Sally: Give me a margarita, Harry.
Tommy: What about your job?
Sally: I'm on the job right now, baby. Rocks, no salt.
Dick: Are you telling me that Mary's presentation is already perfect?
Sally: Well, she thinks it is, and I'm getting paid not to argue. Ka-Ching! [Harry rings the bell]
Dick: You got lucky, damn you.
Sally: I'll tell you the secret. You just pucker up, vapor-lock onto your boss' butt, and hold on. No independent thought required. In fact, it just gets in your way.
Harry: Free thinkers die in the dirt like dogs, Sally. Here's your booze.