John: Oh. Oh, um, one other thing. Our, uh, garbage area seems to be strewn with beer cans that appear to have been crushed against someone's forehead.
Sam: Oh.
Carla: I warned you about that.
Phil: Hey, I get crazy!
Sam: Don't- Don't- Don't worry about it, John. I'll, uh I'll take care of that right away.
John: Also, your red Corvette seems to be parked in my space.
Sam: Oh, no. Now- Now, John, I've- I've always parked in that space.
John: Not any longer.
Sam: Uh, fine. All- All right. Uh, I'll move it.
John: Of course you will.
[John wipes his feet on the newly-appointed doormat and climbs the stairs to his restaurant]