Blonde chick: Oh my god, so there’s this playwright who died, and they’re like, putting on a re-… re-… Well, like, whatever it’s called, they’re putting it on. They’re reading some lines. But anyway, like, her brother who, like, my dad like, used to work with — well, he’s dead, too. And I’m like, ‘Why are you hanging out with your girlfriend’s daughter when I’m your real daughter?’
Friend: Oh my god, you should totally bitch him out.
Blonde chick: Oh, I will. –Elevator, NYU residence hall