I used to write spec scripts for existing sitcoms as a way to practice writing in television formats and writing for existing characters. For a while I had real designs on moving to Los Angeles and writing for sitcoms. Then I realized I hate graffiti and tacos. So I stayed in Duluth.
One of the spec episodes I wrote was for the show "Scrubs." I present the opening scene here without comment. You decide for yourself if I got the show right or not. And if this is a waste of your time or not. If you want to read the whole thing, the link to download the pdf is below. You are welcome in advance.
And just a suggestion, read it while listening to some acoustic Colin Hay music. Then it'll REALLY feel like an episode of the show...
INT. ADMISSIONS - DAY
J.D. ENTERS through the lobby doors, pushing an OVERWEIGHT WOMAN in a wheelchair.
To be a doctor, you need training, skill, and a real way with people.
Now just relax, remember to breathe, and you’ll be a mommy before you know it.
I’m here for a gastric bypass, dumb-ass.
He hands the wheelchair over to an ORDERLY.
In the medical profession, we call that bedside manner. Keeping a patient calm and rational is a big part of our job, but keeping a patient calm and rational when you have no idea what’s wrong with them takes skill. A skill called lying. That’s something I learned very early.
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM, A COUPLE SEASONS AGO - DAY
J.D. stares horrified at a PATIENT with a third eye on his forehead. J.D mutters to himself.
DR. KELSO stands next to J.D., a large, fake smile plastered on his face.
I’d like to apologize for our intern, Mr. Kemp. He didn’t mean to scream, point, or recommend “Exorcism” as a treatment option. And let me also assure you that your condition is common, easily treated, and not, as our intern suggested...
(under his breath)
The work of the Dark Lord.
That’s the one.
BACK TO PRESENT:
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY
J.D. walks to the admissions desk and grabs a chart.
But there’s a flip side to bedside manner. You’ve got to be able to separate the real illnesses from the imagined, the cause from the symptom, and the sick from the lying. You’ve got to be able to spot a lie as fast as you can tell one. Those are two skills I’ve never possessed.
DR. COX and TURK join J.D. Something is troubling Dr. Cox.
Hey, Dr. Cox, what’s wrong?
What’s wrong? What’s wrong. I’m having your baby, that’s what’s wrong!
Oh God! We’re not even married, what will my parents say?
I’d like to thank you, Crockett, for helping me prove to your good friend Tubbs here, that you are, without a doubt, the most gullible girl on the playground. However, your response has left me even more confounded than your feeble attempts at healing the sick. See, I don’t quite know what disturbs me more; that your shocking lack of medical knowledge actually permitted you to believe I could be pregnant, or the fact that you didn’t seem surprised to learn that we’d slept together.
Either way, I’m going to have to go and shave my tongue for a good twenty minutes till the horrible mental picture of a baby you coming out of my nether regions has been erased. Thank goodness I have a crisp twenty dollar bill to ease the pain.
Turk hands Dr. Cox a twenty.
Dr. Cox exits.
I never thought you’d fall for that.
I’m sorry you lost twenty bucks, Tubbs.
Dude, I’m not calling you Crockett.
Turk walks away.
But if you grow your hair, and I stop shaving till I get a masculine mini-beard, we could be the sexy-suave crime fighters of medicine.
J.D. stops at a mirror and pushes the sleeves on his white lab coat up to his elbows.
You know, I’ve always thought you looked a bit like Don Johnson.
No, sorry, I meant Don Knotts.