The Wisdom of Jeff Spicoli: Smarter or Dumber than Sean Penn?

Jeffrey Spicoli stands in the doorway, red eyes
glistening. His long, blond hair is still wet and
streaming down the back of his white peasant shirt.
He grins, oblivious to such trivial matters as
attendance bells. A Student sitting near Stacy
turns to his friends.

STUDENT
That guy has been stoned since the
third grade.

MR. HAND
Yes?

SPICOLI
Yeah. I'm registered for this
class.

MR. HAND
What class?

SPICOLI
This is U.S. History, right? I saw
the globe in the window.

MR. HAND
(appears enthralled)
Really?

Spicoli holds his red ad card up to the crack in
the door.

SPICOLI
Can I come in?

MR. HAND
(swinging door open)
Oh, please. I get so lonely when
that third attendance bell rings
and I don't see all my kids here.

Spicoli laughs. He is the only one.

SPICOLI
Sorry I'm late. This new schedule
is totally confusing.

Mr. Hand takes the red ad card and reads from it
with utter fascination.

MR. HAND
Mr. Spicoli?

SPICOLI
That's the name they gave me.

Mr. Hand slowly tears the card into little pieces
and sprinkles the pieces over his wastebasket.
Spicoli watches in disbelief. His hands are frozen
in the process of removing his backpack.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)
You just ripped my card in two!

MR. HAND
Yes.

SPICOLI
Hey, bud. What's your problem?

Mr. Hand moves to within inches of Spicoli's face.

MR. HAND
No problem at all. I think you know
where the front office is.

It takes a moment for the words to work their way
out of Jeff Spicoli's mouth.

SPICOLI
You... dick.

CONTINUED

Desmond returns to the room with a red-eyed Jeff
Spicoli.

SPICOLI
Hey! Wait a minute! There's no
birthday party for me here!

MR. HAND
Thank you, Desmond.
(to Spicoli)
What's the reason for your truancy?

SPICOLI
I couldn't make it in time.

MR. HAND
(in top form)
You mean, you couldn't? Or you
wouldn't?

SPICOLI
I don't know, mon. The food lines
took forever.

MR. HAND
Food will be eaten on your time!
(pause)
Why are you continuously late for
this class, Mr. Spicoli? Why do you
shamelessly waste my time like
this?

SPICOLI
I don't know.

CONTINUED

INT. THE COLD ROOM

There are six examination tables in the "Cold
Room". Each of them contains a cadaver covered by a
white sheet. Mr. Vargas has gathered the class
around one table in particular. He fingers the edge
of the white sheet as he talks.

MR. VARGAS
As you know, all the bodies in this
room are recently deceased human
bio-structures.

A student raises his hand.

MR. VARGAS
Yes, Randy?

RANDY
Who are these guys?

MR. VARGAS
Most of them were derelicts, Randy.
They sold the right for medical
examination of their bodies for
money. Something like thirty
dollars, I believe. Isn't that
right, Doctor Miller?

DR. MILLER
Twenty-five dollars.

ANGLE ON JEFF SPICOLI

who turns to Stacy.

SPICOLI
Twenty-five bucks is pretty good.

CONTINUED

INT. JEFF SPICOLI'S ROOM - NIGHT

Jeff Spicoli sits in his room, and it is his
castle. Clothes lie in disarray on the floor. A
huge half-waxed surfboard is propped against the
window. We see Spicoli dressed in a too large white
short-sleeved shirt, attempting to tie his father's
fat paisley tie. He stops to take a hit from his
bong, all the while talking on the phone. The music
of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird" plays on the radio.

SPICOLI
I... am... so... wasted, mon. What
is in this shit?
(pause)
Doesn't that stuff cause brain
damage?
(pause)
Bitchin'.

Spicoli listens for a moment. He rubs his eyes,
shakes his head. He is really buzzed.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)
Hey, mon, I am going to Mexico as
soon as school is out. Two more
weeks, bud. Week from Wednesday.
(pause)
I am gonna take both boards, my
duck feet, many cases of beer, and
just jam.
(pause)
No, mon, from school. I'm leaving
as soon as school gets out. I'll be
at Sunset Cliffs by nighttime.
(pause)
Totally.
(pause)
Later.

Spicoli hangs up, and concentrates on tying his
tie. He almost strangles himself. Then suddenly the
door to his room flies open and Spicoli's little
brother Curtis bursts in.

CURTIS
Jeff you have company!

SPICOLI
Go away, Curtis. If you can't
knock, I can't hear you.

Curtis slams the door and leaves. A moment later
there is a knock.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)
That's better. Come in.

The door swings open and Jeff Spicoli sits in
stoned shock at the sight before him. There,
standing in the doorway of his room is Mr. Hand.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)
Mr... Mr. Hand.

MR. HAND
That's right, Jeff. Mind if I come
in?

Spicoli can only nod.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)
(calling downstairs)
Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Spicoli.

Hand walks into Spicoli's room, takes off his suit
jacket and lays it on the chair back. He stops a
moment and catches the stare of Miss January
Penthouse on the wall, then turns to Spicoli.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)
Were you going somewhere tonight,
Jeff?

SPICOLI
Yeah. The Graduation Dance Mr.
Hand. It's the last school event of
the year.

MR. HAND
I'm afraid we've got some things to
discuss here, Jeff.

SPICOLI
Did I do something wrong, Mr. Hand?

Hand removes several copies of Oui Magazine from
another chair and sits down. He sets his briefcase
on Spicoli's dresser, next to a bag of pot, and
opens it up for easy access.

MR. HAND
Do you want to sit there, Jeff?

SPICOLI
I don't know. I guess so.

MR. HAND
Fine. You sit right here on your
bed. I'll use the chair here.
(pause)
As I explained to your parents just
a moment ago, and to you many times
since the very beginning of the
school year -- I don't like to
spend my time waiting for late
students, or detention cases. I'd
rather be preparing the lesson.

Mr. Hand takes a sheet from his briefcase and looks
at it.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)
According to my calculations, Mr.
Spicoli, you wasted a total of
eight hours of my time this year.
And rest assured that is a kind
estimate.

He returns the sheet to his case and looks into
Spicoli's weed-ravaged eyes.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)
Now, Mr. Spicoli, comes a rare
moment for me. Now I have the
unique pleasure of squaring our
account. Tonight, you and I are
going to talk in great detail about
the Davis Agreement, all the
associated treaties, and the
American Revolution in particular.
Now if you can just turn to Chapter
47 of Lord of Truth And Liberty.

SPICOLI
Hey, it's in my locker, Mr. Hand.

MR. HAND
Well, then, I'm glad I remembered
to bring an extra copy just for
you.

Hand reaches in his case and produces the book. He
hands it to Spicoli.

DISSOLVE
TO:

INT. SPICOLI'S ROOM - HOURS LATER

Wearily, Spicoli is trying to grasp the material.

SPICOLI
... so, like, when Jefferson went
before the people what he was
saying was 'Hey, we left this place
in England because it was bogus,
and if we don't come up with some
cool rules ourself, we'll be bogus,
too!' Right?

ANGLE ON MR. HAND

who nods his head.

MR. HAND
Very close, Jeff.

Hand reaches over and gets his case.

MR. HAND (CONT'D)
I think I've made my point with you
tonight.

SPICOLI
Hey, Mr. Hand, can I ask you a
question?

MR. HAND
What's that?

SPICOLI
Do you have a guy like me every
year? A guy to... I don't know,
make a show of. Teach other kids
lessons and stuff?

MR. HAND
Well, you'll find out next year.

SPICOLI
(smiling)
No way, mon. When I graduate U.S.
history I ain't even coming over to
your side of the building.

MR. HAND
If you graduate.

SPICOLI
(panicked)
You're gonna flunk me?!

Mr. Hand pauses a moment, then breaks into the
nearest approximation of a grin we have seen all
year. It isn't much, but it's noticeable. His lips
crinkle at the ends.

MR. HAND
Don't worry, Spicoli. You'll
probably squeak by.

SPICOLI
All right! Oh, yeah!

Mr. Hand has now gathered all his material, and he
stands to approach Spicoli's door. Jeff jumps up,
extends his hand.

SPICOLI (CONT'D)
Aloha, Mr. Hand!

MR. HAND
Aloha, Spicoli.

Mr. Hand exits the room, and descends the staircase
of the Spicoli household. Spicoli kicks the door
shut, grins, and continues struggling with his tie.