Executive Dining, A Farce
Meet James Porter, above, a dignified, successful and very well-dressed business executive, who arrives at an upscale restaurant for an important meeting, only to find that this is a restaurant with some VERY strict requirements.
All comments, thoughts, criticism, suggestions are appreciated! Any details left out? Tell me!
Setting: A very expensive restaurant, with one table at the center of the stage, no tablecloth. A coat stand is between the table and the kitchen doors on the right.
Characters:
James Porter: Upper class executive, tall, dignified, sophisticated, distinguished, clean-cut, hundred dollar haircut, late thirties to early fifties. He is extremely well-dressed in a navy blue pinstriped business suit, red patterned silk tie and pocket handkerchief, red suspenders, black dress shoes polished like mirrors, starched white shirt, black overcoat, silk scarf, leather gloves, Rolex and briefcase. He is the epitome of the successful businessman, with a confident demeanor and walk. At the beginning, he is the very model of the self-assured, slightly arrogant captain of finance. He could be a diplomat or a senator.
Carl: The waiter, thirties to forties, thin and dressed in a waiter’s uniform, always smiling, speaks in a soft voice that never gets excited - unless he has to.
Mr. Shlemon: Stuffy exec, 60's.
Hank: 50s, dressed in a cheap suit.
Mr. Everett: 30, another well-dressed executive, very similar to Porter but younger and cockier, black overcoat, charcoal business suit, red tie, white shirt, black tasseled loafers, hair gel, cell phone.
At the opening, Mr. Porter is alone, waiting to be seated. He takes off his overcoat, scarf and gloves, straightens his tie and suit jacket and checks his shoes to see if they are properly shined. Carl appears and quickly walks over to Mr. Porter and leads him to the table, and hands him the menu as he sits and puts the briefcase down.
Carl: (taking the overcoat, scarf and gloves and hanging them on the coat stand) Here you are sir! And will sir be dining alone today?
Mr. Porter: No I will be meeting a Mister Shlemon. I’m early…
Carl: That's fine, sir! May I say what a pleasure it is to have such a distinguished gentleman in our restaurant!
Mr. Porter: (somewhat condescendingly, as if accustomed to such praise) Hmm? Oh, yes, thank you very much...
(Carl leaves)
Mr. Porter puts on his glasses and sits quietly for a moment, studying the menu. Carl then returns and walks up to the table:
Carl: Sir, I…
Mr. Porter: (looks over his glasses) I think I’ll wait to order.
Carl: It’s not that sir. I’m afraid I must inform you that…there seems to have been a complaint, in fact several complaints. They are in regards to yourself, sir!
Mr. Porter: (raising his eyebrows) What? A complaint? About ME?
Carl: Well, sir, here at Chez Grand, we are very proud of our extremely quiet ambience.
Mr. Porter: (sitting with his legs crossed and his right shoe clearly visible) Well? What has that go to do with me?
Carl: Well, sir, it seems that you are disturbing the patrons with your…noise. It’s those…(he points to Mr. Porter’s shoes)
Mr. Porter: (takes off his glasses) My SHOES?
Carl: Yes...Sir; I’m afraid that the squeaking is becoming intolerable. THERE…I just heard it again! We have had several complaints…
Mr. Porter: (with irritation) My shoes do NOT squeak! These are five hundred dollar shoes handmade in London!
Carl: Sir, please, I must ask you to maintain your composure.
Mr. Porter: (calmly) Very well…what am I supposed to do about it? I can’t leave. This is the most important meeting of my professional career! My colleagues will be here shortly, and I can’t reach them…
Carl: Sir, I am afraid I must insist that you take off your shoes.
Mr. Porter: (silent for a second, stunned) WHAT!
Carl: Sir, I have asked you not to get excited. I must insist…
Mr. Porter: You expect me to sit here with my SHOES off? ME! In my BUSINESS SUIT?...
Carl: If you do not comply…
Mr. Porter: You’ll WHAT?!
Carl: Is sir threatening me? I may have to call the police.
Mr. Porter: (forcing himself to be calm) The police...no..no…it’s just that…surely you can’t expect me, a man in my position, to have his dignity…someone like YOU, a MENIAL WORKER, cannot realize...
Carl: (holds out his hand) Your shoes, sir. Step out of them and give them to me.
Mr. Porter, in one last desperate attempt to keep his shoes, stands and walks up and down and points to them.
Mr. Porter: (for the first time coming down slightly off his high horse) You see! Not a sound! (appeals to Carl) I just had them polished. I have a very important position! Perhaps someone in YOUR position doesn't realize...
Carl: (puts his hands over his ears and winces, then uncovers them) Sir! Please! The squeaking! You MUST comply! Now, sir. NOW!!
Mr. Porter: (angrily admits defeat) ALRIGHT! YOU WIN! I'll take my shoes off! This is ridiculous! (He sits down unties his shoes and very slowly, grudgingly pulls them off his feet.)
Carl: (Picks up the shoes and holds them up, looks inside) Yes, made in London! I will hold these for you in the back. They certainly are a fine pair of shoes, sir! Sir has excellent taste!
Mr. Porter: (irritably) Thanks! It's too bad I'm not wearing them!(Carl continues to stand there) Well?
Carl: One more thing, sir…
Mr. Porter: (more irritably) What?
Carl: (points again at Mr. Porter's feet) It appears that sir is wearing business socks. Dress socks?
Mr. Porter: Yes, of course!
Carl: Sir, as you can see our floors are very well polished. We cannot take the slightest chance that sir might fall while walking. A law suit would ruin us!
Mr. Porter: (hesitantly, afraid of what is coming next) So?
Carl: It IS the law, sir. I must have your socks as well…
Mr. Porter: (starting to stand up in anger) MY SOCKS!!! Do you realize who I am?! I am James Porter, vice president of Cabot, Porter and Shlemon, one of the city’s largest investment firms! I can't sit here in my BARE FEET!
Carl: But this is NOT your office, sir! WE make the dress code HERE!
Mr. Porter: No...no..I didn't mean...but...my dignity...
Carl: Please comply with our rules. (firmly) Take those socks off.
Mr. Porter: This is outrageous! I CANNOT sit here barefoot! I am an investment banker! AN INVESTMENT BANKER! (suddenly friendly, reaches into his pocket) I'm sure we can make a deal here.
Carl: Is sir BRIBING ME?! The future of our restaurant is at stake. I would have assumed that a gentleman of your stature would behave more appropriately!
Mr. Porter: No, I'm sorry about the bribe. I mean....Look...This...this must be a joke! I have a very important meeting. What will....
Carl: Can sir GUARANTEE he will not slip? and FALL!
Mr. Porter: (bewildered) Of course not!
Carl: Then hand them over!
Mr. Porter: But...barefoot...(Carl merely holds out his hands; Porter surrenders in exasperation) FINE! GREAT! You want me to take off my socks? Here! (He reaches under his cuffs and angrily pulls off his black dress socks and holds them out in front of him, then holds his legs straight in front of him so the soles of his feet are visible) Now I’m barefoot! Are you satisfied? I'm one of the city's leading investment bankers!
Carl: (takes the socks) Brooks Brothers! I should have known that a well-dressed gentleman like yourself would wear socks of such outstanding quality.
Mr. Porter: (visibly embarrassed, tries unsuccessfully to hide his feet) This is an outrage...Just leave me alone. (Carl leaves and then returns thirty seconds later; meanwhile, Mr. Porter straightens his tie and tries to look serious and dignified.)
Carl: Sir, there has been another complaint about you.
Mr. Porter: (wearily, nervously) ANOTHER complaint. Who are these people who are so irritated by me? (He sticks out his bare feet from under the table) Are my feet squeaking now?
Carl: (laughs artificially) Oh NO, sir! It’s your tie, your necktie, sir.
Mr. Porter: (coldly) What about my necktie?
Carl: No fewer then three people have complained about it. The color, sir. They don’t like it. They were HIGHLY offended. They will leave if you don’t…
Mr. Porter: (arrogantly) Don’t what? Why should I care if someone doesn’t like my necktie?
Carl: Sir, these are regular customers…They are very FINE people. I MUST INSIST that you remove your necktie. It is causing a great deal of distress...
Mr. Porter: (folding his arms) NO! What about ME? Don't I count as "fine people"?
Carl: It IS...rather garish...
Mr. Porter: GARISH! This is a two hundred dollar Hermes tie, made in Paris!! It is silk. It matches my suit and my red braces! I will NOT take it off!
Carl: Sir, your belligerence is so extreme that I might easily have you arrested. And wearing suspenders is strictly prohibited. Some diners have found their digestion impeded, and naturally we can’t have that. Apparently sir is not CONCERNED with others?
Mr. Porter: (coldly)That is absolutely ridiculous. And they are called braces, NOT suspenders...Who do you think you are?!
Carl: (suddenly angry and speaking loudly and firmly) Those suspenders can cause you to choke!! JUST LAST WEEK A MAN COLLAPSED! WE WILL LOSE EVERYTHING!!! Now lose that fancy necktie, and get those suspenders off, NOW, suit-boy! And are those CUFFLINKS!! They might FALL in your SOUP! Take those off, too!
Mr. Porter: (stunned by the sudden change from rage to politeness, confused) But...you're joking...These are monogrammed. Please, I...
Carl: (calm and polite again, hands a written form to Mr. Porter) As you can see, sir, regulations…(Carl holds out his hand for the items) The tie, the tiepin, the cufflinks and the suspenders.
Mr. Porter: (starting to crack, shoulders sagging, stands up) My necktie, my braces…(he stands up, unfastens his cufflinks and his tiepin and takes them off, and reaches into his suit to unbutton his suspenders, which he pulls out from inside his suit. As he does this, Carl suddenly reaches over and grabs the necktie. He unties and pulls it off a stunned Mr. Porter).
Carl: (taking the items) THANK you, sir, for your cooperation! Oh, and this, too, of course. (Carl boldly pulls the matching pocket handkerchief from Porter's suit pocket, while Mr. Porter just stares straight ahead)
Mr. Porter: (really cracking now, his business demeanor crumbling) Of course!...Please, please, just leave me alone. (he looks down at himself, holding up his trousers, and collapses into his chair and puts his head in his hands. Mr. Porter's dignity and bearing are quickly disappearing, but Carl is still staring at him. This time, Mr. Porter looks at him with real fear)
Carl: (urgent, much bolder, points at Mr. Porter and says with urgency) TAKE OFF YOUR SUIT.
Mr. Porter: (exhausted, anxious, disoriented) What? WHAT?
Carl: (in a bullying tone) A new regulation. No business suits without neckties. NO EXCEPTIONS! EVER! Take it off, sir.
Mr. Porter: (helpless, pleading) But YOU TOOK AWAY my NECKTIE!
Carl: (folding his arms) Take your suit off. NOW.
Mr. Porter: (reduced to begging, his composure and confidence gone) Please don't take my suit! It's all I have left! Look at me! I used to be well-dressed! You've stripped me of my shoes, my socks, my tie, my cufflinks, my...
Carl: (folding his arms) So NOW sir is trying to be a VICTIM?! Does sir have no shame?! Now get that nice suit off! THIS MINUTE!
Mr. Porter: (pleading, pathetic) You wouldn't REALLY do this to me, would you? Can I borrow a necktie from someone, ANYONE!!!! (He looks around)
Carl: Sir, PLEASE! I simply CANNOT have you harassing the other customers! (He pulls out a large brown bag) Sir can trade his suit for this!
Mr. Porter: TRADE! (looks in the bag and slowly pulls out the contents) This…this looks like a jumpsuit! A…a janitor's uniform!!!! And it's covered with grime! It even has a nametag - it says "Gus"! I am wearing a three thousand dollar Savile Row suit! Tailored for me in London! Look, look at the lining! (starting to break down, shaking)
Carl: TAKE OFF YOUR SUIT!
Mr. Porter: (slides off the chair to the floor, kneeling, a barefoot beggar) But…but...I can’t possibly…a JANITOR! A MENIAL WORKER! (jabbering) I am a corporate executive! I am respected! An Ivy League graduate! You CAN'T take my suit away! I have a corner office, a Mercedes Benz...dozens of people work for me...I'm a very successful man...a country home...a private jet...I have a wife and three children...
Carl: It is OUR RULE, SIR! (suddenly "anxious" and speaking quickly, leaning over the crumpled figure of Mr. Porter) SIR! If my boss comes in and finds you dressed like this, I will be fired! FIRED! (hysterically) I have SIX children! Does sir want to be responsible for six children losing their home? And starving? Is sir so high and mighty that your fancy suit is more important!? Does sir think he's BETTER because he wears that nice suit!? I will not leave this table without that suit. (smugly) It's the least I can do for the sake of my children!
Mr. Porter: (becoming more and more confused and anxious himself) No, no, I didn't mean...six children...but my name isn't Gus...it's James Porter...(as if he's starting to doubt it) I'm an investment banker, a Princeton graduate, not a janitor...I...I CAN'T go from a pinstriped suit to a janitor's uniform...please...
Carl: (yelling, mocking, haranguing) A PINSTRIPED suit! Does sir EVER think of anyone ELSE! Sir doesn’t CARE about the other patrons! SIR is not CONCERNED if our restaurant closes! Sir is too important to follow rules and regulations! Sir does not even care if I LOSE MY JOB! Or if my children STARVE! All that matters to sir is himself!
Mr. Porter: (crumpled on the floor) Please…Please...I beg you...
At that moment, Mr. Shlemon walks in. He stops and stares at Mr. Porter, in shock.
Mr. Shlemon: Jim Porter! Have you lost your mind! WHAT do you think you are doing!!? Get off that floor! Where are your shoes!?
Mr. Porter: (recoiling in horror, but still on the floor) BILL SHLEMON! I...I can explain everything...It's ALL his fault! (he points at Carl, and lungs towards him, falling on his face) Him! He's to blame! He did it all!!!
Carl: (calm and cheerful) So THIS is Mr. Shlemon! The man you have been saying those terrible things about! (Mr. Porter lets out a strangled cry, and turns to Mr. Shlemon, whimpering) I must say, sir, that this gentleman has been behaving in a MOST inappropriate manner. All of us have been shocked at his bizarre behavior, and he called YOU a THIEF! He has lost all self-control! However, we have been generous and will NOT have him arrested...yet.
Mr. Shlemon: (very angry, as Mr. Porter turns on all fours and grabs his leg) Jim, our association is at an end. You will find it VERY difficult to work in this town again...blaming this hard-working man! You are a DISGRACE! (Mr. Shlemon pulls his leg away and storms out)
Mr. Porter: on all fours, whimpering) My job...my job...my career. Bill knows EVERYONE!
Carl: (inflexible, no more 'sir') Hand over that fancy suit NOW! There is a policeman just outside the door! Assault! Disorderly conduct! Disturbing the peace! Refusal to comply with...
Mr. Porter: (pleading) You don't mean I'm supposed to take it off HERE!
Carl: (calm again, lifting Mr. Porter back to his chair) Sir, this is most unseemly. I have asked you politely...do I HAVE to contact the authorities? After all YOU DON'T HAVE A JOB!
Mr. Porter shudders at these words. Then his cell phone rings. He picks it up.
Mr. Porter: (anxious and stunned as he listens) Oh, hello! Yes...I... well he did, but...yes, I was fired...but...no...no...NO! (he drops the phone and his head falls into his hands)
Carl: (cheerfully) Good news, sir?
Mr. Porter: My wife...she...she's leaving me...we were having problems, but...Mr. Shlemon called her...she wants the house...
Carl: Sir is having a bad day, I see and that IS very sad...but STILL that is NO excuse...YOUR SUIT, SIR! I am STILL waiting patiently!
Mr. Porter: (his eyes glaze over - he is a broken man, resigned to his fate) My suit. Of course....Please! I'm sorry! I'll take it off…here, please take it! (slowly takes off his suit jacket) I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
Carl: (pointing and barking orders) Shirt! Rolex! Briefcase! (points to the coat stand) Overcoat! Scarf! Gloves!
Mr. Porter: (desperately complying, trading places with Carl and calling him 'sir') Yes, yes, sir, I should have thought of that! I'm sorry! I'm SORRY! Take them! Take everything!! I should never have worn a suit! (he takes off the Rolex and unbuttons his white shirt, takes it off, and hands them to Carl, followed by the briefcase and other items. Carl puts everything into the bag.)
Carl: (again smooth) Ah, monogrammed silver cufflinks, a Brooks Brothers shirt and overcoat and a Savile Row suit! Sir wears only the finest! (holding up a tablecloth in front of the table) PLEASE be discreet, sir. This is MOST irregular...
Mr. Porter: (takes off his suit trousers) Here…(takes the janitor's uniform and quickly puts it on - the transformation is complete) I..I'm sorry..I should never have worn this suit...Forgive me, sir...
Carl: (placing the suit on a hanger) THANK you! May I say you look much better without that expensive business suit and that necktie! Maybe sir has found his true destiny! After all, you don't have a JOB or REFERENCES or a HOME or a WIFE or a SUIT or a TIE or SHOES...
Mr. Porter: (sitting slumped in his chair, in a janitor's jumpsuit with "Gus" written in large letters on the front, utterly humiliated, holding his head in his hands) Go…go away…
Carl: (keeps it up) Sir, may I say how well that uniform looks on you, as if it was made for you! (Mr. Porter slumps further) If sir is ever looking for a job as a janitor...(Mr. Porter's head falls to the table) Yes, sir…oh, this goes with the uniform! (places an orange wool cap on Mr. Porter’s head. Carl leaves, then returns) You look like you have ALWAYS mopped floors! No one would EVER think YOU were once a businessman!
Mr. Porter: (mumbling, now completely in shock) Me...a janitor…but...but I've never done work like that in my life...I've always been a businessman...I have an MBA...
Carl: (cheerfully) Well, now's the time to start! You ARE a janitor! (Mr. Porter stares for a moment, and a stunned look spreads over his face. Carl drags him out of the chair and brings him to a large mirror). You SEE! When sir came in today, I thought: "There's a JANITOR inside that high and mighty upper-crusty executive strutting around with his fancy pinstriped suit and his oh-so-shiny shoes and his necktie tied just right! He just doesn't KNOW it!"
Mr. Porter: A janitor inside? No, not me...I'm James Porter...What's happening to me?
Carl: I have a great idea. (picks up the cell phone and makes a quick call) I got someone for you. He'll be right over. (puts the phone down, and now speaking to Porter as an equal) You just had to be dragged off that high horse! Now just grow a beer gut and stop shaving and trade that Mercedes Benz for a pickup! I even have a new name for you! From now on, you're Gus! Nobody will call you sir from now on - you're one of US now! And I have A JOB for you!
Mr. Porter: A job....But...Trade my Mercedes...
Carl: You start right away, cleaning toilets at the office building across the street. 645 Willow Street! They're waiting! Your boss is named Bubba! They'll provide sneakers!
Mr. Porter: 645 Willow (stuttering) That's where I started my career as a banker. I had an office there. I can't clean toilets there now...I was Vice President of Finance. Mister James Porter...
Carl: (snaps) NO! You're GUS! Remember that! And you're a janitor!
Mr. Porter: A janitor! My name is Gus...But I...(eyes glaze over) Me...maybe...maybe...yes...yes...you're right...
Carl: Don't forget your coat, sir...I mean Gus! (he hands "Gus" a grey hooded sweat shirt. It says "Janitor" on the front in large letters.)
Gus: Yes, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...(he stands up, puts on the sweat shirt, walks slowly away from the table and leaves the restaurant, not knowing where he's going, disoriented, dejected, barefoot and dressed as a janitor, stunned and glassy-eyed)
Carl: Goodbye, Gus! Come again!
Hank: (walks in from the kitchen): Well?
Carl: (suddenly sharp-tongued, shrewd and lively as he pulls out a table piled high with the executive’s clothes) Look what I've got for YOU!
Hank: (picks up the suit) I gotta hand it to you - very classy stuff. You got his SUIT too! Are those his shoes and socks?! A guy like that, a corporate hotshot, is walking around...
Carl: No need to worry. He won't need them. He has a new career... (busily stuffing Mr. Porter's socks into his shoes and folding the shirt and tie) Now what will you give me for the whole stash?
Hank: (checking his calculator) One thousand...and not a penny more!...I'm running a men's clothing business and I have to make a profit, too, ya know! (he pulls out a wad of bills) By the way, if you can get me a pair of Gucci loafers, I can sell 'em tonight...but it has to be within the next twenty minutes.
At that moment, Mr. Everett strides in, slick, confident, dapper, and impeccably dressed in a suit...and shiny loafers. He looks around him pompously; he is more obviously arrogant than Porter. Carl and Hank look at each other. Hank quickly pushes the table with the clothes away while Carl walks over to him and resumes his smiling, humble manner.
Carl: Greetings, sir!
Mr Everett: (pointing behind him and shaking his head with contempt as he takes off his overcoat) I just saw some janitor named Gus wandering down the street without shoes! He didn't know where he was! He walked right over my Guccis! (smirking as he straightens his suit and tie, sits at the table and flicks a speck of dust off his tasseled loafers) Some people have no pride at all! Excuse me. (picks up his cell phone)
Hank: (walking over to Carl, whispering) I'll be back in 20...(Everett snaps his fingers for Carl as Hank starts his stopwatch. Carl smiles and walks over to the table, as he gives Hank a thumbs up)
End
| Posted by peterwellington on December 26, 2004 with category tags of Skit |
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Written by peterwellington
| Peter Wellington |
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