JACK MCCOY IS SITTING ALONE READING OVER A BRIEF.

THE EXCLUSIVE RESTAURANT'S STAFF IS CATERING TO HIS EVERY PERCEIVED NEED.

Excuse me, sir. Would like an hors d'oeuvres? Tonight: Figs-in-a Blanket with Goat Cheese.

(annoyed at the interruption)

Sure. Whatever.

MCCOY SWATS AT A FLYING INSECT THAT IS BOTHERING HIM.

Ah, waiter. Can you do something about these annoying bugs?

Yes sir! I will be right back.

MCCOY CONTINUES TO SWIPE AT BUGS AS HE READS. THE WAITER RETURNS.

Yes sir. This is our finest fly swatter. Please keep it, compliments of the management.

What? A fly swatter?? You want me to try to kill these bugs myself??

(taken aback)

Well, yes sir. I suppose I or one of my staff could help you.

That would be nice.

THE WAITER MOTIONS TO HIS STAFF TO COME OVER TO MCCOY'S TABLE.

(to other staff, quietly)

Please swat the insects that are bothering Mr McCoy.

MCCOY RECEIVES HIS HORS D'OEUVRES AND BEGINS TO EAT.

A FLY LANDS ON HIS PLATE AND IS SPIED BY THE STAFF.

Sir, would you like me to remove the fly that has landed on your plate?

(continuing to read the brief, ignoring the staff)

THE STAFF MEMBER MOVES TO MCCOY'S SIDE AND TRIES TO SLIP THE FLY SWATTER UNDER THE FLY, BUT THE FLY ZOOMS OFF AND LANDS ON THE RIM OF MCCOY'S WATER GLASS.

THE STAFF MEMBER MOVES TO MCCOY'S OTHER SIDE, BEING CAREFUL TO BE QUIET AND UNOBTRUSIVE. HE THEN SWATS AT THE FLY, MISSING IT BUT TIPPING OVER THE WATER GLASS.

Hey! I thought this was supposed to be a swanky establishment. And here you are rubbing a fly swatter on my drinking glass and then dumping the water on me!

MCCOY ABRUPTY GETS UP AND BRUSHES OFF THE WATER THAT HAS WET HIS TROUSERS.

You fool! Now look what you've done! Looks like I am incontinent!

I demand to see the manager.

Please, sir. I am sorry. Please don't get the manager. I will dry your pants myself.

Whaaaat?!

Yes. We have a special quick-dry dryer unit handy that I can use.

(looking, as if begging)

Please.

Oh, OK. Being as there are no other people here, I will just give you the pants now.

MCCOY REMOVES HIS TROUSERS AND HANDS THEM TO THE STAFF MEMBER WHO SCOOTS OFF TO DRY THEM.

ONLY TWO MINUTES LATER THE STAFF MEMBER RETURNS WITH THE DRY PANTS.

OK, thanks. Let me just slip these on.

THE PANTS, IN THE QUICK-DRY PROCESS, HAVE SHRUNK TO THE POINT WHERE MCCOY CANNOT EVEN GET THEM PULLED UP.

(in only his underwear)

You fool!

This sort of gives a new meaning to the work "brief", right, Mr. McCoy?

(ticked off beyond belief)

I want the manager. NOW!

THE STAFF MEMBER RUNS OFF CRYING.

(having taken a seat during the long wait)

If I ever get out of this situation, I'm going to start wearing boxers.

EVENTUALLY, THE MANAGER RUSHES OUT.

Sir, I understand you have a problem?

JUST THEN AT LEAST A FEW NASTY-LOOKING FLIES LAND ON MCCOY'S BARE LEGS AND DIG IN.

OW! Hey! Where are the fly swatters now?

THE MANAGER CLAPS HIS HANDS TO SUMMON A STAFF FLY SWATTER.

MCCOY IS DANCING ABOUT IN HIS UNDERWEAR AVOIDING THE INSECTS.