NICE GUY EDDIE
Okay, everybody cough up green for
the little lady.
Everybody whips out a buck, and throws it on the table.
Everybody, that is, except Mr. White.
NICE GUY EDDIE
C'mon, throw in a buck.
MR. PINK
Uh-uh. I don't tip.
NICE GUY EDDIE
Whaddaya mean you don't tip?
MR. PINK
I don't believe in it.
NICE GUY EDDIE
You don't believe in tipping?
MR. BLUE
(laughing)
I love this kid, he's a madman,
this guy.
MR. BLONDE
Do you have any idea what these
ladies make? They make shit.
MR. PINK
Don't give me that. She don't
make enough money, she can quit.
Everybody laughs.
NICE GUY EDDIE
I don't even know a Jew who'd have
the balls to say that. So let's
get this straight. You never ever
tip?
MR. PINK
I don't tip because society says I
gotta. I tip when somebody
deserves a tip. When somebody
really puts forth an effort, they
deserve a little something extra.
But this tipping automatically,
that shit's for the birds. As far
as I'm concerned, they're just
doin their job.
MR. BLUE
Our girl was nice.
MR. PINK
Our girl was okay. She didn't do
anything special.
MR. BLONDE
What's something special, take ya
in the kitchen and suck your dick?
They all laugh.
NICE GUY EDDIE
I'd go over twelve percent for
that.
MR. PINK
Look, I ordered coffee. Now we've
been here a long fuckin time, and
she's only filled my cup three
times. When I order coffee, I
want it filled six times.
MR. BLONDE
What if she's too busy?
MR. PINK
The words "too busy" shouldn't be
in a waitress's vocabulary.
NICE GUY EDDIE
Excuse me, Mr. White, but the last
thing you need is another cup of
coffee.
They all laugh.
MR. PINK
These ladies aren't starvin to
death. They make minimum wage.
When I worked for minimum wage, I
wasn't lucky enough to have a job
that society deemed tipworthy.
NICE GUY EDDIE
Ahh, now we're getting down to it.
It's not just that he's a cheap
bastard--
MR. BROWN
--It is that too--
NICE GUY EDDIE
--It is that too. But it's also
he couldn't get a waiter job. You
talk like a pissed off dishwasher:
"Fuck those cunts and their
fucking tips."
MR. WHITE
So you don't care that they're
counting on your tip to live?
Mr. White rubs two of his fingers together.
MR. PINK
Do you know what this is? It's
the world's smallest violin,
playing just for the waitresses.
MR. WHITE
You don't have any idea what
you're talking about. These
people bust their ass. This
is a hard job.
MR. PINK
So's working at McDonald's, but
you don't feel the need to tip
them. They're servin ya food, you
should tip em. But no, society
says tip these guys over here, but
not those guys over there. That's
bullshit.
MR. BLONDE
They work harder than the kids at
McDonald's.
MR. PINK
Oh yeah, I don't see them cleaning
fryers.
MR. BLUE
These people are taxed on the tips
they make. When you stiff 'em,
you cost them money.
MR. WHITE
Waitressing is the number one
occupation for female non-college
graduates in this country. It's
the one jab basically any woman
can get, and make a living on.
The reason is because of tips.
MR. PINK
Fuck all that.
They all laugh.
MR. PINK
Hey, I'm very sorry that the
government taxes their tips.
That's fucked up. But that ain't
my fault. it would appear that
waitresses are just one of the
many groups the government fucks
in the ass on a regular basis.
You show me a paper says the
government shouldn't do that, I'll
sign it. Put it to a vote, I'll
vote for it. But what I won't do
is play ball. And this non-
college bullshit you're telling
me, I got two words for that:
"Learn to fuckin type." Cause if
you're expecting me to help out
with the rent, you're in for a big
fuckin surprise.
2 comentários:
Genial...
... como outros diálogos geniais a que o Tarantino já nos habituou.
Esse há-de ser dos meus preferidos, talvez só igualado em Pulp Fiction, pelas conversas entre Jules e Vince sobre as divergencias europeias nos hamburguers, batatas fritas e afins ou aquela entre o Vince e a Mya sobre silêncios incómodos...
Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: What country you from?
Brett: What?
Jules: What ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in What?
Brett: What?
Jules: ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO-YOU-SPEAK-IT?
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Then you know what I'm saying!
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What, I-?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say what again. SAY WHAT AGAIN. I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time.
Brett: He's b-b-black...
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He's bald...
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
[Jules shoots Brett in shoulder]
Jules: DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH?
Brett: No!
Jules: Then why you try to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't.
Jules: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.
[Jules shoots the guy on the couch during Brett's interrogation]
Jules: Oh, I'm sorry, did I break your concentration?
(...)
[Ezekiel 25:17 among others]
Jules: The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.
(...)
Mia: Don't you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don't know. That's a good question.
Mia: That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.
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