Scene: The Reception Area of Fawlty Towers
Basil Fawlty is behind the reception desk, his hands gripped tightly around a pen, as though it might be the last thing he has to hold onto in a world gone mad. The front door opens, and Mr. Bean shuffles in, utterly oblivious to the storm he’s about to unleash.
Basil (eyes narrowing, voice dripping with disdain):
Oh, great. Here we go. A man with the elegance of a sack of spuds.
Mr. Bean shuffles towards the desk, looking at everything in the room with mild curiosity, including a picture on the wall. He inspects it for a while, utterly fascinated by the fact that it’s simply a picture of the hotel itself. Basil watches him, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism.
Basil (sarcastically):
Yes, wonderful. Let’s all stare at the picture, shall we? Absolutely riveting. What do you want, anyway?
Mr. Bean looks up at Basil, his expression blank, then proceeds to make odd, exaggerated motions mimicking someone writing something down. He grabs a pen, scribbles something on the back of his hand, then holds it up to Basil, revealing a question mark drawn in the air.
Basil (snapping):
Oh, marvelous! A man who communicates in scribbles. I’ve got a question for you, mate: Do you know the concept of personal space, or is that something you’ll be discovering later today?
Mr. Bean, not understanding the hostility, simply grins and nods at Basil, continuing to mime his desire to check in. Basil’s temper flares.
Basil (growing increasingly agitated):
Check-in? You want to check-in? You can’t even check your own thoughts, let alone your bags! pauses Fine. What’s your name?
Mr. Bean pulls out a small notebook with a pencil and writes something. He hands it to Basil, who reads it, looking utterly confused.
Basil (snorts):
“Mr. Bean?” What kind of name is that? What, did you fall into a barrel of beans as a child and just... well, it doesn’t matter, does it?
Basil grabs a key from behind the desk, but Mr. Bean suddenly grabs it from his hand and hands it back to him, nodding with a proud smile.
Basil (seething):
You do know how to take things, don’t you? Just take, take, take. Well, that’s what you’ll be doing with the room, isn’t it? Only you won’t take anything except up space. grabs key There you go, room 7. And if you lose it, don’t come running to me. It’s not my fault if you forget where you left your dignity.
Mr. Bean smiles, still oblivious to Basil’s fury, and starts to shuffle away. At that moment, Manuel walks in with a tray of breakfast items.
Manuel (speaking in a thick accent):
Excuse-a me, Mr. Fawlty, I bring-a the breakfast to-a room 7.
Basil turns to Manuel, exasperated.
Basil (through clenched teeth):
Room 7? No, no, no! He’s not staying in room 7 anymore. He’s going to... Oh, let’s put him in the broom cupboard! That should be perfect for a man of his... gestures at Mr. Bean peculiar... tastes.
Mr. Bean looks around, still smiling, then takes the tray from Manuel and starts to wave it around aimlessly, spilling everything. Basil’s head goes back, eyes wide, a man on the brink of collapse.
Basil (shouting at the heavens):
MANUEL, GET IT TOGETHER, WILL YOU? If I wanted a circus, I would’ve opened a bloody circus! Not a hotel!
Manuel, flustered, apologizes repeatedly in Spanish as he tries to salvage the situation. Basil turns back to Mr. Bean, who is now trying to drink a cup of tea with a fork.
Basil (snarling):
Oh, look, he’s learned something! He’s so talented, he can’t even use the right utensil for tea! What’s next, Mr. Bean, you going to stick your head in the cup for a swim? Honestly, if I could bottle up your charm and sell it, I’d make a fortune in... pauses, thinking... absolutely nothing!
At this point, Mr. Bean starts to "check in" with Manuel, miming that he needs a pen and scribbling furiously on a piece of paper as if it’s some kind of important business. Basil’s eye twitches.
Basil (under his breath, more to himself):
What am I, a flipping butler? You’re an international disaster, mate.
Then, as if on cue, Mr. Bean begins rearranging the desk items into bizarre and elaborate formations, causing Basil to lose all sense of reason.
Basil (furious):
No! NO! You do not touch the desk! You’ll be the first person in history to get arrested for touching a receptionist’s desk, and do you know what? I’ll be the one calling the police! rants while Mr. Bean continues rearranging the stapler Do you see what you’ve done, Manuel? You’ve made me lose my mind in front of... turns to Mr. Bean this... this... whatever you are!
The door swings open, and Sybil enters just in time to witness the chaos.
Sybil (dryly):
What is going on here, Basil?
Basil (smirking, at his wit’s end):
Oh, just the usual, Sybil. The usual. A man who thinks he’s funny... and a staff who’s incapable of controlling the circus. I’ll tell you, Sybil, the day I get put in a straightjacket will be the day you can finally say, “I told you so.”
Sybil (raising an eyebrow):
Well, it’s good to know you’ve finally got a sense of humour.
Basil glares at her as Mr. Bean continues his antics, blissfully unaware of the storm he’s caused.
