- See episode The Convention
Michael: Um... find out if there's a cheaper, less expensive baby out there, okay?
Pam: You know, she also said the waiting list is like eight months.
Michael: Eight months?
Michael: I don't even know if I'll want a baby in eight months.
Pam: Yeah, you probably won't
Michael: You know what, Pam? If in ten years, I haven’t had a baby, and you haven’t had a baby…
Pam: No, Michael.
Michael: Twenty years.
Pam: No, Michael.
Michael: It’s a deal.
Angela: In the Martin family, we like to say, "Looks like someone took the slow train from Philly." That's code for "check out the slut."
Creed: There’s my girl. I noticed you handing out some shekels. How would one get on that train?
Angela: That was for per diem, for Philadelphia.
Meredith: That town smells like cheese steaks.
Angela: That town is full of history!
Creed: Andrea’s the office bitch. You’ll get used to her. [introducing himself] Creed.
Michael: I was shocked when he told me he was transferring to Stamford. It’s like the firemen. You don’t leave your brothers behind, even if you find out that there is a better fire in Connecticut.
Jim: Oh, no, sorry, it’s an inside joke. There’s this bartender at Stamford who, uh… you know what? You’d just have to be there.
Michael: Wish I was. I love inside jokes. I’d love to be a part of one someday.
Michael: I get it! No, no, I totally get it. He made a better paper airplane, Stamford is better in sales… I get it. We had some fun. We had some laughs. And that’s just…
Jim: Wait, wait. I didn’t transfer because of you. You’re a good boss. You’re a great boss.
Michael: I’m not better than Josh.
Jim: Michael, it’s not about… I transferred because of Pam.
Michael: Oh my God. You don’t even know. She’s single now.
Jim: No, I just… I heard something about that. It’s just, I kind of put it all on the line. Twice, actually. And she said no. Twice.
Michael: Now, would you do the pleasure of hitting the lights, sir? [lights go out, leaving Michael’s black light on] Ha, ha, ha.
Dwight: Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Michael: Whoa. What are those stains?
Dwight: Blood, urine, or semen.
Michael: Oh, God, I hope it’s urine.
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