Pulp Fiction: Scene 8: INT. APARTMENT BUILDING HALLWAY -- MORNING

[Residents chattering indistinctly] But still, I have to say... you play with matches, you get burned. What do you mean? You don't be giving Marsellus Wallace's new bride... a foot massage. You don't think he overreacted? Well, Antwan probably didn't expect Marsellus... to react the way he did, but he had to expect a reaction. It was a foot massage. A foot massage is nothing. I give my mother a foot massage. No, it's laying hands in a familiar way... on Marsellus' new wife. I mean, is it as bad as eating her pussy out? No, but it's the same fucking ballpark. Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop right there. Eating a bitch out and giving a bitch a foot massage... ain't even the same fucking thing. It's not. It's the same ballpark. Ain't no fucking ballpark, neither. Now, look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine... but you know touching his wife's feet... and sticking your tongue in her holiest of holies... ain't the same fucking ballpark. It ain't the same league. It ain't even the same fucking sport. Look, foot massages don't mean shit. Have you ever given a foot massage? [Chuckles] Don't be telling me about foot massages. I'm the foot fucking master. - You given a lot of 'em? - Shit, yeah. Got my technique down and everything. I don't be tickling or nothing. Would you give a guy a foot massage? Fuck you. - You given 'em a lot? - Fuck you. You know, I'm kind of tired. I could use a foot massage myself. Yo, yo, yo, man. You best back off. I'm getting a little pissed here. - This is the door. - There it is. What time you got? 7:22 in the a.m. No, it ain't quite time yet. Come on. Let's hang back. Just 'cause I wouldn't give no man a foot massage... don't make it right for Marsellus... to throw Antwan off a building... into a glass motherfucking house... fucking up the way the nigger talks. That shit ain't right. Motherfucker do that shit to me, he better paralyze my ass... 'cause I'd kill the motherfucker... - you know what I'm saying? - I ain't saying it's right. But you're saying a foot massage don't mean nothing... and I'm saying it does. I've given a million ladies a million foot massages... and they all meant something. Now, we act like they don't, but they do. That's what's so fucking cool about 'em. There's a sensuous thing going on where, you know... you don't talk about it, but you know it, and she knows it. Fucking Marsellus knew it... and Antwan should've fucking better known better. I mean, that's his fucking wife, man. This ain't a man with a sense of humor about this shit. You know what I'm saying? It's an interesting point. Come on. Let's get into character. VINCENT: What's her name again? - Mia. - Mia. Why you so interested in big man's wife? Well, he's going out of town, Florida... and he asked me if I'd take care of her while he's gone. - Take care of her? - No, man. Just take her out. You know, show her a good time. Make sure she don't get lonely. You're gonna be taking Mia Wallace out on a date? It is not a date. It's just like if you were going to take your buddy's wife... to a movie or something. It's just good company, that's all. It's not a date. It's definitely not a date.