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INT. ED’S DRIVE-IN - KITCHEN - DAY
The kitchen of a drive-in restaurant outside St. Louis. It’s
1954. Traveling salesman RAY KROC (52) stands before a sample
MIXING MACHINE, making his pitch to the OWNER.
Now, I know what you’re thinking:
“What the heck do I need a five-
spindle for? I barely sell enough
shakes to justify my single
spindle.” Right? Wrong.
Mr. Paulsen, are you familiar with
the notion of the chicken and the
egg? I mention it because I believe
it’s applicable here: Do you not
need a Multimixer because you’re
not selling enough milk shakes? Or
are you not selling enough milk
shakes because you don’t have a
Multimixer? I firmly believe it’s
the latter. You see, your
customers, they know that if they
order a shake from your
establishment, it’s going to be a
terrific wait. They’ve ordered one
before, and by golly they’re not
gonna make that mistake again. But
if you had, say, a Prince Castle-
brand five-spindle Multimixer with
patented direct-drive electric
motor, you could greatly increase
your ability to produce delicious,
frosty milk shakes fast. And before
long, mark my words, dollars to
donuts, you’d be selling more of
those suckers than you can shake a
stick at. Increase supply, demand
will follow. Chicken and the egg.
You follow my logic? Of course you
do. You’re a bright, forward-
thinking fella who knows a good
idea when he hears it.
So whaddaya say?
ON THE OWNER-- pondering thoughtfully.
EXT. ED’S DRIVE-IN - PARKING LOT - SHORT TIME LATER
Kroc lugs the heavy Mulitmixer back to his car. He lifts it
into the trunk, wincing from his bad back.
INT. KROC’S CAR - MOMENTS LATER
Kroc sits in his car checking his APPOINTMENT BOOK. His next
DEE DEE’S DRIVE-IN - 1 P.M.
He checks his watch. It’s 12:05. He turns on the car, pulls
into a customer spot in front of Ed’s Drive-In.
He looks at the MENU BOARD, taking in the vast, seemingly
random assortment of items: BBQ beef sandwiches, hot tamales,
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chili dogs, etc.
INT. KROC’S CAR - SHORT TIME LATER
Kroc sits in his car, waiting for his food. He looks at his
watch. It’s 12:50. He lets out a heaving, exasperated sigh.
KROC’S POV, the view out his windshield: a rowdy TEEN-HANGOUT
SCENE. Rock-and-roll blasting from cars; female CARHOPS on
rollerskates dodging grabby male patrons; leather-jacketed,
cigarette-smoking hoodlums smacking each other around.
Kroc is the oldest customer by a mile--and seemingly the only
one with anywhere to be. He HONKS his horn, summoning his
CARHOP. She comes skating over holding a tray of Cokes.
Miss, how much longer?
Should be any minute.
You said that 20 minutes ago.
I’m sorry, we’re real-
She JUMPS-SQUEALS, startled. The tray of Cokes goes flying
into the car, SPILLING ALL OVER KROC’S LAP. Several glasses
and plates fall on the ground, SHATTERING.
Carhop Girl spins around, sees a GUY behind her cracking up.
He just pinched her butt.
Look what you made me do!
Dennis scampers off toward his pack of laughing friends. The
carhop goes chasing after him, mad but not actually mad.
ON KROC-- looking down at the pool of bubbly brown liquid in
his lap. He HONKS, leans out the window.
Could I get some napkins?
No one hears him.
INT. MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
ANGLE ON the pants drying on the shower’s curtain rod.
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