Tuesday, June 1, 1948, Allison Transmission Plant, Indianapolis, Indiana. The exhausted Mauri Rose, transmission expert, sits down to his daily lunch next to a co-worker, Bob Thompson.
Bob: What you got there, Mauri?
Mauri: Corned beef on rye. What about you?
Bob: Ham and cheese on white. You want to trade?
Mauri: No, thank you.
Mauri: Yes, I'm sure.
Bob: Suit yourself. (chewing loudly) So, did you go to the race yesterday?
Mauri: Yes, you can say that I did.
Bob: Did you see that #3 car? My, what a champion! His third time winning the Indy 500, they said! That's a record!
Mauri: You don't say.
Bob: (burping) I do say! My, I wonder how much money he's got... And how many women!
Bob: Oh, to be that man! I'd never show up for work again! But what was his name... Was it Matthew? Martin? No... Marvin? Yeah, I think it was Marvin. Did you catch his name, Mauri?
Mauri: (getting up) Can't say that I did.
Bob: And you call yourself a racing fan!
Mauri: Have a good day, Bob.
Bob: (shaking head) Jews!