Picture this: Two businessmen sit down for what should be a standard working-lunch on The Carol Burnett Show, and one has just one thing on his mind—getting in and out. That’s Harvey Korman, playing the type of no-nonsense executive who treats a meal like ticking off a task list. Enter Tim Conway, whose character arrives with the pace of a glacier and the mischief of a clown born to wreak havoc—and the scene makes a hard left into full-on absurdity
From the moment the salad arrives, Conway’s slow-motion, exaggerated fumbling starts to pull Korman’s composure apart. Plates wobble, business talk becomes babble, and what should have been a five-minute break stretches into an eternity of comedic misery for Korman’s character—and pure joy for the audience. Each pause, each “uh… let me just…” gets longer; each glance between the two actors sharper. It’s less a sketch, more a masterclass in chaotic timing and sustained awkwardness.
What makes it brilliant is not just Conway’s antics, but the reaction machine that Korman becomes. The frustration builds organically—he wants to eat, to leave, to get on with life; instead he’s locked in a slow-motion spiral of delays, misunderstandings, and escalating absurdities. The laughter doesn’t come from big punch-lines—it builds gradually, painfully, hilariously as we watch Korman attempt to stay professional while Conway swims in unprofessional territory.
By the time the lunch break should’ve been over, the sketch doesn’t end—it explodes. Korman finally snaps, Conway blissfully oblivious. Plates crash, laughter rolls, the audience is in stitches. The routine is vintage Carol Burnett—a simple premise taken to its comedic breaking point, propelled by two men who knew exactly how to push each other toward that threshold where real control breaks down and raw comedy takes over.
Decades later, this sketch remains a fan favorite, a reminder that sometimes the funniest moments on television aren’t scripted—they’re embraced. Conway and Korman didn’t just perform—they trusted the chaos, leaned into it, and let the room fall apart behind them. And in that warp-speed lunch that should’ve been routine, they gave us something timeless: laughter born of the beautifully absurd.
