Airport, eh? What're you, a pilot?
Baggage handler? Flight attendant? You don't drive one of them carts around with the beeping noise, do you? That'd drive me crazy.
Well shit, what're you goin to the airport for?
I'm a passenger on a plane, you idiot.
Oh yeah, right. Shoulda guessed. Where you headin?
Here on vacation?
I'm an editor.
Hey, I'm a writer! My novel's about the world's tallest midget.
Fascinating . . . Uh, how tall is he?
5 foot 9.
Tall. For a midget.
He starts a traveling circus freak show, but everyone in it is just a normal-looking person. There's him and there's the world's shortest giant, the world's thinnest fat lady, the world's handsomest elephant man.
So it's a scam.
Supposedly, but it turns out the show is a hit and everyone who comes just stands there laughing and staring at the normal-looking people like they're really freaks. The "freaks" can't handle it, even though they're rolling in dough.
Enough. Be quiet a minute, I need to make a phone call . . . . Hello, Mrs. Varmighan? It's me . . . No, Evil Editor! . . . I don't care if I sound like Harrison Ford, just listen. Get the Coen brothers on the phone. Tell them I've got them another winner.