The Dinner

His nametag said 'Randy' but they had come to learn that their waiter preferred to be called 'Raoul.' He had gone to great lengths to explain that 'Raoul' was the name of the role he played at the local theater on weekends.

"So tell me Raoul, what do you recommend for dinner tonight?" Tom asked now that the whole Randy-Raoul thing had finally been worked out.

"Tonight's special is the tuna, but I recommend the pasta and meatballs." Raoul said with what appeared to be a Flemish accent.

"Why not the tuna?"

"Well, I shouldn't say anything but," he leaned over and, sounding like a Russian spy, whispered, "they dropped the tuna crate in the alley when they brought it in this evening. The chef had them rinse most of the dirt off. If anything was left on, he said to tell the customers it was secret spices."

Everyone ordered the meatballs.

About fifteen minutes later, Raoul came hurriedly out of the kitchen. He seemed to have sprouted a mustache. He walked out about ten feet and then did an abrupt about-face, glancing down as he did so. He then casually shuffled back towards the kitchen.

Tom looked at the ground to discover the source of their waiter's strange gait Raoul, it seemed, was trying to shepherd several meatball-looking things back into the kitchen...soccer style.

The meal eventually arrived. Raoul had lost the mustache but was now sporting a uni-brow and goatee.

"Raoul, I thought we were getting meatballs' Tom said looking at something indeterminate but clearly not meatballs.

In an almost incomprehensible Brooklyn accent Raoul said "its eggplant surprise. That is eggplant with secret spices."

The last two words put Tom on instant alert.

"We didn't order eggplant."

Using his best Sean Connery, Raoul said "That's the surprise."

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