Premium Rush (2012)
Wilee: I like to ride. Fixed gear. No brakes. Can't stop. Don't want to, either.
Wilee: I can't work in an office. I don't like wearing suits. I like to ride. Fixed gear, steel frame, no brakes. The bike cannot coast. The pedals never stop turning. Can't stop. Don't want to either. There are 1,500 bike messengers on the streets of New York City. You can e-mail it, FedEx it, fax it, scan it, but when none of that shit works and this thing has to be at that place by this time, you need us.
Mr. Leung: A lot of money for a young lady.
Nima: Took me two years. I work three jobs.
Mr. Leung: American dream, huh?
Nima: Is to work three jobs?
Mr. Leung: These days, yes.
Wilee: I do not carry drug shit, or whatever the hell this is!
Raj: It's not drugs, it can't be drugs. It's from a highly respected East Coast college.
[covers phone, turns to Tito]
Raj: It's probably drugs.
Vanessa: What kind of bike messenger are you?
Wilee: The kind with a Masters in Bullshit and Obfuscation.
Bobby: [grabs Wilee's hurt ribs] Oh, I'm sorry. Is that uncomfortable?
Wilee: Douche bag.
Bobby: I don't really care for that term "douche bag." People throw it around like crazy these days, like it's suddenly okay. You know what else people say now? "Suck it." I was watching TV the other night, 8:30, the middle of prime time. Kids could be watching. Guy says, "Suck it." Everybody's laughing. Ha, ha, ha! How is that appropriate?
Bobby: Hey! That envelope you picked up, I gotta ask for it back.
Wilee: Yeah, the thing is, once it goes in the bag, it's gotta stay in the bag.
Bobby: [threateningly] It's in your best interest to give me the envelope.
Wilee: Just who are you?
Bobby: Forrest J Ackerman, campus security.
Vanessa: I need a flashmob like two minutes ago!
Raj: [picks up the phone] Time to call in the cavalry.
Raj: What is it with this envelope? People love it, they hate it, they gotta have it, they gotta get rid of it. It's like cigarettes or Democrats.
Wilee: This douchebag tried to...
Desk Officer: I can hear you.
Wilee: Sorry, uh, a guy tried to rob me and run me over with his car.
Desk Officer: Are you injured?
Desk Officer: Do you want to file a complaint?
Wilee: No, I want him arrested, it's like attempted vehicular manslaughter, or whatever.
Desk Officer: Is it, your honor? Have a seat, someone will be right out to take your statement.
Wilee: I also have a picture of his license plate number.
Desk Officer: That's fantastic. Have a seat, someone will be right with you.
Wilee: [sarcastically] Thank you, for your concern.
Wilee: You got a pickup for me?
Receptionist: You already got it.
Wilee: Positive I did not.
Receptionist: No, someone from your company.
Wilee: What did he look like?
Receptionist: He was prettier than me.
Wilee: Thing is, man, the company I work for, it's called 'Security Courier', and the 'Security' part means that once people give us their shit, we don't just hand it out to random strangers on the street.
[after escaping from the impound]
Vanessa: That's the most fun I've had with my clothes on!
Wilee: [after almost being run over by Bobby] Hey douchebag! What's the matter with you?
Vanessa: [yelling at a cab driver] Hey Jersey, you wanna move your fat ass?
Wilee: You know how sexy you are when you talk like that?
Bobby: If you don't give over that envelope, you have no idea what's coming for you.
Kyle: I heard you never took the bar.
Wilee: It's on my list.
Kyle: Don't stress about it. Hey, they say if you snort some Ritalin, it's a cakewalk!
Wilee: Sage advice.
Wilee: [signing a document for pickup] The time is now 5:33.
Nima: It must be there by 7:00. It's extremely important.
Wilee: Always is.
[hands her slip of paper, takes the envelope]
Wilee: Thanks, have a nice day!