Janitor: You know, I'm not gonna have a kid until that genetic technology they're talking about is available for everyone.
Carla: So you want to pick the sex and eye color?
Janitor: No, gills. And when that day comes, it's goodbye hospital, hello father-son treasure hunting team.
Carla: Wow. Well, you better get cracking. What are you, like, 45?
Janitor: Forty-three. I know I look a little older, but that's just 'cause I drink and smoke heavily, and work with chemicals, and sleep on my face.
Carla: No hard feelings?
Janitor: OK. All right. I swear on my unborn fish-boy's life, she will pay.