Mr. X Makes a Reservation From Million Dollar Meatballs by Todd Wallinger A restaurant critic tries to get a table at a restaurant without giving away his identity.

HUMPHREY, snarky maître d’ CECIL, arrogant restaurant critic

HUMPHREY: May I help you, sir? CECIL: Yes. I'd like a table, please. HUMPHREY: I'm sorry, sir, but the furniture store is next door. CECIL: You don't understand. I don't want to buy a table. I want to sit at a table. You know, for dinner? HUMPHREY: Really? CECIL: You seem surprised. HUMPHREY: Well, of course. No one's ever eaten here before. CECIL: Never? HUMPHREY: Not unless you count the mice. CECIL: You have mice? HUMPHREY: Not anymore. They got one taste of the food, and they scampered right out of here. CECIL: About my table... HUMPHREY: Do you have a reservation, sir? CECIL: What do I need a reservation for? The restaurant is completely empty.

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HUMPHREY: If you would be so good as to humor me, sir. You have no idea how tedious it is standing behind this podium, night after night, waiting for someone to come in... CECIL: Please, I just want to sit down. HUMPHREY: ...hoping against hope that someday someone would give me their name so that I could write it down on my list and no longer drift though life, aimless, rudderless— CECIL: All right! All right! HUMPHREY: You'll give me your name? CECIL: Yes, of course. Just please stop talking so much. HUMPHREY: You have no idea how happy you've made me. CECIL: No, but I'm starting to get a rather repulsive picture of it. HUMPHREY: And what is your name, sir? CECIL: Uh, just put me down as Mr. X. HUMPHREY: Very good, sir. And how do you spell that? CECIL: M-i-s— HUMPHREY: No, no. I mean the X part. CECIL: Just draw two lines that cross in the middle. HUMPHREY: (Draws the lines on the list.) Now would you please come back in? CECIL: What? HUMPHREY: Well, it's not a real reservation unless you make it ahead of time. CECIL: But I'm already here! HUMPHREY: Sorry, sir. I don't make the rules. CECIL: Oh, for heaven's sake! (Starts for the front door.) HUMPHREY: You're making my poor sickly mother very happy! (CECIL EXITS and immediately ENTERS again.) Greetings, sir. And how may I help you this evening?

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CECIL: I'd like a table, please. HUMPHREY: And what is your name? CECIL: Mr. X. HUMPHREY: (Scans the list.) Mr. X... Mr. X... Ah, here you are. Oh, I'm sorry. Your reservation was for seven o'clock. It's now 7:01. CECIL: Ahhhhh!

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