J. Peterman: Elaine.
Elaine: Mr. Peterman.
[After the Burmese boy chops a fruit, Mr. Peterman scolds him in a foreign tongue. The boy runs out of the cave.]
Elaine: You speak Burmese?
J. Peterman: No, Elaine, that was gibberish. So did you have any trouble finding the place?
Elaine: No, you're the only white-poet-warlord in the neighborhood.
J. Peterman: Are you an assassin?
Elaine: I work for your mail order catalog.
J. Peterman: You're an errand girl sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill.
Elaine: Well, actually, I do have a bill here. If you could just sign this expense form, I think I could still make the last fan boat out of here.
J. Peterman: I'd be happy to, Elaine. But I will have to see this hat.
Elaine: Right.