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Business Dinner

James Porter, a very successful and well-dressed executive, arrives at an 
upscale restaurant for an important meeting, only to find that this is a 
restaurant with some very strict requirements.


Setting: A very expensive restaurant, with one table at the center of the stage.


Characters:

James Porter: upper class executive, tall, dignified, distinguished, clean-cut, 
hundred dollar haircut, late thirties to early fifties, extremely well-dressed 
in a navy blue pinstriped business suit, gold paisley silk tie and pocket 
handkerchief, red suspenders, black cap toe dress shoes polished like mirrors, 
starched white shirt. 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 but high-class hotshot.

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.

Hank: the chef, fifties, dressed in a chef's apron and hat, mustache.

Andrew Everett: 30, another well-dressed executive, very similar to Mr. Porter 
but younger and cockier, 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 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.

Carl: Here you are sir! And will sir be dining alone today?

Mr. Porter: No I will be meeting two other people. I'm early…

Carl: Splendid, 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 sits quietly for a moment, studying the menu. Carl then returns and 
walks up to the table:

Carl: Sir, I…

Mr. Porter: 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: 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) 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? In my BUSINESS SUIT?

Carl: If you do not comply…

Mr. Porter: (with growing annoyance) 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…

Carl: (holds out his hand) Your shoes, sir.

Mr. Porter: But…

Carl: NOW, sir…

Mr. Porter, in a last attempt to keep his shoes, stands and walk up and down 
once, and points to them.

Mr. Porter: (for the first time coming down slightly off his high horse) You 
see! Not a sound! (smiles) I had them polished today, for this meeting!

Carl: (puts his hands over his ears and winces, then uncovers them) Sir! Please! 
The squeaking! You MUST comply! 

Mr. Porter: (angrily admitting defeat) ALRIGHT! I'll take my shoes off! (He sits 
down unties his shoes and slowly, grudgingly pulls them off his feet.)

Carl: (Picks up the shoes and holds them up, and looks at them with admiration) 
I will hold these for you in the back. They certainly are a fine pair of shoes, 
sir! Yes, indeed, real beauties! Sir has excellent taste!

Mr. Porter: (irritably) Thanks! (Carl continues to stand there) Well?

Carl: One more thing, sir…

Mr. Porter: 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: (patiently) Well, 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: Well, sir, 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!

Carl: But this is NOT your office, sir! 

Mr. Porter: No, of course not.  I didn't mean…

Carl: Please comply with our rules. (firmly) Take those socks off.

Mr. Porter: This is outrageous! I can't sit here in my bare feet! I have an 
important meeting – VERY important!

Carl:  Sir, it is the future of this restaurant! I would have assumed that a 
gentleman of your stature would behave more appropriately!....Your socks, sir.

Mr. Porter: (in exasperation) FINE! GREAT! You want my socks? Here are my socks! 
(He reaches under his trouser cuffs and angrily pulls off his black dress socks 
and holds them out in front of him, and lifts his feet up with the soles facing 
out) Now I'm barefoot! Are you satisfied?

Carl: (takes the socks) Armani, and silk! I should have known that a well-
dressed gentleman such as yourself would wear socks of such outstanding quality. 

Mr. Porter: (visibly embarrassed by the contrast between his suit and his bare 
feet, tries unsuccessfully to hide them) Whoever heard of a barefoot investment 
banker? Just leave me alone. (Carl leaves and then returns thirty seconds later)

Carl: Sir, I…there has been another complaint about you.

Mr. Porter: (wearily) 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: Don't what? Why should I care if someone doesn't like my necktie?

Carl: Sir, these are regular customers…I MUST INSIST that you remove your 
necktie. 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 suspenders! 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.

Mr. Porter: (coldly) That is absolutely ridiculous. Who do you think you are?!

Carl: (hands a written form to Mr. Porter) As you can see, sir…(Carl holds out 
his hand for the items)

Mr. Porter: (reading aloud) "No suspenders or cufflinks will be permitted…" 
(looks at Carl almost sheepishly)  Cufflinks, too? 

Carl: (in a scolding tone) Is sir wearing cufflinks? 

Mr. Porter: (sadly) Yes (pulls up his suit sleeve to reveal his cufflinks)

Carl: I'm sorry, sir, several people have accidentally swallowed their own when 
they fell into their food. 

Mr. Porter: (defeated and starting to crack, shoulders sagging, stands up) My 
necktie, my suspenders, my cufflinks…(he unties his tie and tiepin and takes 
them off, and reaches into his suit to unbutton his suspenders, which he pulls 
out from inside his suit and takes off his cufflinks and hands everything to 
Carl. Then he stands staring down at himself, barefoot, tieless, holding up his 
trousers with his open shirt cuffs sticking out).

Carl: (taking the items) THANK you, sir, for your cooperation! Monogrammed 
cufflinks!  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: (sarcastic, but panicky) Of course!...Please, please, just leave me 
alone. (he looks down at himself and collapses into his chair)

Mr. Porter's dignity and bearing are starting to disappear, as Carl leaves, only 
to return immediately. This time, Mr. Porter looks at him with real fear.

Carl: Sir, I…this is a new regulation. No business suits without neckties. I'm 
very, very sorry, sir!

Mr. Porter: (exhausted, anxious) What? WHAT?

Carl: Well, sir, neckties are ALWAYS required with business suits in our 
restaurant! ALWAYS! Take off your suit, sir.

Mr. Porter: (helpless, pleading) But YOU TOOK AWAY my NECKTIE!

Carl: (folding his arms, calmly and with certainty) Take off your suit. 

Mr. Porter: (reduced to begging, his composure and confidence gone) Please don't 
take my suit! 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 business suit for this!

Mr. Porter: TRADE my business suit! (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 Armani suit! You expect me trade this expensive designer suit 
for THIS! (starting to break down, shaking)

Carl: TAKE OFF YOUR SUIT. 

Mr. Porter: (begging) But…but...I have a meeting! I can't possibly…a JANITOR! I 
am a corporate executive! I have a corner office, a BMW...I have hundreds of 
people who work for me…I am a very successful man…

Carl: It is OUR RULE, SIR! (suddenly "anxious" and speaking quickly) SIR! If my 
boss comes in and finds you dressed like this, I will be fired! FIRED! 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 three thousand 
dollar suit is more important than my children's lives!? I will not leave this 
table without that suit. 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...

Carl: (inflexible, no more 'sir') Hand over off that fancy Armani suit NOW!

Mr. Porter: (slips off his chair to the floor kneels in front of Carl, again 
pleading) You don't mean I'm supposed to take it off HERE!

Carl: (calm again) Sir, I have asked you politely...do I have to contact the 
authorities? 

Mr. Porter: (a broken man) Alright, alright, I'll take off my suit…here, just 
take it! (quickly, desperately, takes off his suit jacket) I'm sorry! I'm sorry! 

Carl: (pointing at Porter's shirt) Sir…

Mr. Porter: (talking nervously) Yes, yes, alright! I'm sorry! I'm SORRY! Take 
it! Take everything!! (he quickly unbuttons his white shirt, takes it off, and 
hands them to Carl)

Carl: Ah, a Brooks Brothers shirt and an Armani suit! Sir wears only the finest! 
(holding up a tablecloth in front of the table) PLEASE be discreet, sir. 

Mr. Porter: (takes off his suit trousers) Here…(takes the janitor's uniform and 
quickly puts it on)

Carl: (placing the suit on a hanger) THANK you, sir!

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) Leave me alone…I'm sorry…leave me alone…

Carl: Sir, may I say how well that uniform looks on you, as if it was made for 
you! Perhaps sir will LIKE his new image! Perhaps the well-dressed executive 
image is not your true style! (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) Sir! Your colleagues just called. They have to 
reschedule!

Mr. Porter: (mumbling) Reschedule…(he stands up and 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, sir! Come again!

Hank: (walks in from the kitchen): Well?

Carl: (suddenly sharp-tongued, shrewd and lively as he pulls out a table, piled 
with the executive's clothes) I win the jackpot!

Hank: You mean he did it? How far did you get? (picks up the Armani suit) You 
got the SUIT too! 

Carl: Everything. (busily stuffing Mr. Porter's socks into his shoes and folding 
the shirt and tie) What was the time?

Hank: (checking a stopwatch) Twenty five minutes, thirty seconds. A record. What 
a stash! Well, you win again! This is the LAST bet...(he pulls out a wad of 
bills) 

At that moment, Mr. Everett strides in, slick, confident, dapper, impeccably 
dressed. He looks around him pompously; he is more obviously arrogant than 
Porter. Carl and Henry look at each other. Henry 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) I just saw 
some janitor named Gus wandering down the street without shoes! He didn't know 
where he was! (smirking as he straightens his suit and tie, sits at the table 
and flicks a speck of dust off his loafers) Some people have no pride at all! 
Excuse me. (picks up his cell phone) 

Hank: (walking over to Carl, whispering) Make it double or nothing (Everett 
snaps his fingers for Carl) 

Carl: (walks over to the table) Sir…there has been a complaint…(looks over at 
Hank and gives him the thumbs up)

End

Epilogue:

Setting: the same restaurant, later that night. Carl is sitting at a desk 
counting out the day's take. Hank rolls in the same table from the previous 
scene, and it is once again piled with clothes – but this time, they are Mr. 
Everett's. Carl joins Hank at the table.

Carl: He was a tough one. (picking up the tasseled loafers) But I got him in the 
end. These must go for five hundred. And this is a Hickey Freeman. (picking up 
the suit)

Hank: Yeah, but you lost points for calling in the cop.

Carl: Yeah…at least it wasn't a real cop. (placing the suit on a hanger) We 
gotta cut Bill in too. He really gave it to the guy.

Hank: Yeah…by the way, where's the hotshot? I didn't see him leave.

Carl: He didn't.

Hank: Huh?

Carl: (suppressing a grin) I promised not to press charges for breaking all our 
rules if he…(calls out) Hey Andy! Get in here!

The kitchen door on the right opens and "Andy the dishwasher" enters. It is 
Andrew Everett, executive, but he is transformed. The expensive clothes are gone 
along with the attitude; he is barefoot, his hair and face are dirty; he is 
wearing a filthy apron over a t-shirt and ragged jeans, and holding a dish in 
one hand. He has the same dejected, disoriented look that Mr. Porter had.

Hank: Maybe we're goin' too far.

Andy: Yes, sir?

Carl: Maybe not!

End

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