Dear God Page #3
- PG
- Year:
- 1996
- 112 min
- 150 Views
- Listen to me!|- God! Postal police!
No. We don't need... Cousin Guy.
How much postage for this bike?
Cousin Guy, I really appreciate|you getting me this job.
The only reason I'm doing this|is cos of your mom, you know.
Before she went away,
I promised her I'd look after you.|So I got you in.
But if you screw up,|I don't know you. You got me?
- I got you.|- Meet your boss, Vladek Vidov.
Your cousin is very great man.
This is Barney machine.
Main conveyor belt|for sorting all mail.
Salute to modern technology.
You know why they call it Barney?
- Cos it's purple?|- You been here before?
- No.|- Yes, purple, like dinosaur,
but bigger than dinosaur.
Ramon! No, no, please!
Safety first. No, no. Don't.
Don't do this. Please.
Sit. Sit. "Descanso." Rest.
His first day as casual.|The guys told him that "fragile"
is postal for "throw hard|against wall and bounce into bin".
Mary, please, explain to Ramon|what means fragile.
OK. Who's that?
Tom. Mary and Wendy,|two of our best sorters.
- Right, we met upstairs.|- They read difficult handwriting.
- What did you mean by casual?|- A temp. Like you.
Which is why|you did not have to take exam,
which is a ball-buster,|pardon the expression.
We hire you for Christmas|then let you go.
I'm sure the posh environment here|has stimulated many a casual to ask,
"What if I wanted to stay longer?|Maybe a year?"
A year? We'll see.
This is your new home.
- The DLO.|- No way.
Yeah.
Everyone, this is Tom.
He's playing with channel changer,|not gun.
That's Claudio Gomez,|they call him Handsome.
And that's Dooly.|Don't call him anything.
Idris.
Rebecca.
Lucille.
So, please, let's give him warm|Dead Letter Office welcome. Come.
You know, I actually might...
Might be better off...
Vladek?
Coffee break!|New guy gotta watch the office.
- It's tradition.|- But I don't know how...
I'm on my break, sugar.
Come. This is your desk.
Idris, right?|I'm not really up on religion.
Is this purgatory or did I die|and go straight to hell?
Getting warm. This is the DLO,|the Dead Letter Office.
All these letters are hopeless, lost,|undeliverable, unreturnable.
We gather the dead, put them|in boxes, put the boxes in bins.
- Are you just on for the holidays?|- I'm two months from my 20th year.
Then I'm outta here, gone.
- 20 years?|- Yep.
I couldn't raise my family|as a musician.
Couldn't raise myself as a musician.
OK.
One year.
Piece of cake.
Bin A, if it's returnable,
which it never is, cos if Whispering|Wendy can't decipher the writing...
No one can. Bin B. Blurred. Smudged.
Torn or, excuse me,|just too cruddy.
Bin D, wrong address.
No return, wrong return. People who|don't know where they live. Pathetic.
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"Dear God" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 2 May 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/dear_god_6554>.
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