Tommy: Hey, buddy. Do I come to your job and stare at you and your girlfriend?
Man: I'd like to, uh, buy a pretzel.
Alissa: I'm so sorry, sir. Um, please accept this courtesy of Mrs. Fetzel's homemade pretzels.
Tommy: You just gave that perv a free pretzel.
Alissa: We're allowed to sometimes. It's called customer relations.
Tommy: Does Mrs. Fetzel know about this?
Alissa: Tommy, let her go. She's gone.