Last time on ER, a med student named Erin Harkins dipped herself in sass, rolled around in a crunchy coating of spunk, and served herself up to Carter on a plate of I Know You're Chief Resident But I Refuse To Let You Ignore Me. Pratt has a roommate who seems a bit...simple-minded. And that's it. Apparently, that's all that mattered from last week, which makes you wonder.
A random vagrant wanders through the hospital rattling some Tupperware and singing, "How you doin'?" Joey Tribbiani can rest easy, because Random Vagrant is using this to far less successful effect. Dr. Kerry "Leave It To" Weaver surfs angrily through the mobbed halls, throws an elbow Random Vagrant's way, and pops out at Reception to snarl about patients being parked in inconvenient places. "No beds," Dr. Susan "Emmanuel" Lewis sighs. She's rifling through a pile of charts higher than this show's ratings, handing cases off to Dr. Michael "Damn, I Just Want To Pinch His Cheeks" Gallant. "Susan, I know the system is overwhelmed, but..." and as Weaver condescendingly encourages Susan to manage things better, Susan interrupts with a bellow: "Kerry, I swear to you, I'm about to lose it, so unless you want to take over...." Weaver nods crisply and says that they can move non-critical patients off monitored beds and into the hallways. Way to go, Kerry. Based on the amount of crap you just tripped over in the hallways, I'm sure no one thought of that. Susan says as much, winning an irritated look from Kerry that's interrupted only by the dulcet tones of Random Vagrant, the soundtrack to today's not-at-all recycled sense of mayhem. "How you doin'?" he sings. "Does he have to be here?" Susan snaps at nobody. A nurse answers that he can leave once his "banana bag" is done. "Then do it outside," snaps Susan. "Are you serious?" the nurse asks. "YES," Frank, Weaver, and Susan all spit in unison.
In the background, Abby "Blonde Ambition" Lockhart quietly tries to reach her brother, Eric, on the telephone. Weaver floats down the halls yelling rude things at the patients gathered there. That's one way to clear the rush -- piss them off enough that they go elsewhere. Maybe she'll cane a few of them. Abby leaves a message with Eric that says she's too swamped to meet him for lunch, but that they should certainly try to have dinner that night.
From the hallway, Dr. John "True Man?" Carter screams for Frank to call Security. There's a man freaking out in an exam room, thrashing around behind the closed door and yelling that he doesn't belong there. "You'll kill me!" he wails. Damn, this man has definitely watched the show before. "Your patient?" Susan asks, approaching and hanging out to him. Carter nods. The guy behind the door is throwing needles around, trashing the furniture, and having a good old time doing it. Carter cracks the door. "Mr. Barney, we won't kill you -- we want to help you," he says. The man growls and hurls something at Carter's schnozz; he slams the door just in time, and ducks for good measure. Carter and Susan bitch about Security, and how basically all the officers do is ticket the doctors' cars and stick nagging orange decals all over the bumpers. While they exposit that their security guards blow mountain lions, Mr. Barney is doing to the room what we all wish we could do to that other Barney -- jumping up and down, kicking, tearing, slamming, and basically ripping things to shreds. It's the perfect time for Random Vagrant to sing his way into our hearts. "How you doin', how you doin'?" he giggles, throwing his coin Tupperware under Susan's nose. She levels him with a flat stare. "Groovy, how you doin'?" We go to credits plagued with the pain of not knowing the answer. It is agony.
We fade up on Dr. Greg "Feh" Pratt chuckling at some x-rays, on which a phallic object glows white and bright, like some sort of cosmic, holy penis. Naturally, he wants to show this to Chen, in case she has a religious experience and mounts him on the spot in the name of Christ. "Hey, check this out," Pratt says. "Large vibrator, still on." Dr. Jing-Mei "Deb" Chen gives it a cool once-over, unfazed, and chirps that she'll have to one-up that soon by showing him her bowling-pin x-ray. "Little guy, but very flexible," she observes.
Enter a junkie. I'm going to call him Druggie, to distinguish him from Junkie, who is so last week. ["Druggie is known to Oz fans as Tobias Beecher." -- Wing Chun] Druggie gripes to Pratt that his pain is a ten out of ten, but Pratt brushes him off. "I slipped a disc," moans Druggie, begging for a shot of painkillers. Pratt walks right past him, which catches Carter's eye; Pratt exposits that Druggie has shown up fifteen times in two months, always seeking a shot of Demerol. Apparently, fourteen's a coincidence, but fifteen's a pattern.
Susan is busy barking at the security chief. Apparently, his officers couldn't guard a pencil if it was in their pockets. "You're Security, we're doctors, okay?" she says. "That's it. We shouldn't have to take down a needle-throwing psychotic." Officer Whatever shrugs that he can't be in two places at once, much less three or four. Susan turns to Weaver and points out that security's absence and slow response time is constantly problematic; why hasn't County hired a new company? Officer Get Stuffed argues that he's short-staffed because decent guards won't work for ten bucks an hour. In the middle of this, Carter grabs Erin Harkins to assist on an incoming motor-vehicle accident victim. And Druggie is predictably agonized. "Turf this guy to the pain clinic," Carter tells Pratt, who would prefer that Druggie just "LEBS" -- which is, leave without being seen. Yeah, clever, Pratt. And I would prefer that you "FSAGBFABC" -- which is, every rude word you can think of, smooshed together into one sentiment, and applied to your ass.
Carter re-enters with a young girl tarted up way beyond her years. She's clearly a pre-pubescent prostitute. ["Is John Wells going to poach an actor from each of HBO's original series? The Littlest Prostitute is a.k.a. Keith's nieceTaylor from Six Feet Under." -- Wing Chun] Druggie pipes up with another plea for sweet, sweet Demerol, because his other attempts have been a rousing success. "Name?" Carter asks. "Anonymous," says Anonymous. Carter makes a medic named Morales move his patient, who's waiting for a bed, so that poor little mowed-down Anonymous can recover from her accident. "I thought he was nice. He paid me extra," muses Anonymous. "Then he tried to run me over with his Mercedes." Erin gasps. "Mercedes? Can I have his number?" she pants. Or I suppose she might have asked whether Anonymous called the cops. "Yeah, I got them on speed-dial," Anonymous snarks. Plus, it's a really intelligent question considering that she got carted in directly from the scene, and probably doesn't have a cell phone unless Catherine Zeta-Jones popped by to hand her one: "Anonymous here has a broken leg, and unless she gets help, she'll miss a meeting with her pimp. Let's change all that." Erin excitedly notices that Anonymous is clenching her fist and holding her arm weirdly; she diagnoses it as "posturing," but really it's "acting," and it's happening because Anonymous is clutching a roll of bills. Erin snatches it. "I worked hard for that!" shrieks Anonymous. Carter promises that Erin will protect her hard-earned wad, so she can later go blow it someplace else. Carter presses on her abdomen until he finds tenderness in the lower quadrant; expectantly, he turns to Erin to supply the logical step. "Ask if she sees a gynecologist," Erin guesses. Carter gives her a look that says, "She's right there, Albert Erin-stein." Erin turns to Anonymous. "Do you see a gynecologist?" she asks. "Yeah, every Sunday after Confession," Anonymous sasses.
Abby loads a patient onto a trauma-room bed. He fell out of bed at his nursing home, which confounds Abby because he can barely move. They try talking to him, but he can't respond. His name is Mr. Berk. They all snort in derision when they learn he was at the dreaded Garden Sunrise nursing home: "I wouldn't send my mom to that dump, and I hate my mom," the paramedic snorts. Abby diagnoses Berk with end-stage Huntington's disease, and Susan adds that he's fractured his hip. Susan casually adds that Luka's been shouting for Abby for thirty minutes. He wants a lighted speculum. Abby is apparently the only person who can bring him the lighted speculum of his dreams. Abby rolls her eyes and gripes that she's only an hour and forty-five minutes behind on her patient load. "Great, piss him off some more," Susan grumbles. I'm sorry, what? How come we haven't seen any of this? Oh, right -- because that would entail work and planning.
Gallant interrupts to give us all the bullet on Huntington's: It manifests as emotional depression, degenerates into a loss of motor control and cognitive function, and kills its victims between two and twenty years of its appearance. Mr. Berk has been diagnosed for fifteen years; he's clearly headed for the emergency exit. They roll him to get a look at his injury. "What's he pissed about?" Abby asks curiously. "Well, hurt," Susan clarifies. Abby can't figure out why Luka would be upset or hurt, possibly given that he finds her neither pretty nor special enough to warrant another roll in the hay. Susan tsks at Abby for being dense, though, the implication being that Luka's jealous of Abby's relationship with Carter, and all the freezing cold nights of icy love that it entails. "Oh, no, he doesn't care," Abby scoffs. They notice a truly hideous bed sore on Mr. Berk -- a gaping, open red wound right on his lower back. It's foul. But at least it's not vomit. "Have you talked to him about it?" Susan nosy-parkers. "Why? I don't have to. He's fine," Abby insists. Susan waves Abby off this case, figuring they have it under control and that she should at least bring Luka his beacon of hope, the lighted speculum, so that he might spend the rest of the day in a happy haze of a well-lit vagina.
Upon her exit, Chen hails Abby and asks for a finger splint. Abby waves her off, which seems to rankle Chen, but nothing happens. It all goes away. Carter tails her and begs her to set up a detox bed for the prostitute he's treating. "They're as jammed as we are," Abby shakes her head. Carter pulls out the big gun -- he plays "Pre-Teen Hookin' Coke Fiend (Kids, Just Say No!)" on her heartstrings, and the tune moves Abby to promise she'll try to get Anonymous a bed. Pleased, Carter makes a mental note to send roses to his music teacher.
As Abby runs around trying to get the speculum to Luka, Carter tries to firm up their dinner plans with her brother Eric. He wants dirt on Abby's childhood, taken over a course of Thai food. "He's allergic to MSG," smirks Abby, backing into the exam room she thinks contains Luka. Abby and Carter stop short at the sight of a tubby man on his stomach, ass in the air, wincing while Erin punts along the Anal Canal and yanks with all her might on the buzzing vibrator therein. Pratt, positioned to her right, looks disgusted and intrigued at the same time. He's letting her be the butt bandit today. "Maybe we should switch places," Erin begs. Pratt shakes his head. Abby stifles a laugh and asks after Luka; Erin shouts that he's in exam three. "Push enough valium?" she wonders curiously. "Any more and he'd be unconscious," Pratt answers. Suddenly, Erin tugs free the vibrator with a shout of glee. Abby and Carter back away, lest a flying sex toy bone one of them.
As he and Abby part, Carter offers to let Eric pick a place, but Abby replies that Eric's never been to Chicago, so he's not exactly qualified. "Usually we have to meet up in a strange city in front of some psychiatric institution," Abby says with a wry smile. Carter asks if Maggie is okay. "She is, she's fine," Abby nods. Carter picks Morton's, and he and Abby go about their business.
Abby enters Exam Three and finds Dr. Luka "Bermuda Triangle" Kovac staring up the business end of one Effie Lundgren. "You started," she realizes. "Finished," he corrects curtly. "I didn't know when you'd get here." He pulls his hands away, and there's blood on his thumb. Ew. "Put your legs down, Mrs. Lundgren," Luka says. "Effie, please," corrects the woman acerbically. "Lundgren is my husband's name." Luka exposits that she tried "menstrual extraction," or to put it a sicker way, she tried vacuuming out her period. Oh my God. Can a Dirt Devil do that? That's just an egregious misuse of the hose attachment. Abby's face is horrified; Effie haughtily insists that it's a common practice "for when the men who run the world take away your freedom of choice." ["Which is true. Though gross." -- Wing Chun] Abby doesn't look impressed, or moved to wave the flag of feminism while riding the Hoover upright of her choice. "You could perforate your uterus, make yourself infertile, and bleed to death," Luka counters. Effie snaps that if men needed abortions, they'd be legal at drive-thrus with beer on tap and TVs programmed to ESPN. Hey, that's just as sexist, lady -- my ideal anything is a drive-thru with beer on tap and TVs programmed to ESPN. "Wake up, honey," Effie sneers at Abby. "We're at war." Abby cocks an eyebrow. "Conscientious objector," she retorts. Luka, suddenly annoyed by this subplot, abruptly leaves.
On the way out, Luka bumps into a pretty brunette nurse. "Sorry," he says distractedly. "Yeah," she says uncomfortably, which is Work Fling speak for, "Yeah, you totally wore my bra on your head last night." Luka broods his way past Gallant, who's asking Chem Glass if she's been taking oral contraceptives. "Wanna give me a reason to?" she asks, with a hopeful twitch of the lips. Aw. Yeah, we love him, too. Luka stops at reception, where Nursie appears again to hand him something. "Thank you," he says. She blinks. "That's it?" she spits bitterly. "'Sorry' and 'thanks'?" Luka rolls his eyes and stares at her. "What do you want from me, Kathy?" he sighs. I can tell you what I'd like: a fling for Luka with a nurse I've actually seen before. Abby, approaching, overhears this and backs away awkwardly, lingering in the distance just close enough to eavesdrop but far enough to look innocent. "Nothing," Kathy seethes. "I don't want anything." She turns and leaves in a dumped huff. Luka returns to his work, not lavishing any more attention on Kathy because he can spot an extra at first bang.
Abby sidles up under the pretense of asking Luka a question about the menstrual extraction, which is pretty much the most fantastic segue ever. "You okay?" she asks lightly. "Yeah, that was just, uh..." Luka begins, then shoots Abby a knowing, slightly rueful smile. "You know," he shrugs. Abby nods with a smirk. They doodle on their charts. "But, are you okay?" Abby persists. Luka blithely answers that he's busy, and that he drank too much last night. "Other than that..." he trails off. "Other than that?" she prompts him. "I'm happy for you, Abby," Luka says softly. She looks up at him and stares with a twinkle as Luka walks away. 'Shippers, take flight.
Carter, while wrapping her broken leg and foot, tells Anonymous that there's a golf-ball-sized growth near her ovaries. I think Anonymous is too young to know that her ovaries aren't in her mouth. She can treat it with antibiotics or surgery. Apparently, this golf ball was sexually transmitted, too, which can't have been fun for either party. Carter finally gets her real name: Tina Jones. "Well, Tina Jones, I don't know what got you here at twelve, but if you want to make it to twenty, you've got to stop smoking crack," Carter lectures. He offers to set her up in a detox bed today. "That'll fix everything," she says sarcastically. "It'll fix one thing," he offers. Malik interrupts to call Carter's attention to something else. "When can I get my money back?" Tina broods. Carter says he'll fork it over once she's set up in rehab. She's pretty sure he can't do that, and she's pretty right. But Carter doesn't care, because Justice has an iron fist, and right now it's a fist full of a pre-teen hooker's sweaty wad. "Sleeping with strangers for money," Carter tsks. "That's what you want?" Tina shrugs that she's got to take care of herself. He wants to give her a better chance of survival; Tina looks away, sad. "You don't know," she breathes. "I know it's not too late," Carter insists. "School, friends, birthday parties..." Tina starts to cry quietly. "You have a choice. I'm giving it to you," says the benevolent one. Chuny calls Carter away to tend to a high-speed MVA victim, so he leaves Tina alone with dreams of slumber parties that don't involve semen.
A lost Tom Everett Scott trails Carter through the ER. Carter is harassing Gallant about not turfing Chem, who is apparently exhibiting symptoms of...something else. Who cares. Point is, she's not gone, and Carter wants Gallant to treat and street her. "You're not her personal physician," he warns. Tom Everett Scott finally flags down Carter and asks after Abby. Carter knows this is Eric, and shakes his hand happily while apologizing for how insane things are that day. "The guy at the desk told me you were closed, and to go home," grins Eric. Carter wonders why Eric's not wearing an Air Force uniform. Um, because he's not on duty? They're not glued to their bodies. "I'm undercover," Eric smiles. Just then, Erin runs up waving the vibrator in a baggie, asking for guidance because pathology won't deal with it. Carter tells her to get a Polaroid for the medical record; while they sort this out, Eric does a really subtle and cute double-take, his mouth dropping into a neat "O" of shock. Erin, charged with locating a camera, blazes down the hall, holding the bagged-up sex toy like a guiding torch.
In the waiting area, Druggie is ranting about his pain. Abby crabs that he's last in a long line of patients with actual, urgent problems. "I have been here for four hours!" he screams. Carter hails her, and Abby sees Eric with a yelp of delight. She runs over to kiss his cheek. "What are you doing here?" she asks, happily. Druggie babbles that he's in constant pain, blah blah blah. Abby ignores him and asks Eric if he's checked his messages. "HEY!" shrieks Druggie. "I'm talking to you!" Carter yells for Pratt, who is apparently Carter's personal bitch. Druggie doesn't want to deal with Pratt, because -- and I think he speaks for all of us here -- Pratt doesn't give him what he wants. "He's concerned you're building up a tolerance to the narcotic," Carter explains, like that's not a complete waste of time. Druggie's all, "No shit, Sherlock, that's why I need more." News bulletin: he's in pain. He rants that none of them wants to help him because they're selfish. Pratt tosses him a packet of pain pills, but it's one Vicodin, not a dose of Demerol, and Druggie knows the difference. He's pissed. "Go play Lakeshore," scoffs Pratt. "Think you're a bunch of heroes, or something?" Druggie shouts, irate. "Look around! You're not doing anything, you're not helping anyone!" In his fury, he kicks over a group of chairs, knocking a patient on crutches to the floor. This is the single funniest thing in the show. The extra flails. He's wailing inside. Druggie leaves in a whirlwind of pained rage as Eric turns to Abby, totally amused and bemused. "We like excitement," she offers. We fade out, wondering why she's dating Carter, then.
Eric and Abby take a quick breather in the doctors' lounge. Abby serves up coffee, and they talk about Maggie -- she's got a dog, she cooks for the dog, she's happy. "She's even good," Eric observes. "Maybe this time..." Abby smiles tightly. "Maybe," she nods. In a low voice, Eric apologizes for not being there for Maggie's last episodes. Abby cuts him off, and doesn't seem interested in rehashing history. "It's okay," she says. "No guilt, it's not our fault. Remember?" Malik bursts in, searching for a lost baggie of fingertips. The way he says it, it sounds like they keep a collection of random fingertips they can dip into during emergencies. Eric's good opinion of County General slips a bit more.
As she heads out into the chaos, Abby exposits for Eric's benefit that two neighbors tried trimming their communal hedge by hoisting a lawn mower in the air. "Teamwork," deadpans Eric. Abby waves off a call from Adele about Tina's detox bed, instead frantically trying to firm up some dinner plans with Eric so that she can go about her day. Hitch: Eric's catching an 8:15 train to Offut Air Force Base, where he's now stationed. Abby's jaw hits the floor. Before she can cough up any words, Luka grabs her for a transfusion. "Menstrual extraction victim," he explains. Abby thought he took care of Effie already. "Different one," Luka clarifies. "Some kind of party." No kidding. A "Suck Out Your Friend's Uterus" party? Wow. ["Yes, I've read about such things in Ms. Ah, ladies." -- Wing Chun] What theme food do you serve at one of those? Devilled or scrambled eggs? Eric is pretty startled at this concept. "One hell of a party," he murmurs.
Abby trots around doing various tasks while talking to Eric; he informs her that he's been reassigned to Offut, which is in Nebraska. "Again?" she asks. "Yeah. It's the Air Force," he shrugs, vaguely. He holds her coffee while Abby disappears into Exam Two to fetch the bag of fingers. "How come so soon?" Abby asks, reemerging. "Top secret," he replies lightly. Abby ducks away again to deliver the fingers to Chen, who panics because two wailing fingerless idiots are expecting their digits reattached, and no one sorted them before bagging them, and Chen's not so good with fractions. Abby brushes her off and returns to her brother. This time, they're interrupted by a ghetto dude screaming for his bitch's clothes. His bitch is Tina. He's probably her pimp. I love pimps. Who doesn't? What's not to love? "They're in a bag under the bed," Abby bellows, annoyed, turning away. "I heard [Offut is] pretty, and it's closer to you and Mom," Eric says. Susan hightails over and tells Abby that the little old lady in Four has diarrhea. Big shock there. "You needed a stool sample," Abby grins. "You can scrape one off the floor," Susan says brightly. "I'm starting to appreciate why you dissed me," Eric smiles, understanding that she's busy. "You actually like this?" Abby insists that she does, and that it's not so far removed from being an air traffic controller. "Without the menstrual extractions," Eric nods. Hee. Tom Everett Scott is so cute. He's kind of dorky, but I'll always love him for That Thing You Do!, in which he's actually also kind of dorky, but it's endearing, and maybe I love dorks, so stop judging me. Abby ignores another interruption from Pimp O' The Day, who might just be her dealer boyfriend, because he's pretty benign as pimps go. No bling-bling, the required presence of which I think is actually written into the pimp code. Eric senses that Abby needs to stop talking, because this scene's quite long, and so he promises he'll wait a bit longer for her. "Frank, take care of my baby brother," Abby calls out. "Is he potty-trained?" grunts Frank.
Susan's Huntington's disease patient is still lying motionless on his gurney. His mother is there. She's played by Shirley Knight, who was most recently Necie in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. I'm calling her Ya-Ya, because I don't know her name, and there's already a Nurse Shirley on this show. Ya-Ya is hovering the way all relatives do on this show. Susan is reaching around and over her, so intrusive is her presence. Sars and Wing Chun would totally have shown her the business end of a size nine by now. Susan announces that he's gone septic. "He's so pale," gushes Ya-Ya. "Is it a hematoma?" She calls out her son's name -- Phillip -- and apologizes tearfully to him for sticking him in a negligent, cheap nursing home. "It was the best home that I could get. I don't have much," she sniffles to Susan. Susan ignores her, once again attempting to do actual work instead. "He's in pain, can't you give him something?" overacts Ya-Ya, nibbling on a piece of the set wall. Susan sighs that he's already riding the Fentanyl train. "Can't you see how much he's suffering?" Ya-Ya wails through a mouthful of Trauma Green, grabbing Susan and Chuny's arms before taking a huge bite out of them as well.
Chen and Pratt sort through the bucket of fingertips, trying to make two complete sets. I wish Romano had been in this scene. "This would go a lot faster if these guys would identify their own fingers," Chen complains. Oh, but I think they have a lot more to worry about right now -- like, say, the searing, fingerless pain shooting through their arms. Can you still flip someone off with a stump? Pratt giggles, "What if we made a mistake?" Chen holds up a tip. "Think this is a pinkie, or a ring?" she asks. "Looks like a cocktail weenie," Pratt offers. Abby appears to direct Chen to a patient, adding that Abby's looking for Eric, in case anyone's spied him. "What's he look like?" Pratt asks. "About six feet, brown hair, looks like he could be my brother," Abby sasses. Which would be amusing if he looked anything like her at all. Chen, though, knows who Abby's talking about, because she read the script. "Ooh, he's cute," she murmurs. "He went to go get coffee." Pratt says that the hospital was "tripping him out." Abby stares at Pratt's work and notes that he's got three thumbs in front of him. "Unless one of your patients is a circus freak..." she notes. Pratt bristles like stubble on a porcupine. You know, that would've been a great comparison, if it actually meant something. Carter sniffs out an Abby scene that he's not in, so he shows up to observe. "Match game," Abby informs him. "Pratt's having a little trouble fingering it out." Carter looks at her blankly. Chen rolls her eyes. "Come on, that's funny!" sputters Abby. And it sort of is. I admit it. These people have no taste.
Carter turns expectantly to Abby. "So you got my detox bed?" he smiles. Abby stiffens and apologizes, saying she couldn't take Adele's call and needs to phone back to set everything up. Carter doesn't understand -- Tina's not here, so she must've been admitted to detox, right? Wrong. Frank-in-a-Speedo wrong. I smell the work of Sheldon the Wonder Pimp. So does Abby, who grimaces that she saw a guy talking to a young girl, and he asked about her clothes. "I think she eloped," snarks Frank. "She just took off with some guy." Abby apologizes for not realizing Tina was Carter's patient. "I didn't know who she was, I'm sorry...I was trying to get her a bed, I'm sorry," Abby babbles. Frank wonders if it was indeed her pimp. "Pimp, dealer, boyfriend..." Carter spits, erasing Tina angrily from the board. "And I had her talked into [rehab]." Abby scowls that Sheldon the Wonder Pimp shouldn't have been allowed back to see her in the first place. "The whole world can waltz through this place," complains Carter. Suddenly, Frank coughs. "Dr. Carter," he whispers, pointing at the corner.
Druggie has Chen in a headlock, and he's facing Pratt. "Give me the shot now," he menaces. Carter approaches in disbelief, causing Druggie to whip around and reveal that his right hand is pressing the barrel of a gun against Chen's neck. Pratt digs deep for the right thing to say at this tense moment in time, and burps up, "It's cool." Does he mean Chen's expendable? He's right, but still -- not the smoothest way to get her pants off. "It's not. It's not cool," Druggie spits. "I am in pain. I need Demerol and you're going to give it to me." Pratt knows when he's whipped. He can't argue with this logic. "Yes, I am," he nods, sending Abby to the drug lock-up to get the goodies. Druggie wants 150 milligrams. "Okay, no problem!" Pratt grins, arms open wide. The demeanor is reminisce of a game-show host preparing to open Door #3. Chen is silent while Druggie rants that no one at this fine county facility cares about his pain. Abby bumps into Erin in the drug lock-up and hisses for her to call the police immediately. "I care now," Pratt is saying. "Yeah, that's right, you do," Druggie says, smiling lovingly at the gun dent in Chen's neck. "You care 'cause I'm making you care because I've got this gun. Because I'm the one who gets to make you decide!" Abby returns with the juice and preps a syringe. Druggie draws all the usual parallels -- now he gets to decide who feels pain, just like these no-good high-falutin' doctors do every day. Everyone pretends to listen, while silently willing themselves not to laugh at the spittle flying out of his mouth.
Suddenly, Druggie turns the gun on Abby. He wants proof she's shooting him up with the right sweet nectar. Eric starts toward Abby, which is always a good idea when you're dealing with an armed man who's jumpy and feeling a tad crabby. "Stay right there, Eric," Abby warns him levelly, flashing the Demerol label for Druggie. Meanwhile, this scene hasn't ended yet. Everyone's just standing around looking bored, as if Druggie's forcing Chen to get a manicure while Abby washes his hair. This hospital does have some Security people, even if they aren't numerous. Where are they? Eric watches nervously as Abby sticks Druggie with his precious juice. Chen eats her lip. He's getting what he came for, and since she's seen TV before, she knows what's coming: Phase Three, the dreaded, sappy, yet apparently indispensable Moment Where Irrational Anger Turns Profound. "Why'd you want to be a doctor?" Druggie asks Pratt calmly. "Was it the money?" Pratt shrugs that money certainly played into it. "What's the other part?" Druggie wonders. "It's complicated," Pratt says. "Explain it to me. I mean, you can't tell me you actually wanted to help people," Druggie laughs hollowly. "Or maybe you did, right? Maybe you all wanted to help people, but then little by little, you realized that there's just too many people to help." He releases Chen and heads for Abby, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. She squeezes her eyes shut. "Thank you," he leers. Carter looks irate. No one thanks his girlfriend for drugs but him. Druggie is about to leave, but he hasn't completed Phase Four, which is The Final Burst of Rage With A Sweeping Threat. "Remember this!" screams Druggie, waving the gun around at everyone. "For time." He sweeps the gun past everyone one final time, completely fails to plug anyone full of sweet, sweet lead, and struts out of there in slow-motion with no blood on his hands. Bummer. Inside, Chen exhales for the first time in ten minutes, and hyperventilates while Carter and Abby swap "Um, I Guess We Should Look At Each Other Right Now" glances. We fade to black and pray we don't fade back up.
Ah, but we do, and we see that Druggie has passed out in the parking lot. Abby, Carter, Weaver, and Pratt squat over him contemplatively. Apparently, Abby pumped him with 400 milligrams of justice. "That'll do it," Weaver says. They cart him away for treatment, complete with restraints and a Psych consult. Carter surveys Abby, and protectively suggests that she take off and go lie down. "I'm fine," she insists. He wants her to lie down anyway; despite the constant urgings to get on her back, Abby swears again that she's just peachy, as spiffy and shiny as a John T. Carter III penny loafer. Carter spies Weaver and demands to know what happened to those metal detectors they were supposed to get; she tries to brush it off. "We were supposed to have them a year ago," Carter persists. And you're only noticing their absence now? Way to be on the ball. Weaver blathers that metal detectors are not part of the current security plan. Carter's in a fit of pique at the idea that there's a "security plan" of which he knows nothing, because nothing excites him more than being all up in the hospital's bottom line. He runs after Weaver.
Eric approaches Abby. "So, you like it here, then?" he shakes his head. Abby grins that at least the days don't blur together. "What are you doing, Abby?" he tsks lightly. "You came on the wrong day," she says defensively. Eric babbles that Abby's clearly smarter than everyone else there -- which he gleaned from what, her scraping diarrhea off the floor, her finding severed fingertips, her letting a gunman kiss her cheek...what? Eric asserts that she's smart enough to know she doesn't need to be there. "That career advice came a little bit late, but thank you," she smiles. Eric worries that it's self-destructive -- helping people? So totally ruinous to the soul --- and Abby counters that she's happier than ever before, except for the whole gun-in-face escapade. "What happened to med school?" he asks. Abby pauses, bites back whatever she was going to say, and tells him she really can't talk right now because she's way behind on her patient load. "Call and give me your number," she says. "I've got three more hours," he protests. "I'm juggling ten patients," she shrugs. "Call me and have a great trip." She leaves. Eric's all, "Wuh?"
Weaver and Carter are throwing tantrums. "John, read the newspapers," she shouts. "County health-care expenditures are down 30%." Carter snits that he doesn't have to read the papers -- he lives it -- but that County shouldn't stop spending cash on Security. "Yeah, we're wasting it on patient care," Weaver spits. Carter busts her on these being a different set of budget cuts -- the metal detectors were supposed to come two years ago and they never did. "If you put them up, you've got to man them," Weaver points out, then promises she'll speak with someone today. But Veruca Carter wants it NOW, Daddy, and he's not gonna stop whining until he gets the golden goose and a pretty frilly dress. Carter demands a secure triage area with more guards. Weaver spits that Carter's concern should be clearing the board. "I cannot clear that board!" he screams. "I'm treating a twelve-year-old off the street, cracked-up, PID, tubo-ovarian abscess, run over by a car, and I have two minutes to spend with her..." Weaver can't believe Carter just played the Tragic Youth card, and tries to trump him with the Jack of We're Not Helping Anyone By Arguing, but Carter beats it with a pair of We Let Her Pimp Steal Her Before She Got To Rehab cards. Weaver whips out three Queens of We're Frustrated, Too, but Carter's Ace of Talk Is Cheap, And So Are You, So Do Something For Once wins the round.
A befuddled Weaver lamely shouts, "Just treat your patients," but Carter's ignoring her, so she canes off in a huff of crumbling dignity. "Way to go, boss," Pratt commends Carter. Nostrils are flaring along with Carter's temper; he grabs the phone book angrily and announces that he's purchasing metal detectors. He looks in the yellow pages, apparently finds a listing under "Detectors -- Metal," and calls the company. "Now you're talking," Frank nods. "Get cattle prods while you're at it." Carter snaps, "Shut up, Frank."
Dr. Elizabeth "Grrrrrrr" Corday is thrown a bone -- she and Susan whisper that Druggie went all the way home, got a gun, and came back with it for his Demerol. It almost sounds like they're giving him props for his determination. "He probably went to the corner and bought it," Susan groans. "Sometimes I hate this place." Chuny calls them both to Phillip's bedside. "'Sometimes'?" smirks Lizzie.
Ya-Ya wails that Phillip can't breathe; they establish that his lungs are full of junk. They want to tube him, but Ya-Ya weeps that his vocal cords are already scarred from a similar incident last year when he went on a ventilator for two months. They ignore her, because hi, they're the doctors and she's simultaneously whining for them to save her child, and asking them not to do what they need to do. "Once you put that tube in, that's it, right? That's not coming out," realizes Ya-Ya, broken-hearted. Susan blinks at her, and you can see sorrow and a silent apology start to fill her eyes.
Carter is on the phone with a security company. Luka asks what he's doing. "Contracting out the triage area," he replies. "We're finally getting that?" Luka asks. "And I got the phony purchase orders to prove it," Frank says. Carter takes time out from saving the day to rant at Gallant again for not getting rid of Chem. Gallant points out another problematic test result, but Carter claims it's a product of too much hospital cafeteria food and orders Gallant to boot Chem before she presents with more outrageous symptoms. "She's gonna suck him dry," Abby mutters. Yeah, she wishes.
Weaver shows up suddenly and disconnects Carter's call to the security people. "What are you doing?" she seethes. Carter staunchly states that he's just trying to make this a safer place. "You ordered six metal detectors retail?" she shrieks. Carter nods proudly. "No," Weaver shakes her head. "We have a procurement department that handles all capital expenditures." Carter realizes that Weaver cancelled his order, and he flips out. Oh, grow up, Peter Pan. This is a business. As lame as all the required channels can be, they're still required channels. So unless you want to donate, you might want to take off the green tights and get back to work. "This is not your job," Weaver sighs. "And believe me, you don't want it. We had a 15% budget reduction again this year. I'm just trying to keep the doors open." Carter snits that she should just close them, then, because it's not worth it to be there if they're all in danger. Um, then don't work at an inner-city hospital, Carter. Apparently healing the sick and everything isn't enough of a draw for Johnny T. "You shouldn't have to risk your life to work here," he argues. "Of course not, but you have to be responsible about it," Weaver argues tiredly. "No, Kerry, what's irresponsible is letting things go along as long as we have," Carter sneers. Weaver throws up her hands and says she's been in staff meetings for two years trying to deal with this. "Where have you been?" she yells. Carter throws down his chart and walks out. "Where are you going?" she gapes. "To the ambulance bay to wait for my metal detectors," Carter says, his jaw set firmly. Weaver's jaw drops as he saunters out.
Inside, Abby chews on her lip and decides it tastes like rebellion, so out she goes. Frank refuses an order to answer the ringing phone, and trots out after them. "We have patients to care for," wheedles Weaver. "He's right, Kerry," Luka says, softly, exiting the building. Weaver is alone, humbled and embarrassed.
An ambulance pulls up outside as Luka wanders toward a giddy, grinning Carter, who looks mighty chuffed at his new superpowers. "Do you have a plan?" Luka wonders. Carter shakes his head, still beaming.
Chen, curled up in a quiet hallway, stares miserably at the floor. Part of her gloom may stem from her shoes, which are quite probably the least sensible shoes in the world for a busy ER doctor -- clunky slides with a chunky three-inch heel. I'd be crying, too. Pratt discovers her while buying candy at the nearby vending machine -- why didn't he go to the one downstairs, which is more convenient? Why, hello, Contrivance! -- and is awash in sympathy and hormones. "Plain or peanut?" he asks. Chen looks up. "M&Ms," he clarifies. She wants nothing, though. "You sure? Chocolate is the universal comfort food," Pratt tantalizes. He sits down to Chen, and notices her sad silence. Pratt then apologizes for what happened downstairs. "But the guy was a known drughound, and I wasn't going to play his game," Pratt avers, forgetting of course that he did end up playing the game, and he got spanked like a naughty child. He swears he'd never do anything to jeopardize Chen. "Not my future love slave," he promises. Chen snorts. So do I. The Humanization of Pratt continues in earnest when he confesses to being equally scared. "Oh, you were scared?" Chen spits. "I'm the one that almost had a cap busted in my head." Pratt can't bite back a chortle, because she's way too white to pull that off. She gets offended at his giggling, so he pulls a reluctant Chen close and puts an arm around her. "I'm consoling you," he announces. She stiffens, but somehow the pressure of his schnozz against her cheek relaxes Chen, and she falls against him with a hearty sniffle. Pratt kisses her forehead. Tearfully, Chen peers up at him, and there's a brief second where my eyes start to throb because it looks like Pratt's about to get some action. "You finished?" Chen breathes. "Yeah," he husks, all ready to lean in for some sugar. "Plain," Chen says. "I want plain M&Ms." Pratt brandishes the packet he already bought, and Chen grins, swipes them, and smacks him gently in the forehead.
Suddenly, the two lovebirds-that-weren't notice a crowd outside in the ambulance bay. "Oh, no, not another evacuation," Chen grumbles.
Outside, Abby approaches Carter, who is standing authoritatively with a clipboard. There's a swarm of ER personnel in the ambulance bay. "Now what?" she whispers. "I have no idea," Carter mutters. Abby suggests that he address the rebelling proletariat. "Why are you talking to me like I'm planning a prison break?" he snickers. "In case this gets ugly..." Abby begins. "You don't know me," Carter finishes for her. They swap smiles. Pratt and Chen sidle up and ask what's going on; "Talk to Norma Rae," laughs Abby. Carter recaps the walk-out, and they're receptive. "My shift's over in an hour anyway," Pratt sighs happily.
Weaver trots out to lay down the law: "Unless you're on a scheduled break, you're in violation of your hospital contract, and you're all in danger of being summarily fired." Carter argues that part of their contract promises a safe working environment. Weaver approaches and starts trying to put on a spin. "Today's incident was...horrific," she says. "But we're already taking steps to ensure it won't happen again." Luka points out that she always says that, and that it never means anything. Weaver takes offense at this. It's funny, but I feel more sympathy for her here. Yes, bureaucracy sucks, and yes, she probably could've tried harder earlier to circumvent some of it and get metal detectors, but the fact is that her hands probably are tied, and it's never fun to be the one caught between the bigwigs and the people who don't understand why budgets are allocated the way they are. Nobody loves the money guy, unless it's payday. Carter, who is inching his way up the administrative ladder, is showing a remarkable lack of savvy, despite having good intentions. And I honestly don't think he planned this to be a huge "insurrection," but he certainly got puffed up when it turned into one.
An ambulance arrives. "This is how you choose to solve the problem?" Weaver is saying to Carter. A paramedic ducks out of the rig and asks what the commotion is about; he's got a sixty-two-year-old man who needs treatment. Gallant approaches the rig to attend to the patient; Weaver and Carter simultaneously threaten him, with Weaver pointing out that Gallant's a mere student and can't get fired, but he can be failed. Gallant stares at both of them for a second, then slowly backs away from the patient. Irate, Weaver grabs the old man and wheels him inside. Slowly, Gallant walks over to the assembled group, and Pratt flashes him a really cocky, condescendingly proud smile. Poor Gallant. It's so unfair of Carter to force him to join their walk-out; that's where I really took issue with Carter, because even if he didn't want it to get this far, he really embraced it and shouldn't have been forcing his politics on a med student who's just trying to learn the craft. Weaver shouldn't have threatened him, either, though; I'm betting he might've stayed inside if she hadn't gotten all haughty with him. Gallant looks really conflicted.
Susan checks in on Ya-Ya and her son. She informs her that it'll be a few hours before Phillip can get up to the OR, and he's pumped full of as much pain medicine as his blood pressure can handle. Basically, she's done all she can for now. "Do you know what it's like to watch someone die for twenty-five years?" Ya-Ya scenery-chews. "That's what I did with his father every day. I loved the man, but I hated what it did to him." She continues to wax rhapsodic about Phillip's voice -- he was an opera singer, but the disease hamstrung the flights of angels that would pour out of his throat when he trilled. "When he got to be twenty-nine, I thought, My God, maybe we got lucky," Ya-Ya says, her voice thick with anguish. "Then he started having trouble at work...and when he'd talk, sometimes it was hard to understand." Susan stares at Phillip's motionless, tubed body. "It just takes everything away," Ya-Ya weeps. "Everything."
Abby perches boredly on an idle ambulance while Carter sits inside, jotting down notes on his Power To the People notepad. She cracks that she needs to borrow paper to start working on her résumé; Carter laughs and says she'll be just fine. "I know," Abby nods. "Usually they decapitate the leaders of the insurrection and send the peasants back to work tending the fields." Carter laughs at this, too. Suddenly, Susan stalks up to the ambulance. "What took you so long?" Carter sasses. She completely ignores him and tells Abby she needs a repeat blood gas on Phillip. "We're staging a walk-out," Carter says importantly. "Yeah, I get that," spits Susan, turning back to Abby and asking her for more help. "I have ten patients on monitored beds that no one is watching," she says urgently. "Maybe someone will pay attention," Carter says immaturely. What a dick.
Opera music swells; it's a maudlin Insurrection Aria to back up Ya-Ya's defiance of the law and Carter's defiance of red tape. Ya-Ya stares at her son, whose machinery's every beep pierces her heart.
Bay of Rigs. "So you quit, go outside, and pout?" Susan gapes. Carter insists there's too many patients, too few beds, an overwhelmed staff, and an insecure ER. "Newsflash: The health-care system sucks!" Susan says, exasperated. "Our job is to treat people in spite of it." Carter refuses. He can't do it. "And I don't expect you or anyone else here not to" -- except Gallant, apparently -- "but I can't do it," Carter nods firmly.
Divine Intervention of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. She stares at Phillip's tubes, and then slowly turns to stare at his machinery. Something dawns on her, and I think it's mischief time.
Bay of Rigs. Carter points out that they've already had one staff member murdered on duty, and nothing happened after that to protect the place. Finally, we're getting to the meat of it, which is that Carter's personal security has been most compromised at County General, so of course this is deeply personal for him and he's acting out of the same old fear. Which makes sense. "I'm trying to save the people that roll in here tomorrow," Carter points out. "I know, Carter, but you're an emergency-room doctor, and it's about getting through the shift," Susan points out. Carter tries to regale her with stats about how many guns and knives sneak into the ER every year, and he reaches for his Uprising 2002 notepad as if he has those numbers written there.
Divine Intervention of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. As if possessed of an otherworldly calm, Ya-Ya slowly turns to her left and flips the switch, shutting down the equipment that was keeping Phillip alive. Slowly, she puts her head on his hands and exhales with a mixture of peace and agony.
Susan finally snaps and reminds Carter that people are depending on them today, right this second. "I got stabbed, Lucy got killed, and today, Abby and Chen got a gun to their heads," Carter finally shouts. "I'm sorry, no, it's gotta stop. Otherwise, it's not worth doing." Unless you're, you know, selfless, and you wake up and realize that you're at an inner-city hospital that's a likely target for miscreants and dangerous people. I can see his point, but I think he's got blinders on, too. Susan stands up, frustrated. "Fine, you know what? You fix tomorrow," she seethes. "I have to go treat the patients that need us today." Good scene for both of them, and the first time I've championed Susan's cause in a long while.
Abby chews Susan's logic. It tastes good. She gets up and flashes Carter a conflicted look; he nods his comprehension, and watches her return to the ER.
Susan approaches Trauma Green. She notices Ya-Ya hunched over her son, and slowly realizes what happened. In a daze she goes inside and flips the machines back on, only to hear the harsh sound of the flatline. The aria stops, cut by the bleeping. Abby enters; too little, too late. "He coded?" she asks. Susan shrugs. We fade to black.
It's night in the Bay of Rigs. Luka and Carter are pacing. "Do you think they closed the paramedic runs?" Luka asks. "Can't tell," Carter says. "Think they've replaced us all?" Luka asks. "Can't tell," Carter answers. "Think it's going to rain?" Luka grins. Carter snickers, too, and they share a moment. Oh boy, HoYay! fans -- this triangle's got three legs. Suddenly, they notice Weaver approaching; she calmly asks Carter to take a walk with her. He smells victory. It smells like cheesecake. What? It does.
"The metal detectors will be here tonight or tomorrow morning, and we've accelerated negotiations with the new security firm," Weaver shares quietly. "What about triage?" Carter presses. "Construction starts as soon as we can approve the bids," she replies. Carter thanks her delightedly, but Weaver won't let him enjoy it; she insists that he get his scrawny behind back in there to start clearing the boards, because there are sick people who don't give a Carter's ass about metal detectors. She also cautions him that it will be difficult to avoid a disciplinary hearing on the matter. He accepts this. "Nothing personal, Kerry," he promises. "We just need to protect our people." Oh, but there's yet another catch. "I had hoped to control some of the costs, but now that we're paying for immediacy, we have to offset that by either laying off three senior nurses and hiring new grads, or canceling x-ray and lab services after 10 PM," Weaver says quietly, and without any rude triumph, which is good. Carter tries to defer to her judgment, but she quite rightly places the decision firmly in The Instigator's lap. Carter smiles emptily, hit with the consequence of his brazen actions. He swallows it maturely, though, realizing that canceling services is impossible when you're a twenty-four-hour trauma center. "Nurses, then," he decides sadly. "Three," Weaver reiterates. "I want their names on my desk first thing in the morning." Carter pauses for a second, then heads back to the crowd, which breaks into applause for its leader. Carter has the gall to high-five people, even though he's about to cost three very good people their jobs. Enjoy it while you can, Carter Marx, because if you fire Haleh you'll feel the white-hot rage of my remote control whizzing for your face.
Chen starts back toward the hospital. "What are you going? I know you're not going back inside," Pratt says in disbelief. Chen shrugs that she's got a huge patient load still waiting for treatment; she's very calm about it all. "Shouldn't you get some serious therapy?" Pratt teases. "What, and ruin all this hard-won repression and denial?" she grins. They smack fists, symbolizing the crotch-bumping they'll be doing at a later date, and Pratt departs.
Whee! It's Dr. Robert "Rocket" Romano, armed with sarcasm as usual. "Yo, I Am Spartacus, come here," he barks at Carter. "That proletarian revolt you staged left us a little short-handed down here." Carter laughs out loud at this. "Oh, did you think that was clever?" Romano sneers. Um, yes. Apparently, Romano had to lend a hand in the ER while Carter organized his rebel army. "I told Weaver to fire you, but you can't trust a lesbian to do a man's job, so instead I ended up babysitting three gorks and a dirtball with the DTs," Romano crabs. "The last time I did ER scut work, I had a pony-tail and a lava lamp. I do not enjoy revisiting those days." I love Romano. Erin locates him to hand him some test results, and Romano makes a strident remark to Carter about how his med students take their oaths more seriously than he does.
Once Romano is out of sight, Erin puckers up and plants one on Carter's booty, swearing she'd have left if Weaver hadn't cornered her and given her a lecture on what it means to be a doctor. "You need to figure that out all by yourself," Carter smarms. Oh, right, because being a doctor means leaving all the patients alone in a crowded hospital and refusing to treat them. Good lesson, Erin; hope you're taking notes, because if there's a Season Eleven, the regurgitated rebellion storyline will be all yours.
Pratt's roommate enters and quietly whispers that he's looking for a doctor. "Try sitting in chairs, right over there," Carter says -- kind of rudely, actually. Carter and Abby then share a quick moment where he teases her about going home to lie down and she congratulates him on his success; also, Carter signs off on some tests for Chem because Gallant stuck with Carter during Uprising 2002. All this left enough time for Pratt's roommate -- who I already know is called Leon and I'm going to go ahead and use his name even though the show hasn't yet -- to wander around looking lost and adorably scared. He repeats to Abby that he needs a doctor; she doesn't even look at him as she orders him to take a seat. He grows agitated, which leads Frank to call Security, which freaks Leon out even more, which results in Security jumping his bones and pinning him on the ground. Leon is sobbing shrilly by now, screaming for "G." Gallant bends over and tries to talk to Leon, but ends up doing a lot of shouting of his own; Leon sobs and wails until Gallant finally extracts that "G" is Greg Pratt, and he is Leon's brother.
Susan is on hold, singing "Funkytown." Carter hands off a bunch of work to Erin, who accepts it eagerly, if a little beleagueredly. He even sends her out to find his stethoscope, which doofus thinks he left in the Bay of Rigs. Susan smiles at him. "Wasn't your shift over four and a half hours ago?" she asks. "Five and a half," he says, but he's staying "until [he clears] the board." Sue grins at him. All is evidently forgiven. Which sucks, because she's giving him all these props for staying late, when in fact he wouldn't have to if he hadn't punked out on his patients in the first place. That's why this show is constantly negating forward motion with negative steps -- it would've been interesting to see Susan and Carter's friction over his actions build into something, or at least have some kind of fallout. The whole insurrection -- such as it was -- could've polarized people a lot more, but instead it fell flat.
Groaning, Susan hangs up the phone and announces that she's being stood up, so she wants to go out and get drunk. Chen agrees to go, needing little convincing; Susan excitedly insists that Abby must come, too. Abby hems and haws and eventually looks meekly at Carter, who shoots her a cryptic look. "Okay, but no late-night confessions and no male strippers," Abby grins. Susan's thrilled and runs off to get her stuff together. Carter and Abby swat each other playfully; I'm guessing he is concerned about her drinking, but it comes through a bit murkily.
Susan calls Dr. Tsung, Phillip's primary physician, and breaks the news that the man got septic and died an hour ago. She asks him to sign the death certificate, and he agrees; she hangs up the phone and smiles sadly at Ya-Ya, who is doing what she does best, which is stare morosely at her son's dead head. "No Coroner?" Ya-Ya asks. Susan shakes her head. "We can release the body to the mortuary," she says. Ya-Ya is evidently off the hook.
Gallant walks Leon home, during which time Leon exposits that Pratt's family took him in at age nine, Pratt's mother wasn't a nice woman -- surprise, surprise -- and Pratt is the only family Leon cares about in this world. Pratt jerks open the door and ushers poor lost Leon inside angrily. Gallant apologizes, but says Pratt didn't answer the phone and he had to convince HR to fork over his address. Pratt nods and slams the door in Gallant's face.
The metal detectors arrive; six of them for four entrances. Carter sighs with pure ecstasy and signs for them. Suddenly, Random Vagrant appears out of nowhere. "How you doin'?" he grins at Carter. Then, he steps gleefully through the metal detector and shakes his moneymaker -- by which I mean, his coin jug. Carter is happy. Carter has apparently forgotten that he has to fire three people. Go sit in the corner, Carter.
Nightclub. Susan is telling Abby about her would-be date -- she asked him out, and he stood her up. He's a venture capitalist. "Right now, you'd be sitting in his apartment listening to...Theolonius Monk, or something," giggles Abby. "Right, but women who date those kinds of men don't get vomited on on a regular basis," Susan groans. Susan seems a little tipsy, and Abby's awfully giggly, but they don't show her drinking anything, although there is an empty glass before her. The waitress offers them another round, which Susan accepts but Abby declines. Suddenly, with the kind of half-hearted interest that I usually lavish on Chen, they notice that Chen isn't around. Abby spies her up on stage shakin' it, and grins, "She's going to be fine." Chen dives off the stage and lands on a group of extras who are totally psyched that they're getting paid to grope Ming-Na take after take after take. We fade to black on Chen's ecstatic face as a bunch of strangers feel her up. What a lousy ending.