Props to Sars. She put in some hard time here, folks. Hard, hard time. Also, she kicks ass.
Previously, on Dawson's Creek: Joey and Pacey hooked up, then broke up; the gang graduated in a big old -esque flurry of cap-throwing and gown-wearing; Dawson and Joey stood in front of that godforsaken window of his and kissed, turning viewers everywhere to stone.
But wait! There's more. According to the Announcer Dude, "it's a whole new year," a new year for which we get to watch a long, long preview. Apparently, Dawson will go to Hollywood; Joey will run around Boston; Jen will make out with Tristan from Gilmore Girls; Joey will cry on her bed; Dawson will cry in his car; Joey will stand on some grass somewhere and look all thoughtful; Jack will dole out high-fives whilst being carried around on the shoulders of cute boys; and Joey will obsess about how she's "completely and totally on [her] own for the first time in [her] life". The Announcer Dude declares this "the beginning of an unforgettable new season." Yes, I predict I will be reliving this season in therapy for years to come.
Sad Piano Music tinkles in the background as Dawson and Joey stand in front of his bedroom window and mack, kill-me-now-style. Some dude, whose voice I don't recognize, launches into a ponderous voice-over. "And then, just like that, they were kissing," he says. I betcha Voice-over Guy is someone's professor, reading somebody's poorly written creative-writing assignment. How do I know that? I've watched television for almost twenty-seven years now. "She didn't know how they got there. She had no idea. The thought of kissing him hadn't crossed her mind in years. It was weird, because once upon a time that was all she ever thought about. And, then, just like that, it was over." We cut to a classroom, where Joey sits at a long table in a skimpy top and looks uncomfortable. And yes, thank you, Voice-over Guy is her professor, and unless Joey's awkward expression is out of sympathy for the author of this piece, it is indeed her essay. "He coughed. She shuffled her feet. And she laughed to herself. It had been one of those moments. One of those moments where you shuck your status as mere mortal and achieve, however briefly, true greatness. She had shared many such moments with this boy. But now he was leaving, and nothing would ever be the same again."
The professor looks up from Joey's paper, and scans the class. Editorial sidebar: "Achieve true greatness"? Call me crazy, but I doubt Dawson's that great a kisser. Also, ew. The professor asks for the class's opinion of Joey's story. One tubby guy dubs it "incredibly banal." Go, Tubby Guy! Also, I find it hard to believe that a freshman could get into such a small creative writing class her first semester in college, but, admittedly, I went to a very large and public institution where some people didn't even get into a dorm room their first semester, so what do I know? Anyway, Joey looks pained. The girl to her gushes that Joey's piece is "brilliant," calling it a combination of "Joyce Carol Oates and Judy Blume." I can't even imagine how a combination of Joyce Carol Oates and Judy Blume would read, but I do know it would be both funnier and weirder than Joey's effort. Cue some Joyce Carol Oates bashing and a little tiresome Judy Blume-as-guide-to-the-psyche-of-the-teenage-girl banter from the professor, who really just read Judy Blume because, you know, sometimes she wrote about boobies. As her professor yammers, Joey puts her hand over her face and dies inside. Her paper comes floating down in front of her, landing on her desk, a big fat red C right on the front. The Professor looks down at her and tells her that he has good news and bad news. Good? That class is over. Bad? "You are obviously a writer," he says, "which means the torture has just begun." Whatever. Please, spare me the Tortured Writer, Suffering For Her Art shtick, because, frankly, I don't think I can stomach that on top of Dawson's nauseating and constant Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man routine -- in addition, of course, to his monstrous Love Child Of Glenn Close And John Tesh appearance.
The class disperses. Joey, still looking pained, chases "Professor Wilder" out of the classroom and down the stairs. Catching a glimpse of her tortured face, Wilder laughs that Joey "doesn't like that C very much." She doesn't, she says. In fact, she's wondering what she can do to "make that C less of a C." Wilder informs her that, actually, there is -- she can rewrite it. "How can I do that?" Joey asks, following him out into the quad in the ugliest pair of capris I've ever seen. While my response would have been something along the lines of "Well, Joey, first, you need to turn on your computer. And then, start typing," Wilder isn't nearly as mean as I am. He gives her some half-assed and entirely non-constructive advice, which includes asking her about "the boy" in the story. Joey squeals that he's coming to visit her that very weekend! Instead of reminding Joey that she doesn't need to rely entirely on factual events when writing fiction, Wilder nods knowingly. "The problem with your story, Joey Potter, is that it ends at the moment it should begin," he says, squinting down at her. Joey stares at him, maybe wondering why everyone she knows feels compelled to call her by her full name. Wilder raises his brows at her, and then takes off across campus to seduce more nubile undergraduates. She makes a perplexed face and stares after him.
Cue new credits! Complete with jogging. And laughing. And reading. And jumping. And the same stupid song. Also, in one shot, you can see, like, two-thirds of Michelle Williams's breasts. Which, you know, really makes it all worthwhile for me. Hey, did I mention that October is Sarcasm Awareness Month?
Joey jogs through the streets of Boston in a tee shirt and blue shorts, to which she has attached her cellular phone. The phone is tugging her shorts down, bit by bit. She's going to be half-naked by the time she's done with her run. Joey loops around what I assume is the Charles River, trots across town, and heads back to campus. She's loping through the quad when her phone rings. Joey answers it, all out of breath. Dawson. "Are you at the airport?" Joey chirps. "Not exactly, no," the Unholy One replies. "You want the good news or the bad news first?" he asks. The good news is that Dawson's got a new haircut, and it looks...better. The bad news? He's left his shirt half unbuttoned, revealing some sparse dishwater-colored chest hair. Joey makes some piteous "not again" noises, which Dawson ignores in his haste to tell her that he's landed this internship, blah, blah, blah, he can't make it that weekend. "Well, that sucks," Joey says, trying to be cheerful. Dawson admits that he was "kind of looking forward to seeing her." They banter about how they're never going to see each other ever again, and that before they know it, it'll be just "a Christmas card…when [Dawson's] wife remembers." First: Joey should be so lucky. Second: "wife"? Good luck with that, Baldy. Dawson affectionately calls Joey a drama queen, and she half-smiles and wishes him good luck, sucking down her tears of disappointment. She hangs up and looks off across the campus piteously for the fourth time in ten minutes.
Anyway, Audrey pouts, and promises that she'll cheerfully make herself scarce when Joey's "beau" arrives for the weekend. Joey almost smiles, and tells Audrey that, first, he's not her "beau," and, second, he's not coming anymore. "Dunston's not coming?" Audrey says, making her, officially, my girlfriend. "Do you need me right now?" she asks. "Because if you need me, I'll totally get rid of Zack. You may not be aware of this yet, but I'm pretty awesome like that." Joey half smiles and tells Audrey that she has to go see Prof. Wilder anyway. "And that's what you're wearing?" Audrey asks. "What do you mean?" Joey wonders. That when you sit down in his office in those low-cut jeans, you'll end up with your bare ass hanging out all over the place, and, also, maybe you should put on a bra? No, apparently Audrey thinks Joey needs to gussy up a bit, since Wilder's "gorgeous." No, he's really not. I had a gorgeous English professor, myself, once. Actually, truly gorgeous. Like an unholy combination of Robert Redford in The Great Gatsby and Rob Lowe. He got fired for having sex with several of his female students and is now a traveling soap salesman. Word to the wise. Joey huffs that she's going to see Wilder about a paper, not to hit on him, and flounces out of the room. Audrey sighs.
When Joey arrives at Wilder's office, she finds a line of co-eds practically wrapped around the building. "Is this all for Professor Wilder?" she asks the girl in front of her. "Mmm hmm. And worth every minute of it, if you ask me," the girl purrs. Joey sort of shakes her head, disgusted, and leaves. As she's walking down the steps out of the building, which Tiresome Addition To The Cast does she see leaping out of his first-floor office window and into the bushes? Correct! Professor "Indiana Jones Complex" Wilder. Maybe Joey ought to write "Extra" and "Credit" on her eyelids, in hopes of raising that C to a B. In his haste to escape all the horny teenage girls in tube tops who really want to talk about Franny and Zooey with him, Wilder almost runs right into Joey. She smiles wryly and raises her brows. "Busted," Wilder admits. "What are you doing?" Joey asks, as she falls into step with him, crossing the quad. "Escaping the hordes," he says, complaining that he can be stuck in his office "for hours." Or, you know, he could just post office hours and then stick to them, like every English professor I ever had. Except for, you know, the soap salesman. Joey muses that it "must be nice," having freshman girls swooning over him. "Oh, don't worry," he says. "I go home and have the wife and kid bitch me out for a couple of hours. Keep me grounded." What a tool. His kid bitches him out? His kid can't be more than five. I think Professor Wilder might be happier over with the cast of The Mind of the Married Man, where he can talk about what a pain in the ass it is to have a family to his heart's content. Joey doesn't care, though. She really just wants to talk about her story. She's having problems following his non-constructive criticism, because "nothing happened" after the kiss. She doesn't know what to write. "Where do you want the story to go?" Wilder asks. "See, writing is about making choices, Joey. And you copped out. You stopped before you made a choice. Now, I don't even know what the kiss meant." Joey makes her Perplexed Student look. "It was just a kiss," she sputters. "That doesn't mean anything to me," Wilder insists. "Make a choice. Was it sweet? Was it friendly? Was it passionate? Was it 'I want to lay you down on the nearest flat surface and do ungodly things to you'? Or was it…goodbye?" Wilder looks down at Joey All Meaningfully, and then walks off. Joey looks -- oh, you know. Stricken, and stuff. Also: "Lay you down on the nearest flat surface and do ungodly things to you"? I want to die.
Speaking of stupid Dawson, he's still wandering around the lot in an outfit that makes him look like a castaway from Loser Island. Way to dress up for your first day of work, dude. His shirt isn't even ironed. Also, the chest hair. The soundtrack screams as Dawson gazes blissfully at all the Hollywood folk peppering the lot: the girl dragging the costume rack, the actresses in full make-up, the people sitting around and waiting. Finally, he enters his new office, where the receptionist tells him she'll be right back, and runs off. He stands in the foyer for a moment until a young Asian woman comes bounding out and kisses him on both cheeks and frenetically starts throwing out the names of Los Angeles nightspots, trying to place him. Dawson just looks confused. "Okay, forget it, we don't know each other," she says, and takes him into a conference room, where she sits him down and tells him he's a fantastic writer. Oh, I can't wait for the sure-to-be-humiliating denouement of this particular story arc. "How can you tell?" Dawson wonders. "It's my job, sweetie," says the misguided D-Girl. Dawson sputters something about being "a huge fan of Todd's." D-Girl agrees he's "amazing. An f'ing genius," and somehow manages to turn the conversation around to her idea of doing a feature version of 7th Heaven. "What do you think?" she asks. Dawson wrinkles his massive brow. "I think that's…you know…weird," he says. "Exactly!" D-Girl chirps, and tells him that he's got "exactly the right voice for the project." She then calls him David. Cue the David/Dawson/David exchange, and, sure enough, turns out that D-Girl mistook Dawson for a new writer Todd's got on the hook, and has to call in the receptionist to ask her who the hell he is. "He's the new intern," the receptionist says. Dawson grins sheepishly.
Weezer sings us into Joey's dorm. She hesitates before her room, and covers her eyes with her hand before slowly pushing the door open. She peels her fingers away from her face slowly to reveal Audrey, My New Girlfriend, fully clothed, alone, and reading a magazine. "Hey! Have you ever had an orgasm?" Audrey asks cheerfully. That's how I greet guests in my home, by the way. Joey's jaw drops. "What?" she asks. Audrey turns "Hash Pipe" down a notch and repeats the question. Joey icily responds that she doesn't care to discuss that with someone she barely knows. "I am your roommate, Joey!" Audrey says. "As such, I reserve the right to raise such topics as oral sex, feminine hygiene and orgasms." Joey sits down on her bed gingerly and says nothing as Audrey barrels on. "I don't think I ever had one in high school. I mean, I thought I did, but Zack convinced me otherwise." Joey makes a face. Oh, loosen up, Joey! College is all about talking about orgasms and blowjob techniques with your girlfriends. Along with, you know, all the learning and stuff. Audrey then wistfully remarks that it's too bad she had to end it with the Orgasm-Giving Zack. Joey's shocked that it's over with the two of them already. "Yes," Audrey says. "He tried to talk me into a threesome! I may be easy, but I'm not sleazy. He's history." Joey blinks. "Sorry, I guess," she offers. "It's hard work finding the right boy. Which makes a nice segue into our topic," Audrey says. Joey shoots her roommate a fearful look. "Which is?" she asks. "I'm afraid for you, Joey," Audrey reveals. "I'm afraid you're not having the proper college experience." Joey makes "leave me alone, Nosy Parker"-type noises, but Audrey persists. "Some people actually want to study and get a good education," Joey finally tells her, snippily. "That's not it, Joey," Audrey says, and tells Joey that she thinks Joey is "afraid to have fun," because if she let herself go and enjoyed herself for once, she might meet someone she likes, and actually start the phase of her life instead of living in the freaking past constantly. "I know you're sad your special guy couldn't come this weekend, I get that. I'm highly intuitive," Audrey offers. "But maybe that's a good thing, you know?" You don't know the half of it, Audrey. You think Joey's a buzzkill? Wait until you meet Dunston. Joey looks down, and then tells Audrey that Audrey "really doesn't know that much about [Joey's] life." Audrey is silent for a moment, then flops back on her bed, looking hurt. "And whose fault is that, I wonder?" she asks, and turns the radio back up. ["Also…what 'life'?" -- Sars]
Elsewhere in Boston, there is a boat. And on that boat is Pacey. Who has just been brought a coffee by Jen, who assures him that no one knows where he is. They actually think he might be in Bora Bora, whispering "the horror, the horror!" Pacey sips his iced-coffee beverage and listens as Jen gleefully explains that she floated the rumor that he's actually in Boston, but no one bought it! Pacey, by the way, has become like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now in one respect: he seems to have put on some weight. Not Marlon Brando-type weight, or anything, mind you, and I actually think he looks okay a bit beefier, like he's becoming a man or something. His hair, though, is really too big. I know they're trying to make his head look bigger, to go with his bigger body, because nothing is worse than a man who looks like his head is too small for his body, but…I don't know. It's not that flattering. I mean, he's had better hair. Actually, every single person on this show has had better hair in the past than they do in this episode, with the exception of Dawson, and I suspect this may be a plot on the Beek's part. Like he's paying off the hairdressers, telling them to make the rest of the cast look as cruddy as possible in exchange for two hundred bucks and as many donuts from craft services as they can cram down their gullets. Anyway, to recap: Pacey's put on some weight, his hair is sort of unfortunate, he's still much cuter than Dawson. Moving on. "And Joey?" Pacey asks. Jen explains that Joey "likes to imagine that [Pacey] is happy." Pacey nods. "Which I am, thanks," he says. Jen looks at him for a moment, then invites him to Sunday night dinner at Grams's. "You feel like a home-cooked meal? We'll leave the light on for you," she tells him. He demurs politely, and wonders her about Dawson's whereabouts. Jen yammers something about Dawson chasing his stupid dream, and Pacey chirps something about how Dawson's doing the right thing, "moving forward" or something. I don't know. I hear the word "Dawson" and sort of drift. That may come back to bite me in the ass as far as my employment here at MBTV goes, now that I think about it. Michelle Williams, God bless her heart, makes a little face at the whole "Dawson is chasing his dream! His dream!" bit of dialogue. Pacey smiles and leans down and hugs her, and asks her to "keep on keeping on [their] little secret." She will, she says, but "not forever." Then she leaves, and Pacey looks all pensive, but not unhappy, and that's all the Pacey you get this week. Sorry, kids.
The Fanciest Dorm Room In The History Of The World. Audrey, in a short skirt and revealing top, has her foot up on Joey's bed, and is kibitzing with Jen and Jack. Joey walks into the room, with really bizarre crimped/wavy hair, and smiles sort of nervously at the crowd. Audrey tells Joey that Jack and Jen have been filling her in on Joey's "shockingly sordid romantic history." Joey sarcastically says that she assumes she can skip the intros, in that case. Audrey nods enthusiastically. "Jen is my new best friend," she says, "and Jack will heretofore be known as Joey's very cute guy friend." Jen chortles. "No, he's Joey's very cute gay friend," she corrects. "No, really?" Audrey asks. "Pretty gay," Jack says casually. Hee! Cue more talk about how Jack Is Really Gay, and after Kerr Smith turns to the camera and mouths, "Not really," the four of them head out for the frat party.
Set Of The Worst Movie Ever, Directed By The Mayor Of Tool Town, With A Special Appearance By The Tooliest Intern In The History Of Hollywood. Todd swaggers over to Dawson and sits right down to him. "So what's the verdict, intern?" he asks, nodding at the script. Dawson tells him that it does, indeed, suck. "What's wrong with it?" Todd asks. "There's a monkey in it," Dawson replies. Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't a movie called Dunston Checks In involve a monkey? Mayhap this is the writers' subtle way of telling the audience that Dawson is a primate. Also: great constructive criticism there, Dawson. I, personally, can think of some pretty great monkey movies! Like, say, Ed, starring Matt LeBlanc. Okay, bad example. King Kong? Anyway, Todd doesn't really care about Dawson's thoughts and feeling as regards the Monkey Script; he just wants to waste precious time on set, talking up the intern. Cue further chattering, during the course of which Todd asks Dawson what he "wants to be when [he] grows up." Dawson smarms, of course, that he wants to be a great director. Todd wonders what he's doing toward that end. "USC Film School," Dawson says proudly. "Film school is for pussies," Todd says. Whoa. Wait. You can say "pussy" on network TV now? At 8 p.m.? Rock. Dawson looks mildly taken aback. "Uh. I made a documentary last year," he offers, then tells Todd he's welcome to take a look at it. Todd turns this proposition down flat, explaining that if the documentary sucks, he's in the awkward position of having to find something nice to say about it, and if it's good, he'll feel all jealous and cruddy. Dawson sort of nods, and Todd heads back to the action. "Welcome to Hollywood, Dawson," Todd throws over his shoulder. Whatever. Like a director -- in the middle of a shoot, no less! -- would ever have time to go and sit and chit-chat with an intern. In reality, Dawson would probably spend his entire first day Xeroxing scripts and getting people coffee. In the office, not on the set.
La fête de fraternité. This is the biggest frat party I've ever seen; it spills out onto a lawn-type thing, where a band plays. Other than that -- and other than the fact that the band is covering Flock of Seagulls rather than, say, Limp Bizkit -- it's your typical college beer bash; people are wandering around holding plastic cups as the music howls and drunk people vomit and fall over. Good times. While Joey waits in the line for the keg, Audrey hops on the stage and starts singing along with the band. She sounds really good, and I wonder if that's Busy Philipps's real voice. Joey caresses her beer, and watches Audrey and smiles in spite of herself. She then turns to head back into the frat and runs into this guy with bangs. Like, literally runs right into him. He recognizes her from their Economics class. "You're C10," he says. Joey furrows her brow. "What did you call me?" she asks. "Row C, Seat 10. That's where you sit everyday," Econ Boy explains, before going into excruciating detail about the way she plays with her hair during lecture. That explains the split ends, I guess. "Okay, I'm officially creeping you out, aren't I?" he says. Joey swears that he isn't, but when he asks if she'd like to go inside and chat, she blows him off. Econ's face falls, and he half-heartedly offers that it was nice talking to her. Joey agrees, and they go their separate ways.
Party town. Audrey and Joey perch on…something. It looks like they're sitting on the edge of a balcony? It might just be a bench. Whatever. They're sitting, and they're talking, and they're bonding. Audrey's waxing poetic to Joey about the joys of singing with the band. Joey makes gloomy, buzz-killing faces for about twenty minutes before telling Audrey she was right about Joey being "stuck in the past." She's working "her ass off, learning," blah blah blah blah, "yet there's still part of [her] that's fifteen years old. Still stuck back in Capeside. Still in love with the boy down the creek. Who only sees [her] as a friend." Audrey looks at her for a long moment (possibly to swallow her bile) for before launching into her own High School Song Of Woe. "Chris," she begins. "He was my high school boyfriend. Saying goodbye to him was maybe the hardest thing I've ever done. Because I know that no matter how much we loved each other, no matter how much we promised to stay true to one another, it just wouldn't work. We'd end up hurting each other. So I cut the cord, and I said goodbye. And it's really hard sometimes. Because I know he's out there, somewhere, falling in and out of love with these girls that aren't me." She and Joey look at their feet. "You must think that I'm this great big slut or something, huh?" Audrey asks. "But I'm just trying to live life, you know, and have fun, and if I feel like kissing some boy…" she trails off. "Then so be it," Joey finishes for her. "Exactly!" Audrey says. "No regrets." Joey looks thoughtful. "This was a really good conversation, Joey Potter," Audrey chirps, falling fatally into The Club Of People Who Call Others By Their Full Name For No Good Reason. "Hope there's more to come." Joey smiles at her. "Me, too," she says.
So the line for the bathroom at this here frat party is really, really long. Like the line for the bathroom at all frat parties, I guess. A dude knocks frantically on the bathroom door. Inside, Joey sits on the edge of the bathtub, her phone pressed to her ear. She calls to the Knocker that she'll be out in just a second. Can I take a sidebar to say that there's no frat in the world with a bathroom this clean? I remember one fraternity at UCLA that had a trail of urine outside, twenty-four hours a day, because the toilets were always backed up. It was also known as "the Date Rape Frat," which really tells you all you need to know. I never actually went inside, but I assume the bathrooms were unpleasant. Across the street, there was a frat that boasted bathrooms with no doors. Or, usually, toilet paper. This bathroom? Has candles and tea lights and, like, soap. There's simply no way. Even if the bathroom started out clean, by this point there ought to be toilet paper all over the floor and beer cups in the tub. You learn these things when you're cursed with a small bladder. Anyway. Joey's leaving a long, long message for Dunston while the rest of the partygoers pee their pants and curse her. The message is basically all "I'm having fun, I miss you, blah blah, blew off this nice guy because of you, blee blee you're out there following your dream, yada yada, I think it's time I let you go, bliddedy blah, really hard for me, yada yada, in love with you for the rest of my life, blah blah blah blah. This is me cutting the cord. This is me doing what I should have done three months ago; cutting the cord, Dawson. Call me back, because by 'cutting the cord' I mean 'I'd like you to contact me immediately to tell me that you can't live without me.' Bye." Well, that's a nice clean break, no?
Over at Dawson's, the little red light on the machine blinks and blinks.
The Party That Would Not End. Jen sits outside, alone. Drinking. She's knocking one back when a cute scruffy guy approaches her. It's Tristan from Gilmore Girls, only grungier, and, you know, not in prep school. Jen won't even let him speak. "No, not interested," she says, cutting him off at the pass. So to speak. "'No, not interested' in what?" Tristan asks. How does Jen know he's not coming over to ask her what time it is, or if she's seen a redheaded girl on a unicycle, or because she's sitting on his hat? "In whatever you're selling, pal," Jen says. "Okay, I didn't even say anything," Tristan points out, grinning. "You were about to give me your best opening line, like, 'hey girl,' which, word to the wise, is neither interesting nor charming," Jen responds. "Then you could follow it up with the perennial classic, 'You know what would look really good on you? Me.'" Tristan laughs, amazed that people actually say such awkward and silly things. He also claims he's "not that guy." Ah, but he is the kind of guy who thinks he's not a certain kind of guy, which is and of itself a kind of guy. Jen keeps yapping about…I don't know, guys who take advantage of drunken girls or something? She lost me around "pal." "Okay. You're crazy," Tristan says. "Which is not entirely unappealing. But I'm not that guy either." Jen wonders, if he's not that guy, and he's not that other guy, why he's at the party at all. Tristan informs her grungily that he's in the band. Oh, he's that guy, the guy in the band! "We got paid fifty bucks to play! And fifty bucks is fifty bucks, lady," he points out. What's with all the "pals" and "ladies" in here? It's like I fell into a Damon Runyon story or something. Without, naturally, the snappy writing. Whatever. Jen twitters that the band was good, and Tristan thanks her, and wonders what, "pray tell," she's doing at the party besides "scowling into her beer." Jen grins up at him. "Scowling can be fun," she says. I'm going to embroider that onto a series of pillows and distribute them to my fellow recappers for the upcoming holidays. Tristan nods and turns to take off, then turns back and looks at her for a moment. "Alls [sic] I was going to say was 'Hi, my name's Charlie, what's yours?'" And then he says some shit about how frat boys are creeps, and the girls are worse, and she's really cute, and he hopes the fratty folks don't procreate, and the non-fratty folks are going to have to "fight the good fight" to make sure the fratty don't take over the world. Or something. He's pretty. At this, Jen grins. "Charlie? Jen. My name's Jen." Charlie looks back at her, and nods and then leaves. As he goes, Jack approacheth. "What are you smiling about?" he asks. Jen blushes. "Shut up," she says.
West Coast. The Song Of The Lowly Intern Who Managed To Get Fired On His First Day plays as Dawson plods through the lot and out into the cold hard world. He can't escape without a little chit-chat with Folksy Security Guard, of course. Folksy wants to know how Dawson's first day went. Dawson breaks the bad news. "There are worse things," Folksy muses. Not at the moment, Dawson whines. More painfully dull chatter with Folksy, during the course of which Folksy reveals that he's from Boston himself, and offers to call Dawson a cab. Also, Dawson whines about the death of his great dream of a glorious career in cinema, but I think I'm correct when I say that no one cares about that little speech, correct? All righty, then. We'll just wrap this scene up by saying that Dawson stares mournfully into space and waits for one of Los Angeles's three taxis to come and fetch him and take him home, where he can attempt to reassemble the shattered pieces of his shallow life.