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[at the car rental agency, after Neal finds the rental car he was assigned is not in the expected spot] Car Rental Agent: Welcome to Marathon. May I help you? Neal: [indignantly] Yes. Agent: How may I help you? Neal: You can start by wiping that fucking dumbass smile off your rosy fucking cheeks. Then you can give me a fucking automobile. A fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick — Four fucking wheels and a seat! Agent: I really don't care for the way you're speaking to me. Neal: And I really don't care for the way your company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn't fucking there. And I really didn't care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking runway to get back here to have you smile at my fucking face. I want a fucking car right fucking now. Agent: May I see your rental agreement? Neal: I threw it away. Agent: Oh, boy. Neal: "Oh, boy" what? Agent: You're fucked.

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