It was just another routine lunch break in the cafeteria, when suddenly...
[Door flies open]
Norma Shearer: Am I famished! (shoves her way past everyone and skips to the front of the line) You there, peon! Give me your finest Penne all'arrabbiata, and try not to get any of your stink in it!
Barth: Excuse me, Miss, but there's a line.
Norma: A line? A line? Let me explain to you how this works. I don't have to stand in line! Don't you know who I am?
Barth: Are you Greta Garbo?
Norma: What!? How dare you mistake me for that Swedish dildo licker! I'm Norma Shearer!
Barth: Oh, are you married to Jeff Shearer?
Norma: Who in the name of God is Jeff Shearer?
Barth: He's head of catering.
Norma: Catering? I could kill catering with a thought! Now start shoveling that slop onto a plate and hand it over, will you?
Barth: Well, you'll need a tray.
Norma: I don't need a tray!
Barth: No, you probably should get a tray.
Norma: Don't you dare tell me what to do! Nobody tells Norma fucking Shearer what to do, especially not some trouser stain cafeteria employee! I am a golden goddess given flesh, and you are but an ant in the afterbirth! I could snuff out your pathetic existence with a single glance! I could just as easily kill you with one of your damned trays by hacking at your neck with the thin bit until the blood flows across the canteen floor, if I so chose! So don't you dare tell me I need a tray!
Barth: No, I mean the food's hot, and you'll want a tray to carry it.
Norma: ...oh. (reaches for a tray) This one's wet. And this one's wet. And this one's wet! DAMNATION! I WILL KILL EVERYONE IN THE WORLD! IRVING! PULL UP THE HUMMER! (Storms out the door, frothing at the mouth)
Barth: God damnit, I hate my job. This day can't possibly get any worse.
[Door flies open]
Joan: (stumbles in, carrying an almost-empty 40 oz. of Olde English 800)