Chet pisses at the urinal, his back to the audience.
Chet: Oh shit, man. I got two words for you: drug mother fuckin' test, man. Can you believe that shit? Isn't it enough that I give forty hours a week to the man? Now I gotta piss for him too. I have no idea what purpose this serves, seriously. (Chet zips up and steps away from the urinal.) Like weed is gonna inhibit my ability to sit at a desk and click buttons. (He goes to the sink to wash his hands.) Seriously, they should be paying me to puff. They want us to be docile and unresponsive. The official word on this is that they've been having problems with call center employees so they're making everyone in the company test. I think it's bullshit. Seriously, there's always an agenda behind this sort of thing. Anyway, I don't think I can pass. My feces could get you high. I'm not offering. I'm just saying. (Chet messes with his hair, looks in the mirror.) What? You think I'm too old to be a pot head? Name one reason why I shouldn't be. I'm not married, no kids, no outside interest to fuck up. It's just me, man...just me and the TV and my records and that's it...what?