Tim Conway possessed a rare gift: the ability to take an ordinary situation and stretch it until it snapped into unforgettable comedy. This sketch is a perfect example. What begins as a quiet lunch break slowly unravels into a masterclass in timing, restraint, and laughter so relentless it leaves everyone gasping for air.
Harvey Korman settles in, expecting nothing more complicated than a hot dog and a chocolate shake. It should be simple — until Tim Conway appears as his iconic character, The Oldest Man. With his hunched posture, shuffling steps, and permanently puzzled expression, Conway transforms the most basic interaction into chaos.
Instead of taking the order, he launches into rambling directions to the post office, completely unprompted. From that moment forward, the sketch drifts further from normalcy with every second. Conversations stall. Movements slow to a crawl. Logic quietly exits the room.
When Korman finally manages to place his order, Conway ceremoniously stamps the ticket “Rush,” an act so painfully ironic it detonates laughter throughout the studio. Every delayed reach, every misplaced motion, every unnecessary pause compounds the absurdity. Conway’s genius lies in how little he actually does — and how devastatingly funny it becomes.
Korman fights valiantly to maintain composure, but the battle is written all over his face: the clenched jaw, the trembling lips, the eyes begging for mercy. Conway senses it and leans in even harder, stretching each moment just long enough to make resistance impossible.
The sketch reaches its breaking point when Conway returns with a tangled string of sausages and innocently asks, “Would you like all twelve?” The audience erupts. Korman’s patience evaporates. Conway, completely unbothered, lets the silence hang — proving once again that sometimes the funniest thing in the room is simply waiting.
In that quiet lunch counter, Tim Conway turned delay into delight and transformed the ordinary into comedy that still holds up decades later.