Lois: Thought you might be ready for some aspirin.
Francis: I'm working for a moron.
Lois: Of course you are, honey. Your boss is an idiot, your coworkers are incompetent, and you are underappreciated. Welcome to the working world.
Francis: How do people do it?
Lois: Well, let's see... If you want to eat, sleep indoors, you know, those kinds of luxuries, you really don't have much of a choice.
Francis: What about Dad? He had a choice.
Lois: Every 20 years, you're allowed a two-week breakdown.
Francis: Oh, I can't wait.

Hal: [sweating heavily] Well, no, that's not, not all I do. I, uh, there are some, you know, important and, uh, very, uh, interesting... Could you repeat the question?
Boy #1: Your job sounds awful.
Hal: [chuckles] Well, of course it's awful; it's a job. You know...
Malcolm: [to Dewey] He's tanking.
Dewey: He's way past tanking.
Hal: See, you, you kids have to realize that all jobs are awful and there's nothing that you can do about that. I mean, they're, they're tedious and boring.
Boy #2: Being a fireman isn't boring.
Hal: True, but you have to take into consideration the high mortality rate. It's real easy to get killed in a fire.
Boy #2: My daddy's a fireman.
Girl: Pete's daddy's going to die?
Hal: Oh, and I'm sure he's probably going to be fine.
Girl: So the only reason you like your job is because you won't get killed in a fire?
Hal: Yes. Well, actually, you see... you see, I-I work on a very high floor, so that's not necessarily true. Any other questions?
Boy #1: If your job is so boring and you don't like it why do you do it?

Lois: You're doing this because of what a seven-year-old said?
Malcolm: It was horrible. He made Dad cry.
Hal: This kid was ruthless... but fair.
Dewey: His dad did a puppet show.
Hal: I'll tell you boys, life is crazy. One day you're in community college driving a Camaro T-top, cock of the walk, and then you need some cash, so you get a job. You think it's only temporary, but then you get a promotion and then a raise, and all these doors open up for you, except they're not really doors. They're trapdoors. And then all of a sudden... bam! 20 years has zipped by, and you're thinking, "Is this all I have to my life?" Not you kids. I love you kids, but, come on... The house, it's crap.