JIm Harbaugh is the coach of Michigan not Michigan State.
Manager: Good evening, sir, good evening, madam. I am the manager. I've only just heard. May I sit down?
Man: Yes, of course.
Manager: I want to apologize, humbly, deeply, and sincerely about the fork.
Man: Oh please, it's only a tiny bit. I couldn't see it.
Manager: Ah you're good kind fine people, for saying that, but I can see it. To me it's like a mountain, a vast bowl of pus.
Man: It's not as bad as that.
Manager: It gets me here. I can't give you any excuses for it - there are no excuses. I've been meaning to spend more time in the restaurant recently, but I haven't been too well. Things aren't going very well back there. The poor cook's son has been put away again, and poor old Mrs Dalrymple who does the washing up can hardly move her poor fingers, and then there's Gilberto's war wound - but they're good people, and they're kind people, and together we were beginning to get over this dark patch. There was light at the end of the tunnel... now this... now this!!
Man: Can I get you some water?
Manager: It's the end of the road!!
(The cook comes in; he is very big and comes a meat cleaver.)
Cook: You bastards! You vicious, heartless bastards! Look what you've done to him! He's worked his fingers to the bone to make this place what it is, and you come in with your petty feeble quibbling and you grind him into the dirt, this fine, honoorable man, whose boots you are not worthy to kiss. Oh, it makes me mad. Mad! (slams cleaver into the table)
(The head waiter comes in and tries to restrain him. )
Head Waiter: Easy, Mungo, easy... Mungo... (clutches his head in agony) the war wound!... the wound... the wound...
Manager: This is the end! The end! Aaargh!! (stabs himself with the fork)
Cook: They've destroyed him! He's dead!! They killed him!!! (goes completely mad)
Head Waiter: (trying to restrain him)No Mungo... never kill a customer. (in pain) Oh . .. the wound! The wound!