Diane: Dr. Weinstein.
Sam: Uh-uh, uh-uh.
Diane: You swine. It's one thing to pretend to be somebody else on the phone, but convincing others that you're a sophisticated gourmet is a little bit more than you can handle. You're going to blow it, Sam. You're going to be embarrassed in front of some of the most important people in Boston. And then you're going to slink out of here with your curly little swine tail between your legs.
Sam: You don't think I can handle this? Well, just watch. Excuse me, we'd like to start off with Bouches Parmentier au Fromage, followed by a salade maison, and for our entre, we'll have Tourte Froide D'Anguille Rabelais. Thank you so much.
Diane: Good, Sam; that was your busboy.
Sam: I knew that. He's got lips. He can tell the waiter, can't he?
Diane: Bon appetit, Dr. Weinstein.

Norm: That's, uh that's quite an achievement, though, Cliffie.
Carla: Oh, yeah? Look who's talkin'.
Norm: Oh, okay, all right. I know some people around here don't exactly think that I'm an overachiever, but, uh I'll tell you, I don't plan to go to my grave until I've made some sort of impression on this world.
Carla: [looks at Norm's bar stool] I'd say you've already made a deep one.

Sam: Say, you know, Darlene and I can't make up our mind whether to have some chili or a hamburger. Maybe this Cafe joint sounds just like the ticket. Well, you got the number there? [Diane laughs] What? What's the number? What?
Diane: Pardonne mon laughteur, Sam. This is not the sort of place you just call and make a reservation. My dinner companion is a Brundage, and even with that pull, he had to wait three months for a table.
Sam: Ooh, geez, I wonder how long he had to wait for the chairs.
Diane: Look what I'm dealing with. You consider food as a fuel to be salted down heavily, covered with ketchup, stuffed in your mouth, and on a good day, chewed. What I'm trying to say is, Sam, you couldn't possibly get a reservation at this late hour.

Diane: Dr. Weinstein? My date needs medical attention. Can you help?
Sam: My food just arrived.
Dr. Fisher: Well, I'm a doctor.
Diane: Sit down. I- I want the world-famous heart surgeon, Dr. Julian Weinstein.
Dr. Fisher: Well, of course; I bow to his greater skill.
Sam: Well, no, no, no, uh, why don't you go ahead there, Fisher, and give him a shot?
Diane: He's having chest pains, Doctor!
Sam: Oh, well, uh, why don't you time them and see how far apart they are?

Carla: Hope to see you again soon.
Man: Thank you, Miss. Oh, great. I can't even read that check.
Carla: Well, I'm so sorry if my handwriting isn't up to your high and mighty standards, but some of us don't get to sit around on our buns all day and practice our penmanship. Some of us have to go out and earn a living!
Woman: Here are your glasses, dear. You left them in your coat again.
Man: Oh, thanks.
Woman: What's wrong?
Man: Nothing. Let's go.
Carla: Oh, hey, um I'm really sorry. I- I- I don't know what to say, except I had a really bad day. Oh yeah, sure, Carla, bad day. Bad life is more like it. House full of kids, this crummy job. If I keep treatin' my customers this way, I'm going to lose even that.
Man: Uh, uh, here you go. I hope things'll start looking up.
Carla: Oh, no, no, no, no, I couldn't, I couldn't. Not the way I treated you.
Woman: No, please, please, please, we insist. [they walk away]
Carla: Ten bucks? [smiles]
Man #2: Excuse me, Miss. You forgot to, uh, give me a napkin.
Carla: I'm so sorry! I don't know what to say, except I've had a really bad day. Bad day? Bad life is more like it. A house full of kids...

Cliff: Yep! Hey, everybody, guess what? Today marks the beginning of my seventh year as a U.S. postal carrier.
Norm: Well, all right. Woody, I think that calls for a little drink on the house. What do you think, huh?
Woody: I think you're right, Mr. Peterson.
Norm: Yeah? Hey, what the hell, give Cliffie one, too.
Cliff: Hey. This guy, huh? Oh, yeah, imagine that. Seven years carrying the old bag around.
Norm: [snorts] Yeah, I know the feeling.

Woody: Can I tempt you?
Norm: Not bad. Really.
Cliff: Oh, hey, that's delicious.
Woody: Now all I got to do is fill out these forms and register with Bartender's Monthly Magazine, and my name will be a household word.
Carla: Yeah: doorknob.

Diane: Oh! I have the most exciting news, everyone. Tonight I am eating dinner at The Cafe.
Sam: Ah, gee, that's pretty exciting. Tonight I'm driving home in The Car.
Frasier: No, you see, um actually, Sam, The Cafe is one of the trendiest restaurants. Eating there is considered, uh, to be rather a coup among certain, oh self-important and pretentious circles. Congratulations, Diane.

Carla: If this place is so hot, how come they can't think of a better name than The Cafe?
Diane: Oh, Carla, if you had any sense of style, you would know that a simple name connotes the very best of taste.
Norm: Hey, you're right about that, Diane. There's this joint out on Route One called "Eat". Don't miss it. It's great.

Sam: God, I hate it when she's right.
Frasier: Ah, you didn't want to eat there anyway, Sam. The waiters pride themselves on rudeness, the portions are too small, and it's exorbitantly overpriced.
Sam: Oh, you couldn't get in either, huh?
Frasier: Not till April.