Plebs

Welcome to the Crown And Toga.

Thank you for coming in. Please do take a seat.

Cool, thank you.

So, Pia, how did you hear about the waitressing position?

Oh, yeah, well, I was sunbathing down by the river,

and he, that one,

lay down beside me and said I would be perfect for it.

Did he now? And do you have any experience

- in the service industry? - No, I'm a model.

- Perfect. - Hm.

What about, how are you with taking down orders?

Yeah, I'm actually illiterate.

So, not great?

Well, she can just remember the orders.

Oh, no, I've got a shocking memory,

but I suppose I could draw little pictures of them, maybe.

Perfect! And, Pia, tell me,

how do you stay in such great shape?

I run a lot and swim.

- Perfect. - Utterly irrelevant.

Yeah, I've got a question.

What's your favourite bit of a chicken to eat?

Hm, I guess... the meat.

Hm, well, I think we've heard enough. We'll let you know.

We'll let you know right now. You got the job!

Oh, amazing!

- What? Hang on. - We need to discuss it, mate.

She's perfect. Anyway, front of house is my domain.

So, well done, Pia. You smashed it.

Ooh!

Ohh!

- It looks like a severed hand. - Yes, I don't remember

putting "severed hand" on the menu.

Oh, this is jizz. She needs to do better drawings

or I won't know what I'm cooking.

All right, chill. Why are you two bagging her out?

Because she's thick and lazy and under-qualified.

But apart from that, she's perfect.

Excuse me, I'm still waiting for my sausage and mash over here.

Ah, that's what it is.

It's actually quite obvious when you know.

Yeah, sorry, we've got problems with the new waitress.

So, have I, mate. You should have hired me.

I'm charming, literate. I'm incredibly hard-working.

Wouldn't be paying me to stand around twiddling my hair.

Yeah, can you stop her doing that and get her to take the rubbish out?

Ugh!

One sausage and mash, then, Chef.

- I'd rather cook a severed hand. - Oh, please don't you start, Grumio.

How can we make a splash on the Roman food scene

if you won't let me serve my funky new menu?

Which menu is this? Dishes only beginning with the letter Q?

No, I've gone off that one. It's basically just quiche.

The new menu's called Stuffing Stuff In Stuff.

So, it's like a mouse inside a grouse

or a squid inside a squirrel.

Hm, OK, that sounds far too funky.

We're sticking with classic pub fare.

Classic pub unfair, more like.

I'm the chef. I should get to decide.

And I'm the one who spent every last sesterce he has

on this toilet, Grumio, so I get to decide.

If you wanna shove a frog inside a dog, do it on your own time.

Yeah, well, I might, actually, cos that is one of my dishes.

I just don't like touching rubbish. I find it gross.

Yeah, completely. I mean, it's rubbish, innit?

That is like so clever,

because it is rubbish and it's rubbish.

I'll take this out, shall I?

Yeah, cheers.

Cos Mario is always saying that about sweets.

Cos they're called sweets and they're sweet.

I'd never really thought of that.

- Sorry, who's Mario? - My fiance.

- Ah, perfect. - Yeah.

Perfecto.

- Ah! - Oh, watch out for the cobble.

Yeah, maybe warn people before they trip over it in future.

Mm, are you the new owner of the toilet, are you?

Bar. It's a bar now.

And we are trying to attract some customers,

so if you could not peg up your pants so near our door.

Oh, they're not mine.

Clearly, look at the size of them, you cheeky bastard.

Right, well, either way.

This is my laundrette. I'm Gloria.

Ah, OK, I'm Marcus. Hello.

This is where you always hang up your washing,

- is it, Gloria? - Yeah, that's right.

In fact, I was gonna ask,

do you mind if I pop round later and take the piss?

Sorry, the, uh...?

Urine from your loos.

I need the ammonia to wash the clothes, you see.

- I used to just help myself. - Yeah, I kinda do mind you

taking the piss, actually.

I mean, if you really need it, I can maybe do you a deal.

A deal, for piss? Are you serious?

Well, I'm sorry, but business isn't booming right now.

Oh, you'll be all right.

It's only one review. It's not gonna kill you.

- Sorry, how do you mean? - I think you can trust people

to make up their own minds before...

Oh, you've not seen it, have you?

One. One fork. One forking fork.

- Well, what's it out of? - Well, five, clearly.

Oh, fine, I thought it was out of ten.

- So, who is this Athena, anyway? - Who's Athena?

That's Athena Balvantius, mate, the biggest food critic in Rome.

And she came to our bar? That's pretty cool.

It is in no way cool. It is a total bloody disaster.

Yeah, which is all your fault

for not letting me stuff stuff in stuff.

No, it is your fault

for failing to nail the pub classics like I said.

And poor service will definitely have been a factor.

And so will atmosphere, which is total spuzz,

thanks to you weirding the place out with your beard.

Oh, blaming customers' beards now. Classy.

Grr!

Why did she do this to us?

We weren't ready to be criticised.

Sod her. I'll just paint over it.

She can go and fork herself.

Oh, no, I wouldn't do that. She'd kick up a stink.

Only Athena can take it down.

Let's just find her and charm/bully her into doing that.

Find her? Find her? How?

I bet she's some reclusive little hermit weirdo.

Far from it, actually. She's quite the woman about town.

I know that she takes afternoon tea every day in the Forum.

- How do you know all this shit? - I'm a huge gourmand.

Yet another reason why you should have hired me.

OK. Come on, let's get her, then.

Yeah. Jason, you hold the fort, maybe teach Pia to read.

Nah, I think you were right about her.

Yeah, should have hired someone else.

- Finally he admits it. - OK, you deal with that,

seeing as front of house is your domain.

Oh, hey, what do I do if we get busy?

Somehow I don't think that's gonna be a problem.

How will we know which one's her?

We'll take a punt, I reckon.

Hi, there. Hello. Athena, is it?

No, I shan't review your little pop-up waffle shack.

Now run along and leave me to my cake.

No, it's not that. We're from the Crown And Toga.

You actually reviewed us already.

And gave us one fork, you spiteful shit.

No, no, Grumio. Sorry about him. He's upset. You know how chefs get.

But we were wondering if you could maybe remove it.

We've only just opened and weren't quite ready to be forked like that.

One fork? One fork, let me see.

Deathly quiet pub cafe,

sluggish service, stench of faeces.

- Is that you? - Mm-hm, yeah, that's us.

The place used to be a bog.

That explains why the food was so bog standard.

Sausage and mash, pie and peas, beans on...

whatever next? Toast.

No, I'm sorry, it's a critic's job,

nay, duty, to protect the public from such insipid dreck.

That's his dreck, not mine.

I don't wanna cook that cack but he's been forcing me.

- Well, I'm sorry to hear that. - I've got big ideas,

absolute whoppers,

but this stingy sod's all about playing it safe.

Constraint of creativity by penny-pinching Philistines

is the worst crime in all humanity.

Completely. You're bang on, love.

Listen, give us another go.

I know tasty, OK?

I live and breathe food and eat it, obviously.

- Hm. - I'll blow your buds to bits. I promise.

Well, as it happens, I have had a cancellation for tonight.

- Tonight? That's a... - You're on.

Expect me at seven. This time... be ready.

So, Daphne, first things first. Are you single?

Yes, I single.

- Perfect. - Is that seriously your first question?

Actually, it's my only question.

Well, I'm also single and I've got supremely steady hands

owing to years of experience

dispensing water for a major grain company.

I don't care, cos I wanna hire Daphne.

- Yes, please. - Yeah. - At least give me an interview.

I'm clearly the best man for the job.

I don't want a man for the job.

A-ha! That's discrimination, then, because of my gender.

And your personality.

I'm gonna consult the statutes, maybe talk to a tribune.

Ho, ho, ho! You're in big trouble now, new guy.

Big trouble.

What other animals fit in animals?

Hm, is this definitely how we should be planning our menu?

I want it to sound right an' all, like a herring inside a heron.

OK, cos that sounds really wrong.

You don't get creativity, mate.

It's like Athena said, you're a pen-pushing paedophile.

A penny-pinching Philistine. And I'm not, actually.