His name is Sam. AÂ headset is permanently attached to his skull as he ever-more frantically paces the double-digit square footage of his grotto lair. He’s mostly connected to the telephone with a half-dozen incessantly blinking lines clamoring and yammering for a reservation at the hot hot hot restaurant above. Sometimes he answers a sinister red wall phone over on a column, the direct line to Chef, a tomato…
SOURCE: Deadline at 08:00PM on April 25, 2016