I bet a higher percentage of janitors survive this mess more than any other type of employee. If they were holding a mop, they already had a weapon in their hands; they know the entire building; and they have the keys to everything.
—Gordon Freeman, Freeman's Mind
The dojo master stood up. 'Hold!' he commanded. 'Do you not want to know the name of the man you are about to destroy?'
The fighter held his stance, glaring at Lu-Tze. 'I don't need to know name of a sweeper,' he said.
Lu-Tze rolled the cigarette into a skinny cylinder and winked at the angry man, which only stoked the anger.
'It is always wise to know the name of a sweeper, boy,' said the dojo master. 'And my question was not addressed to you.'
Garbage Man: Pardon me, sir, but I couldn't help noticing these equations in your garbage. I took the liberty of correcting a few quantum calculations.
Dilbert: Gosh. Why are you a garbage man?
Garbage Man: I think the question is "Why are you an engineer?"
McNulty: [Seeing a beat cop writing up a ticket on a parked car] What's the violation?
Officer Baker: Parking in a bus stop, expired registration.
McNulty: First class police work there, Baker.
Officer Baker: Yeah, well, this is the word we got from up on high. Straight from the 8th floor downtown. I know you think it's bullshit, but I spend my shift where they tell me.
McNulty: Baker, let me tell you a little secret. A patrolling officer on his beat is the one true dictatorship in America. We can do anything, we can lock a guy up on a petty charge, lock him up for real, or say "Fuck it, let's pull under the expressway and drink ourselves to death", and our side partners will cover it. So no one... and I mean no one tells us how to waste our shift.