care
of the rest of you.

Hello, Mr. Bentley.

Hello, Mrs. J.,
and hello, Florence.

Is Mr. J. home?

No, he's not.

Thank goodness.
I need to borrow
some sugar.

All right.
And a few other things.

This is quite a list.

Don't you think you
ought to go to the store.

Well, wouldn't that be
a bit redundant?

I assume you've
already gone.

I'll fill this order,
Mrs. Jefferson.

Now, do you want to
pick this up here
or at loading dock four?

Here would be dandy.
And, if you could
please hurry, Florence.

I don't want to be here
when Mr. J. gets home.

What's the trouble?
Haven't you seen
today's paper?

"Cunningham Cleaners
Declares w*r on
Jefferson Cleaners."

Oh, no,
not another cleaning w*r.

When these things come up
he's like a mad man.

Remember the
Memorial Day w*r of '?

Uh, no I don't remember
any of them.

But my therapist says
it's just a defense mechanism.

That no good,
low down, starch sucker!

I take it you saw
the paper.

What is Cunningham
trying to do to me?

I haven't the foggiest,
Mr. J., I mean,
the nerve of the man.

It makes my blood boil.

To think I've been
a good customer
of his for three years.

What?
I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, I guess
I just succumbed
to his promotion.

Remember, % off
all cleaning,

% off if you're a friend
of George Jefferson.

Get out, Bentley.

No, no, I won't go because
I'm a good friend of yours

and I won't desert you
in your hour of desperation.

Side by side we'll fight
this injustice together.

Here's your stuff,
Mr. Bentley.

Well, I think
I'll pop off now.

Green Stamps?

Oh, I wanted you to
have the complete
shopping experience.

Thank you very much.

What am I gonna do?

Now, calm down.

You've been
through this before.

Weezy, do you know
what it's like

when two titans
of the dry cleaning
industry butt heads?

No, but I hope it hurts.

What's Cunningham
planning on doing anyway?

He's gonna bury me
with a promotion
to end all promotions.

It's classy,
it's brilliant,

it provides high visibility,
and is totally cost effective.

You wanna say that
in American?

He's going to sh**t himself
out of a cannon.

A cannon? That's ridiculous.

And he's landing
right in front of his store

on a pile of fluff
and fold bath towels.

Sorry. I spoke too soon.

Hey, Cunningham.
This is Jefferson...

Yes, I read your ad.

I just want you to
know that this sh**ting
yourself out of a cannon

is the greatest promotion,
of all time.

The first? You'll see.

What are you going to do?

I have no idea, Weez.

But whatever it is
it's going to be so great,

that Cunningham will die.

You know, a lot of
folks might ask,

"A memorial service
in a dry cleaners?"

But those of us
in the biz

we only nod our
heads knowingly and reply,

"Uh huh."

ALL: Uh-huh.

Gil Cunningham
was one of a kind.

A dry cleaner's dry cleaner.

The kind of guy
that would always go
that extra yard.

Who knew when
he lowered himself
into that cannon yesterday,

he would go extra yards.

Except for the part of him
that hit the retaining wall,
of course.

Would anyone else

like to share some
other happy memories of Gil?

Maybe you'll feel better
if you say something.

This is the happiest memory
I have of him.

Mr. Rollins...

Gil loved,
he really loved kids.

I remember how he had
this sickly little nephew,
Billy,

who was quite
a bowling fan.

Right before
the bowling championships'

Billy said...

"Uncle Gil,
roll a spare for me."

And you know what?

Gil rolled Billy that spare.

Unfortunately,
George Jefferson
followed with a strike

and walked off
with the trophy.

But Gil came through
the next year.

And he got that trophy
for Billy.

Too bad the kid
didn't live to see it.

Anyway, that's the kind
of a guy Gil was.

I sense that
some of these people
are blaming me for this.

Then why don't you
say something?

I'm thinking, I'm thinking.

Mr. Yamata.

What do you know. He said
exactly the same thing
I was going to say.

Now I know
they're blaming me.

Well, somebody better
set the record straight.

Ah. Mrs. Jefferson.

I'd just like to say that

Mr. Cunningham
was a hardworking

devoted family man,
like my husband.

And as I look upon
this coffin,

nestled among the silent
steam presses

and the
"take a ticket" machine,

I can't help but think,

"There but for
the grace of God
goes my husband."

I hoped they would stop.

I prayed they'd stop.

I knew this insanity
would lead to tragedy.

Weez.
LOUISE: I knew it!

How much longer
must we endure these
senseless promotional wars?

Weez.

Mr. Gillespie,

you spun in a dryer
for eight hours on high.

Show us the
back of your head.

And Barsini...

You said if anybody
cleaned better than you,

you would eat your starch.

You still can't
bend from the waist.

Weez.

When will the carnage stop?

How many more
dry cleaners must die?

When will we ever learn,
no more wars!

No more wars!

Thanks for defending me, Weez.

Well...

I guess that says it all

except to say,

Arriverdercito my friend.

You were a great
dry cleaner,

and unless I guess wrong,

you're up there now
running a special
on angel wings.

Weez, do you mind
if I have a few moments
alone with Cunningham?

Oh, of course not.

Hey, Cunningham,

I've got something
I want to say.

You're talking to his feet.

Cunningham, you probably
can't hear me now.

And even if you could,
you'd probably
pretend you couldn't.

So I just want you to know
this wasn't my fault.

I'm mean I'll miss you,
because...

You inspired me
to greatness.

I mean, you kicking off
like this has left a hole
in my life as big as... As...

Well, as big as
the one you left
in front of your store.

Hey...

There are others waiting.

We're having a conversation,
do you mind?

Anyway, Cunningham,
I have a confession to make.

When I said I had
a better promotion,
than you,

I was bluffing.

You had me b*at
all the time,

right up to the time
they lit the fuse.

You're talking to his feet.

Now...

...with you gone
who's suppose to
give me my genius ideas?

Heh. I know, of course,
you don't care about this

'cause now you're
probably up there

taking in angel robes
and giving 'em back
a refund.

Hey, a refund...
That's not bad!

You did it again,
you late son of a g*n.

You just given me
the greatest promotion
of all time!

I'd love to shake
your hand if I knew
where it was.

There, there,
let it all out.

Well, keep some of it in.

Uh, George...

Mrs. Cunningham
has something she'd like
to say to you.

Mrs. Cunningham,

I hope you're
not blaming me
for what happened.

Oh, George,
I'm sure she
doesn't blame you.

You k*lled him!

Let it be on your head!

Sounds a little like
blame to me.

But Mrs. Cunningham...

Get out of my sight,
cleaner k*ller!

See that, you clumsy oaf?

That's how a pro does it.

Jefferson swallowed the hook.

Now all I have to do
is reel him in.

I'll find out
what his promotion is.

I'm so sorry...

Oh...
Oh...

How's Mr. Jefferson
feeling this morning?

Oh, the same.

I wish he'd get over
these guilt feelings.

Mr. Jefferson,
you've got to
snap out of this, child.

You're looking terrible.

Don't try to
cheer me up. Okay?

Uh, would you
like to have some
orange juice, George?

Weezy, will you stop
torturing me with
this Cunningham stuff?

Well, what's orange juice
got to do with Cunningham?

Will he ever be able to
drink any again?

I think not.

Mr. Jefferson, you've got to
put this behind you
and move on?

To what?

I mean, what is life anyway?

You're born, you grow up,
you clean a few clothes,
and you die.

Cunningham's
at step four now.

I'm still at step three.

And getting closer
to step four
by the minute.

Oh, no, he'll never hear
a doorbell again either.

Can't drink orange juice
no more.

Can't hear a doorbell no more.

What's the sense in dying?

Oh, my God. Weezy,
she's here for her revenge!

Oh, George.

Oh, I'm so sorry,
Mrs. Cunningham.
Please come in.

Actually, I'm the one
who is sorry.

I want to apologize
for my outburst
the other day.

I was understandably upset.
But that was no reason
to blame you.

Mrs. Cunningham...
And I have something
to give you.

No, no, no.
I've taken enough
from you already.

George, why don't you
offer Mrs. Cunningham a seat?

Yeah, good idea.

Take the couch.
Take the chairs.

Take my wallet.

It's given me comfort
in times of grief.

I think he means
sit down.

Thank you.

Mr. Jefferson,
you and my late husband

had a very
competitive relationship.

And I loved him for it.

You competed
not only in business,
but in sport.

For years
your bowling teams
met in combat.

To some, they may
have been just
Roy's Lanes

but to Gil, they were
the beaches of Normandy.

That's ironic, because
his uptown manager
bowls with a goosestep.

He's unorthodox,

but he's got
a two-fifteen average.

Anyway...

As the symbol
of a new era

of peace and harmony
between our cleaners,

I would like you
to accept this.

The Cleaners League
Bowling Trophy?

Yes. Cunningham Cleaners
has walked off with it
the last four years.

Oh, but George,
couldn't possibly...

...turn down
such an appropriate gift.
Thank you.

Gil always said
that if anything ever
happened to him

I should give this
to you.

In fact, I can hear him
saying it now

"The only way Jefferson
will get this trophy
is over my dead body."

Nature's so beautiful
when it works.

Can I get you something,
Mrs. Cunningham?

No, no. I'll just be going.

But I'll go happier now
knowing that this trophy
is in its rightful place.

Oh, Mr. Jefferson,
you've got to help me.

I don't know what
I'm going to do.

Well, they have
a women's bowling league.

Maybe you can win
a trophy of your own.

No, no, it's not that.

You see, I'm
a helpless housewife who...

...through a senseless tragedy
has been thrust

into the cut throat world
of dry cleaning.

Men are so strong,
so smart,

and I'm
just a woman.

A woman
can't do anything.

Don't you agree?

Well...
Of course she does.

Okay then,
if you'll excuse me,

I'll be in the bedroom
paying the bills,

editing the Help Center
newsletter

and calling
the Mayor's commission
for the elderly.

You know,
not doing anything.

Please...

You've got to help me.

You are the greatest
living dry cleaner alive.

Teach me. Mold me.

Well, Mrs. Cunningham,
this is some
complicated stuff.

Well, okay, what the heck.

This, is a hanger.

...and to those who feel
that plastic bags

don't allow clothes
to breathe,

my feeling to them is,
"Hey, they keep
vegetables fresh, don't they?"

Whoo, we've been at this
for three hours.

Okay, now maybe
it's time we move
from counter work

to the actual process
of cleaning, okay?

But first a little pop quiz.
Okay, Mrs. Cunningham,

somebody brings
a dirty shirt into your store.

What is the first thing
you do?

Clean it.
Oh, boy. I am some teacher.

Uh, Mr. Jefferson,
as fascinating
as all this is,

I'm a little uncertain
about something else.

Advertising promotions.

Gil always said that
you were a genius at that.

Genius? He said
that I was a genius?

Oh, Mrs. Cunningham,
Einstein was a genius.

Benjamin Franklin
was a genius.

But of course, your husband
did have an eye
for brilliance.

Actually, I did have an Idea
for a promotion.

How's this?
"For every dollar
you spend,

"Cunningham Cleaners'll
give you back two."

Oh, you poor child.

No wonder they never call
a businessman
a businesswoman.

Then, what's your idea
of a good promotion?

Okay, let me describe
the sales technique

that I was going to use
to bury your husband.

Sorry.
Wrong choice of words.

Oh, don't tell me.
I'm sure I could
never understand.

No, but you're lucky.
I'm explaining it to you.

Okay?

Now, it's called
"The George Jefferson
Bucks Back Bonanza."

Whoever brings in
the biggest load of laundry

gets it done for free,
and gets one dollar back
for every pound.

I'm sure that's genius.
But could you tell me why?

Well, it's very simple.
You see...

Hundreds of people
will bring in five,
ten pound loads.

So I only have to
pay the turkey
who brings in .

Now let me
get this straight.

I bring in pounds
of laundry,

and you give me a turkey?

Let's call it a day,
Mrs. Cunningham.

Oh, Mr. Jefferson...

I don't know
how to thank you.

Just be one tenth
the dry cleaner I am

and that's thanks enough
for me.

I can't believe
Mrs. Cunningham
stole George's promotion.

When he sees that ad,
he's gonna k*ll himself.

You got some tape
so I can put this ad
back together?

Be serious, Florence.

He'll be out here any second.

Well, Mrs. Jefferson,
he's bound to see
this ad sooner or later.

True...

But there's always
the chance that later
could happen elsewhere.

Thank goodness
that's the only copy around.

Have you seen this?

Oh!

Mr. Bentley.
We're trying to keep this
from you know who.

Oops, I'm sorry, Mrs. J.,
but you can count on me.

Uh, Mr. J., I mean,
Mr. You Know Who,

won't suspect
that I know anything.

Bentley. Hi, everybody.
What's for breakfast?

How should I know?
I don't read the paper.

You feeling okay?

Me? Why do you ask?

Don't I look all right?
I feel all right.

I'd never conceal anything
from you, Mr. J.

I've got nothing to hide.
Absolutely nothing at all.

Come on, Bentley,
just sit down here

and we'll have
some orange juice.

Thank you, Mr. J.
That's very
considerate of you.

Not really. I just know
you can't drink and babble
at the same time.

What a sense of humor.
A wonderful thing to have
at a time of crisis,

and you never know
when one of those
is going to pop up.

For instance...
Drink!

Where's my paper?

Here you go, Mr. Jefferson.

So I clipped out
a coupon.

The size of the page ?

It was a big sale.

Oh, here Mr. J.
You can have mine.

Oops.

Thank you, Bentley.

Uh, boy, Mrs. Cunningham.

Uh, George, aren't you
shocked by
what you just saw?

Why should I be?
I've seen Bentley
dribble his juice before.

Uh, no. Mr. J., I think
she's referring to

Mrs. Cunningham
stealing your promotion.

Why aren't you furious?

Because it would be childish.

Right.
Why aren't you furious?

George you
have been bamboozled.

Weezy.

Why don't you
follow me down
to Cunningham's store

and I will show you

who is the bamboozle er

and who is the bamboozle ee.

Well, well, well, Jefferson.

Come crawling
to beg for mercy?

Do I look like I'm crawling?

It's hard to tell,
you're so low to
the ground already.

Good one. Good one.

I've come about
the promotion.

Aw, I can't take credit
for it. It was all yours.

And you let it slip
right through your fingers.

And into your claws.

Easy, Weez. Down, girl.

Okay, now, Mrs. Cunningham,
would you explain this
promotion to me again?

Come on, Jefferson.
It was your idea.

Whoever brings in
the biggest load,

gets a free wash
and a buck back
on every pound.

So I assume you're getting
in some pretty big loads.

Maybe five
or ten pounders.

Oh... Try and .

Stupid me.

But I'm still waiting
for the big one.

Well, here it comes.
Bring it in, boys!

Hey... Hey, what's going on?

Wait. Stop.
What is this?

It's a week's laundry
from Jefferson Cleaners.

All seven stores.

George, you're brilliant!

Now she's got to give you
a dollar for every pound.

That's right.
Plus she's got to
clean it for free.

Yes, I'm brilliant.

But I couldn't have done it
without the help
of an old friend,

Gil Cunningham.

What?

Yeah, he sent me
a message the other day.

From the other side?

That's right.
The other side
of that trophy.

This was taped
to the plaque.

"Jefferson, if you
are reading this,
I know I'm dead.

"I never wanted
to be enemies.

"It was my wife who
wanted to bury you
all these years.

"She put the cunning
in Cunningham.

"Don't trust her."

This is a trick.

I refuse to do this laundry.

Ah, ah, ah.
Truth in advertising.

You'll pay me a dollar
for every pound.

Which comes to
approximately $,.

I will not.

Okay. Well then you'll pay me
$, in court.

Come, Louise.
But...

Oh, by the way,
I'll need all this
on Tuesday.

GEORGE:
Start unloading truck two...