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IAN: So, what do you think?
MICKEY: What are these?
IAN: They're the chairs you wanted.
MICKEY: Was I not clear? Where the fuck are the Chiavari chairs?
BROOKS: These are the Chiavaris.
MICKEY: You shut the fuck up. You, I could not have been more specific. I asked you to find me a caterer who had the gold Chiavaris with the white cushions. You had one job.
BROOKS: Uh, that was my fault, I thought we had those, but I was mistaken.
IAN: But I-I think that any of these could work -
MICKEY: God damn it, why does everything always have to suck? This is my fucking wedding day! For one day. For one day can I have the gold Chiavaris with the white cushions?!
[Chair pieces clattering]
BROOKS: I mean, I-I can call around
MICKEY: I thought I told you to shut the fuck up! Are you retarded?
BROOKES: Uh
MICKEY: Huh, Brooks? Answer me!
BROOKES: Uh, yes.
MICKEY: Yes, you're Retarded!
BROOKES: I'm Retarded.
MICKEY: Which is why we had the fucking mix-up!... I'm sorry.
[Chair piece clatters]
MICKEY: This is my fault. I put too much on your plate.