The Check is in the Mail...

Mr. Fanning: Richard, can I make a suggestion? You're sick. Richard Jackson: It's just a stuffy nose. It was kind of chilly, last night. I tried to start a fire in the fireplace, but the wood was still too wet... Mr. Fanning: No, no, no, I don't mean in your nose, I mean in your head. What you've been doing to your life, Rich. Richard Jackson: It's my life, Mr. Fanning. Mr. Fanning: Well, it's my drug store, damn it! Mr. Fanning: Look, customers are going across the street for exons. For some strange reason, they don't trust a man who comes to work on a skateboard because his bicycle has a flat tire. Mr. Fanning: Get some help, Richard. I'll pay for it. There's a psychiatrist, comes into the other stores. He's a great guy. Richard Jackson: I don't need any help. There's nothing wrong with me. I know exactly what I'm doing. Mr. Fanning: Okay, Richard, if that's the way you feel. I'm sorry. I really am. Richard Jackson: Are you apologizing to me or are you firing me? Mr. Fanning: Let's put it this way. You owe me a dollar eighty-nine for the nasal inhaler.