Ferris Bueller Shorts

When Abe Froman Came to Lunch

"Abe Froman, three o'clock?"

"Sorry, sir, that reservation was already filled," replied the snooty French waiter without even looking up.

Abe Froman was shocked. His mouth hung open in surprise as he found words. "Filled? But - but I just got here!"

"Sir, if you can prove you're really Abe Froman," the waiter said, finally snapping his eyes off of the seating chart in front of him, "then I'm a monkey's uncle."

"But I am Abe Froman!"

"Sure, that's what someone posing as Abe Froman would say," the waited shrugged with a breathy laugh. "The real Abe and his two guests are enjoying their meal as we speak, so please," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "Leave before I have to get nasty."

Abe, however, was determined, fishing in his pockets for a wallet to prove his identity.

Meanwhile, Cameron was grimacing at the plate of pancreas in front of him.

"Just try it," Ferris coaxed. "This is what luxury tastes like," he added, taking a bite of one himself.

"Like pancreas? No thanks, I'm good," Cameron snorted, taking a sip of ice water.

Sloane looked past the young men towards the front of the restaurant. "Uh oh."

"Uh oh? What's 'uh-oh'? Pancreas grossing you out? It's really not that bad," Ferris said, picking up his fork and with a harsh stab, taking a pancreas up to his lips.

"I think that's Abe Froman," Sloane said quietly, pointing towards the French waiter who was currently yelling at Real-Abe.

Ferris choked on his pancreas, swallowing hurriedly. "Abe-Abe Froman? But we've barely gotten our appetizers!"

"What are we gonna do?" Sloane asked, nervously glancing between Ferris and Cameron.

"Leave quietly, and avoid conflict," Cameron suggested.

"No, I know what we have to do. He has his wallet. He's gonna prove he's the real Abe. We have to take his license," Ferris said, setting down his napkin and standing up.

"No, Ferris, that's borderline illegal. Identity theft IS illegal, and you're doing that right now, so please, don't drag us into this," Cameron groaned, knowing full well that Ferris was gonna go through with it anyway.

"Do you wanna enjoy your pancreas or not, Cameron?" Ferris asked, rhetorical edge to his voice. "Here's what we're gonna do: Sloane, distract Abe by any means possible. That means flirt, ask for an autograph, anything. Cameron, distract the waiter. He's a snooty guy, and he's going to want to know what's going on. Ask him for directions to the nearest hospital, pretend to throw up - anything. And me? I'll go in for the wallet. If he can't prove he's Abe Froman, we can actually get to our entreés," Ferris smiled with a devilish grin. "Okay! Move out!"

The three shot up out of their chairs, startling an older gentleman at the table behind them. Ferris headed straight towards the door, while Cameron made a left at the foyer to look for the waiter. Sloane approached the front desk where Real Abe Froman was waiting impatiently.

Sloane tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder, prepared her fakest voice and went full-ham on him.

"Abe? Abe Froman? The Sausage King of Chicago?!" She exclaimed in a high-pitched fashion.