SCENE: A BRITISH POST OFFICE, 3:45 PM.
(A long, slow-moving queue stretches toward the counter. Elderly customers fumble with coins, a Dalek invasion force is trapped in bureaucratic limbo, and Frank Costanza is rapidly losing patience.)
DALek LEADER: "WE. WILL. CONQUER. THIS. POSTAL. FACILITY!"
POST OFFICE CLERK: "Right, love, but you'll need to take a number first." (gestures to a machine that has clearly been out of paper since 1998)
FRANK COSTANZA: "WHO’S IN CHARGE HERE?! I’VE BEEN STANDING IN THIS LINE FOR TWENTY MINUTES, AND I SWEAR ON MY MOTHER’S GRAVE, IF I HEAR ONE MORE ‘EX-TER-MIN-ATE,’ I’M GONNA LOSE IT!"
DALek 1: "THIS. SYSTEM. IS. INEF-FI-CIENT!"
POST OFFICE CLERK: "That’s the way it works, dear. Now, are you posting anything dangerous, flammable, or likely to exterminate?"
DALek 2: "OUR. INTENTION. IS. TO. DESTROY. ALL. LIFE!"
POST OFFICE CLERK: "Mmm. That’ll be £3.45 extra."
(Behind them, an elderly woman slowly rummages through an ancient handbag filled with tuppence pieces, taking an eternity to count exact change for a second-class stamp.)
FRANK COSTANZA: "THAT’S IT! SERENITY NOW!!"
(Frank lunges toward the counter, knocking over a stack of pension claim forms. The Daleks panic, accidentally blast the ceiling, and a loudspeaker crackles to life.)
LOUDSPEAKER: "Cashier number four, please."
(The queue does not move.)