Dick: Tommy, how are you coming along with our histories?
Tommy: Oh, I have them right here. Legal documents, school records, doctored pictures, the works. Dick Solomon, class nerd, held back by a domineering mother, went to work for NASA in '74, but was fired after a minor procurement scandal. Newspaper clippings are enclosed. Major burnout led to a string of second-rate teaching jobs... yada, yada, yada, ending up here.
Dick: Well, this is excellent.
Sally: What about me?
Tommy: Sally. Stockbroker during the greedy '80s. Made and lost several fortunes before psychological problems and gender confusion led to a sex change operation in 1988.
Harry: I'm next.
Tommy: Harry. Harry, you're adopted, but we haven't told you yet.
Harry: Oh, that's gonna hurt.

Nina: The administration office called. They contacted Stanford about transferring your graduate records, but they don't seem to have them.
Dick: Are you implying that I don't have records? All humans have records, and I'm a human. Therefore, I have records.
Nina: I'm sorry, but Stanford says they have no record of you at all.
Dick: Oh, those incompetents. Do I have to fly out to Denver and straighten this out myself?
Nina: Stanford's in California, not Denver.
Dick: Well, that explains it. They lost my records in the move.

Mrs. Dubcek: Oh, the '60s. What a lovely, lovely decade. You know, a lot of the stuff in this apartment is from the '60s.
Dick: Boy, classic things never go out of style.
Mrs. Dubcek: Well, those long-haired freaks thought they were so cool. Let me tell you one thing. I was reading poetry with Jack Kerouac in a cage in 1956, both of us buck naked.
Dick: Yes, well, thank you for that disturbing visual.
Mrs. Dubcek: I didn't hear Kerouac complain.