Episode Report Card Heathen: D+ | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Chaos Theory
By Heathen | Season 9 | Episode 1 | Aired on 09.25.2002
Elizabeth is in mid-operation when a smarmy older surgeon enters and supervises what she does, correcting her American colloquial terminology with the British equivalent. Then he sneers at her. “A solo hemicolectomy?” he asks. “Not by design,” she replies in clipped tones. “Professor Whitehead decided to be tardy.” Dr. Smarmy points out that the missing professor is saving a motorist in an accident on the M1, and so he’s there as a stand-in. He critiques her approach, then makes it known he wants to poke around at what she’s done so far. Setting her jaw, Elizabeth hisses, “Be my guest.” He blathers about her technique. She wants to take back the instruments and continue. “The more I see, the better he’ll do,” Dr. Smarmy says, poking around some more. “Why not crack open his skull while you’re at it?” she seethes. He cocks an eyebrow, then gives her an order to assist him; Elizabeth snaps, storming out of the room and ripping off her gloves in a right royal snit. She has had enough of other people.
Day 14. Weaver arrives at the empty ER and greets Frank, who’s armed for the day’s rigors with a box of Krispy Kreme donuts, the weapon of champions. “They waxed the floors,” Weaver observes. “Nice, huh?” crabs Frank. “It takes smallpox for them to finally sanitize the place.” Weaver tries to ignore his tone. “It wasn’t smallpox,” she corrects him. “Mutated monkey scabs, whatever,” Frank grumbles. But the hospital is finally almost completely online. The poxy reign of terror is at last over. Which would be a great relief had the pox problem not been solved and settled two minutes into the show, leaving absolutely no pox-related suspense whatsoever. A pox on these writers.
Pratt strolls out past the front desk, on his way home at long last. Disease control has cleared him. Susan strolls through the sliding doors, overtanned and flaunting it, and complains about having to return to work so early after a two-week break. “Catch you quacks later,” Pratt calls out, sauntering away. “Pratt, Gallant called in sick, I need you to cover for him until three.” Pratt’s jaw hits the floor so hard that it bounces back up, shoots over his head, and swallows him whole. “What?” he chokes. “You just said you felt good,” Weaver says. Pratt is still and silent. Perhaps he thinks that if he doesn’t move, she won’t be able to see him. “I’m kidding, Pratt,” Weaver sing-songs. What? She has a sense of humor! She’s happy! Maybe she is re-carpeting Romano’s office. Maybe doing the nasty with a good woman has taken all the other nasty right out of her.
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