A young couple (Diarmuid & Gráinne) sit across a table in a deserted restaurant, while an impatient waitress looks on.
GRAINNE: I can’t believe I’m telling you all this, Diarmuid. I don’t even discuss my mother with my friends. And here I am, on a first date no less, going on and on about my mother. You must want to run away.
DIARMUID: No, Grainne. I know exactly what you mean. My dad would yell and scream all the time, too. It’s why I gave up team sports. I loved it, but I couldn’t stand to have another adult male hollering at me all the time. How is that supposed to be a “leisure” activity?
GRAINNE: I quit choir for the same reason: a loud nun.
Diarmuid & Grainne hold hands across the table and stare into each other’s eyes. Their conversation continues in hushed whispers.
The restaurant dishwasher (Tom) comes out of the kitchen and approaches the waitress (Nikki).
TOM: Nikki, how are they not done with their main courses, yet?
NIKKI: You don’t know the half of it, Tom. They spent over an hour discussing Klimt before they even took a bite.
TOM: Klimt? How erotic.
NIKKI: No. Gustav Klimt, ya perv. He was some famous painter back in the day.
TOM: Nikki, I know who Klimt is. Don’t I have a doctorate in art history? I wrote a whole paper on the eroticism of his . . .
NIKKI: Fat lot of that good all that’s doing us, Tom. We’d be done and dusted if we could just hurry these two up.
TOM: Well, don’t you have a masters in communication? Go convince the two of them to pay up and leave all.
NIKKI: I tried to rush a couple last week and they raised bloody hell. I almost got fired over it.
TOM: That’s because they were a middle-aged couple and were in no hurry to get back to the crying brats at home. These two love birds . . . I’d’ve thought they’d want to be someplace more private by now.
NIKKI: Nah. These two are too busy bonding over how they hate loud, rude people.
TOM: Test it out. Go grab those plates and see how they react.
Nikki approaches the table and takes the plates and cutlery without saying a word.
DIARMUID: Hey! I wasn’t done with . . .
Grainne pulls away from Diarmuid’s loud response and he shuts up mid-sentence.
DIARMUID: That’s alright. It had gotten a bit cold anyway.
Grainne takes Diarmuid’s hand again.
Nikki hands Tom the plates while they share a congratulatory smile.
GRAINNE: Besides, we’ve still got dessert coming.
Nikki and Tom stop smiling.
TOM: You have got to talk them out of dessert. Because, as God is my witness, these are the last dishes I’m washing tonight.
NIKKI: They already pre-ordered desserts.
TOM: No! Not the three-course Living Social coupon?
NIKKI: With wine pairing.
TOM: Son of a . . .
NIKKI: Don’t lose hope, Tom.
TOM: You’re right. I’ll wash these by hand and you . . . turn up the heat to get ’em out.
NIKKI: Better yet. I’ll turn down the heat.
Tom smiles and takes the plates into the kitchen. Nikki walks over to the thermostat and shuts it off, before approaching the table. Diarmuid & Gráinne don’t even notice as Nikki approaches the table, leans in, and “accidentally” blows out the candle with a breathy ’H.’
NIKKI: How’s everything going? Oh, dear! Did I blow out the candle?
GRAINNE: Yes, you did! I mean . . . oops.
NIKKI: Let me go look for a lighter.
GRAINNE: And would you mind, please turning up the heat. It’s a bit chilly in here all of a sudden.
NIKKI: I’m sorry. The heaters are on a timer.
Nikki taps the watch on her wrist and walks back towards the kitchen.
TOM: Right. I’m done with the dishes . . . Are they leaving?
Nikki and Tom glance over at the table where Diarmuid is offering his jacket to Gráinne.
NIKKI: No. He’s just being chivalrous. The bastard.
TOM: It’s guys like that that give the rest of us a bad rep. Why are men expected to go cold when their dates don’t dress appropriately for the weather?
NIKKI: And will ya look at her hair and makeup? Who’s got time for all that shite?
TOM: Yer a natural beauty, Nikki, and don’t need that kind of pressure in your life.
NIKKI: Thank you. And I’d never ask for your coat. I’ll bring my own or go cold.
TOM: Feminist freeze-frame high-five!
Tom holds his hand up, but Nikki ignores it.
NIKKI: We don’t have time for games. How are we going to rush them through dessert AND port?
TOM: They still have a bit of white wine left in their glasses, right?
NIKKI: Yes. Who doesn’t drink on a date? How else do ya relax and let loose?
TOM: T.M.I., Nikki. But don’t panic. I’ve got a plan.
NIKKI: Does it involve speed washing four wine glasses?
TOM: No. I’m just going to break them and blame the earlier shift.
Diarmuid waves at Nikki, trying not to look impatient.
NIKKI: Devious. But I’ve got an idea of my own. Go get the desserts and I’ll worry about the glasses.
Nikki picks up a bottle of port and brings it over to the table.
DIARMUID: I think we’re ready for dessert now.
NIKKI: Lovely.
Nikki begins to pour the port into the half-full white wine glasses.
GRAINNE: No, wait! I mean, I hate to complain, but we weren’t done with our wine and . . .
NIKKI: Yes. This is the latest culinary trend: wine-blending. Rather than going abruptly from one wine to the next, one gently introduces the next wine pairing with the previous for a smoother transition on the palate.
GRAINNE: But whenever I go wine tasting with my friends, we’re always told to cleanse our . . .
NIKKI: If you’d like I could go get the sommelier.
GRAINNE: No! No, that’s quite alright. I don’t want to make a fuss.
NIKKI: No. No need for a fuss, now.
DIARMUID: And it’s trendy, so . . .
NIKKI: Trending, not “trendy.”
GRAINNE: I suppose that’s different, then. Thank you.
NIKKI: Excellent. I’ll be back with your desserts.
DIARMUID: And what are our cho . . .
NIKKI: No fuss at all.
Nikki walks back to the kitchen and is greeted by Tom, who has donned a chef’s hat and holding something behind his back with both hands.
TOM: Well?
NIKKI: I almost had one of them screaming, but . . .
TOM: I heard your “wine-blending” thing. Nice. And it gave me an idea. If this doesn’t start a fight and send them running, at least I won’t have any more dishes to clean up once they’re gone.
Tom approaches the table and puts on a bad Spanish/French accent.
TOM: I see you are enjoying the “wine-blending.”
GRAINNE: Em . . . sure, I guess.
DIARMUID: Yes. Very trendy . . . I mean trending. I’m very adventurous when it comes to . . .
TOM: Excellent. Then you’ll appreciate the latest trending dessert creation. I present to you: Dessert au Naturel!
Tom takes his hands from behind his back and slops two hand-fulls of dessert directly onto the table.
GRAINNE: OMG!
DIARMUID: What the hell, mate?
TOM: Is there a problem? Shall I call the manager and raise a fuss?
DIARMUID: No! No fuss. We’re fine.
GRAINNE: Yes. No fuss here. Just two, calm adults.
DIARMUID: Just two, soft spoken and fulling actualized adults who are definitely not becoming their parents.
TOM: Splendid. Enjoy!
GRAINNE: Wait!
TOM: Yes?
GRAINNE It’s just that . . .
TOM: Go on.
GRAINNE: It’s just that the dessert isn’t on a plate and . . .
TOM: You’re welcome.
DIARMUID: What?
GRAINNE: And the waitress took our silverware, so . . .
TOM: But this is Dessert au Naturel! It is intended for you to get in touch with your inner child and not let anything get between you and your deepest desires.
GRAINNE: Not even a napkin?
TOM: Nothing!
DIARMUID: Okay! Okay. No reason for anyone to get upset. We’ll just . . . use our hands, I suppose.
GRAINNE: But my clothes. And what about my makeup?
DIARMUID: I’m sure you’ll be grand, Grainne.
GRAINNE: Easy for you to say, Tom. You’re wearing a bib already. You can just use your tie to wipe your face and throw it away when you’re done.
DIARMUID: Actually, this is a vintage tie from my grandfather and it has great . . .
GRAINNE: And do you have any idea how long it took me put my face on for you?
NIKKI (under her breath): Knew it.
DIARMUID: Well, maybe it’s time you stop hiding behind masks and be more genuine.
GRAINNE: Me, be more genuine?
Grainne stands up and throws off Diarmuid’s jacket.
GRAINNE: Like the extra padding in the shoulders of this jacket doesn’t scream ’over-compensating!’
Diarmuid stands up, knocking his chair over.
DIARMUID: You pick that up, young lady!
GRAINNE: What did you call me!?!
DIARMUID: I can’t believe I wasted my grannie’s Christmas voucher on you?
GRAINNE: You didn’t even buy the bloody coupon! And to think, I was going to shift a cheap bastard like yourself.
Grainne storms out of the restaurant, with Diarmuid in hot pursuit.
Nikki looks at her watch and over at Tom.
Tom holds up his hand again.
TOM: Now, do I get a high-five?
NIKKI: I got a better idea, you glorious man.
Nikki grabs Tom by the face and kisses him.