Cliff: Woody, could I have a glass of water there, please?
Woody: You got a headache, Mr. Clavin?
Cliff: No, no. Just trying to clear up a little rash on my lower back. Doc says it's stress-related.
Carla: You sure he didn't say diaper-related?
Norm: Cliffie, you're stressing out, huh? What's the deal, buddy?
Cliff: Ah, it's just job-related. You know how it is.
Woody: Oh, I thought you just delivered the mail.
Cliff: Woody, Woody, Woody, A.K.A. Joe Public. [chuckles] You have got no idea what it's like out there in postman's hell. Illegible handwriting, parcels badly taped... Boy, you can't even peek in a window anymore without people going crazy on you. But still, where would we all be if your mailman just disappeared on you?
Woody: We'd probably just all fax things. That way, everything would get there faster, cheaper, and a lot more efficiently.
Cliff: Some more water there, Woody.