Rincewind swallows and writes. He steps away, then steps back to collect the menus. He knocks over the salt cellar with them. "Bugger!" he mutters reaching in to pick it up. He tosses a pinch of salt over his shoulder (this being SOP in nearly every dimension). As he is doing so, he drops the menus. Rincewind, beginning to panic, bends over to pick them up. Retrieving them, he straightens up and bumps his head on the table, rocking everything. "Drat!" Deciding to leave well enough alone for now, he clutches the menus to his chest. "I'll be right back with your drinks!" he squeaks. "And a towel!" He almost runs for the kitchen. There is a clatter and crash of falling crockery and a loud angry voice. Then a clang which may or may not be a knife thrown in anger.