Previously on Easy Rider, our British heroine Elizabeth straddled Dr. Diego in the back seat of either his or her car and galloped him home like a thoroughbred. Gillian introduced herself to Abby and delivered the fateful and poorly written "Dear John" letter from...well, John himself. Chen dumped Pratt because he seemed to be in it for the fun and not for any prospect of long-term love. And finally, Abby had a bad day and shouted, "I hate my job!"
We begin in Pratt's apartment as he hops out of bed and turns on the shower. He's wearing a tank top that shows off his muscles. They're rippling. I'm not that keen on All Pratt, All The Time, but if I have to see him, I'll take him this way. I think one of his delts just winked at me. He vigorously brushes his teeth, then cooks up some of the nastiest-looking scrambled eggs in history, scraping them from the pan with a determination that says, "A Hero Tames The Beast Egg." Then we see him racing up the steps at the El station, fighting a flow of people going the other way. He bumps into a newspaper vendor who's just closed up shop, and asks for a copy; the man actually gripes about this, as if he can't use the extra buck, and as if selling one more copy involved something more than just lifting the rock off the pile and removing one. Fool. "Old news by now," the man says. And sure enough, The Graphic Of Ha, We Bet You Gullible Fools Thought It Was Morning tells us that it's 6:28 PM. Such a tease, that graphic.
Elizabeth looks very pretty in her extreme close-up, which is what we cut to . She's asking whether Ella had her bath, and wants the nanny to put her on the phone for a goodnight. Evidently Ella can't come to the phone because she's very busy, stacking Lego or drawing touching pictures of her and Mommy Nanny, or popping tabs of Ecstasy, or other assorted childplay. "Give her a kiss goodnight, then," Elizabeth sighs. Pause. Dr. Diego appears behind Elizabeth, buckling his belt, which seems awfully unfair for the rest of us. "No, I won't work too hard," Elizabeth says, blushing a tad, because she's already burned off more calories on The Shag Diet than on any other. She hangs up the phone. "Everything okay?" Diego asks. "Yeah," Elizabeth says absently. "She's watching Clifford." Diego comes up behind her, all ready to ask if she wants to see some big red dog too, but then thinks better of an impromptu viewing party and instead kisses her shoulder, saying, "Everyone's allowed a little down time -- even Ella's mother." And the dog. Which...damn. Elizabeth sits up -- letting the sheets fall so that we can see Alex Kingston's in kick-ass shape -- and begins putting on her bra. "Sneaking out...it all feels a little...unseemly," Elizabeth admits. So is the amount of oil on her chest right now. She's sporting more lube than Hugh Hefner's bedside table. "You say 'unseemly.' I say sexy," Diego grins. Elizabeth glows. "That, too," she purrs. "Not to mention fun," he says, crawling onto the bed. "Our shift starts in..." she begins, panting. "My car's fast," he says. Hope he is, too. "You've just had a shower," Elizabeth says, licking her lips as Diego advances and lowers her onto her back. "Water's cheap," he counters. "You're half-dressed," she drools. "You're not," he checkmates. They make out. You go, Elizabeth.
Abby's leading around a new nurse. Pratt coasts in and pauses to gaze at her. "Have we met?" he asks. "No," the nurse answers flatly, leaving. My, my. Has his reputation preceded him? Pratt complains that everyone around is fresh out of nursing school. "Fresh off the boat, more like," Frank says, gesturing to a gaggle of nurses who are of a foreign persuasion. Frank says a few more things, but all it's relevant to is the sad reality that TPTB took a cranky old man, turned him into a racist asshole, and think they can continue to try to play him for laughs. I fail to understand why he has to be written this way. Troy Evans, quit! You deserve more. I hear a lot of old ER people have turned up on The Lyon's Den, so get there before it gets cancelled. If that's possible.
"Think fast, truant," says an approaching Nick "Coop" Cooper, tossing a chart at Pratt. "Still here, Wheezy?" Pratt fires back. "Hell yeah! Home sweet home and right on time," Coop breezes. Pratt insists it's his house, not anyone else's. "You're just visiting from Whitebread, Iowa, or wherever," Pratt snorts. "Whitebread, Florida, actually," Coop cracks. I've been there. The people are doughy but the weather's great. Gallant pops in to say something chock full of incomprehensible terminology. Pratt keeps railing at Coop a little, saying he'll compensate for his tardiness and that they're not buddies. As if to underscore that Coop is friendlier -- or that he knows how to pick a hottie out of a bloated cast -- Jerry butts in to offer the new resident some Cubs tickets. Coop accepts them. Pratt mocks this, and then announces that he has to go to the bathroom. You've just witnessed the birth of a gag that runs, not unlike a urine stream, straight through this act. Would that I were kidding.
Before Pratt can get to the toilet, he's sidelined by Neela, one new med student who doesn't get a name yet, and a bearded dude named Lester with a slight accent. They all want Pratt's time. This is supposed to show us that Pratt is The Man, although really I think it's a function of how understaffed they are. Question: If Carter abruptly decided to stay in Congo, without an official assignment from any organization and without giving County any warning, why is his job waiting for him? I don't really see Weaver or Romano and their respective Appliances of Fierce Justice tolerating that. "Am I the only second-year here?" Pratt spits. "Sorry, I didn't see Dr. Cooper. I would've asked Dr. [Malarkey], but..." Lester says timidly. Susan drifts past long enough to overhear this, and heaves a huge put-upon sigh as she yanks back a curtain to reveal Malarkey flirting with a pretty female patient whose ankle has, like, a devastating deep bruise or something, and needs to be felt up with real precision. Pratt is probably offended that he wasn't called in as the resident expert in grope-ology. "A little multitasking on your part would be helpful," Susan lectures a chagrined Malarkey, pointing out that they've got a cluttered board and forty patients in triage. "You're not doing that clown any favors by picking up his slack," Pratt says under his breath to Coop. Clearly Coop is all, "I'm doing it for the patients, you suckmuscle -- have you seen that moron?"
Abby's leading around a new nurse. Pratt coasts in and pauses to gaze at her. "Have we met?" he asks. "No," the nurse answers flatly, leaving. My, my. Has his reputation preceded him? Pratt complains that everyone around is fresh out of nursing school. "Fresh off the boat, more like," Frank says, gesturing to a gaggle of nurses who are of a foreign persuasion. Frank says a few more things, but all it's relevant to is the sad reality that TPTB took a cranky old man, turned him into a racist asshole, and think they can continue to try to play him for laughs. I fail to understand why he has to be written this way. Troy Evans, quit! You deserve more. I hear a lot of old ER people have turned up on The Lyon's Den, so get there before it gets cancelled. If that's possible.
"Think fast, truant," says an approaching Nick "Coop" Cooper, tossing a chart at Pratt. "Still here, Wheezy?" Pratt fires back. "Hell yeah! Home sweet home and right on time," Coop breezes. Pratt insists it's his house, not anyone else's. "You're just visiting from Whitebread, Iowa, or wherever," Pratt snorts. "Whitebread, Florida, actually," Coop cracks. I've been there. The people are doughy but the weather's great. Gallant pops in to say something chock full of incomprehensible terminology. Pratt keeps railing at Coop a little, saying he'll compensate for his tardiness and that they're not buddies. As if to underscore that Coop is friendlier -- or that he knows how to pick a hottie out of a bloated cast -- Jerry butts in to offer the new resident some Cubs tickets. Coop accepts them. Pratt mocks this, and then announces that he has to go to the bathroom. You've just witnessed the birth of a gag that runs, not unlike a urine stream, straight through this act. Would that I were kidding.
Before Pratt can get to the toilet, he's sidelined by Neela, one new med student who doesn't get a name yet, and a bearded dude named Lester with a slight accent. They all want Pratt's time. This is supposed to show us that Pratt is The Man, although really I think it's a function of how understaffed they are. Question: If Carter abruptly decided to stay in Congo, without an official assignment from any organization and without giving County any warning, why is his job waiting for him? I don't really see Weaver or Romano and their respective Appliances of Fierce Justice tolerating that. "Am I the only second-year here?" Pratt spits. "Sorry, I didn't see Dr. Cooper. I would've asked Dr. [Malarkey], but..." Lester says timidly. Susan drifts past long enough to overhear this, and heaves a huge put-upon sigh as she yanks back a curtain to reveal Malarkey flirting with a pretty female patient whose ankle has, like, a devastating deep bruise or something, and needs to be felt up with real precision. Pratt is probably offended that he wasn't called in as the resident expert in grope-ology. "A little multitasking on your part would be helpful," Susan lectures a chagrined Malarkey, pointing out that they've got a cluttered board and forty patients in triage. "You're not doing that clown any favors by picking up his slack," Pratt says under his breath to Coop. Clearly Coop is all, "I'm doing it for the patients, you suckmuscle -- have you seen that moron?"
Weaver then enters for her moment in the bitch spotlight. She crabs that no one's picked up a new chart in forty-five minutes. "It's called a 'work ethic,' people," she shouts. "Since when is Weaver on the graveyard?" Pratt whispers to Susan. "I AM A CARTOONISH BOSS IN THIS SCENE," Weaver screams. Susan tells Pratt that Weaver does this once a month, claiming it keeps her skills fresh. "THIS IS THE PART WHERE I YELL SOME MORE," Weaver crabs, throwing dirty looks at her apparently lazy staff. "Never thought I'd say this, but I kind of miss little Stumpy," Susan says. Aw. It's like the seven dwarves of ER here. We have Wheezy (Coop), Stumpy (Romano), Screechy (Weaver), Needy (Abby), Cocky (Pratt), Dopey (Malarkey), and even though we haven't seen her yet, Bitchmaggot (Chen). Sure, it's not a fairy-tale name, but she's not a fairy-tale personality.
A man comes in on a gurney with an open tibia fracture. Pratt talks Abby, who's off the clock, into staying to help get the man into a trauma room. This patient is in a wretched mood, snapping and screaming at everyone, probably in part because his leg bone is protruding from his shin. His name is Mathers, but in the seven-dwarves spirit of this show, I'm going to call him Gimpy. He rants that St. Thomas's shipped him there because he has no insurance -- apparently he just doesn't want to be at County. Abby tries to calm him down, but he's well into his tantrum and will not be denied.
As he and Abby wheel Gimpy down the hall, Pratt spies a group of med students staring vacantly at the action. "Hey, this look like TV to you?" he snaps. How meta. Shut up, ER. ["It would have been better if one of the students had responded to the question with an elaborate yawn.' -- Wing Chun] Pratt orders them back to work, and then turns on the charm and announces to Gimpy that he's lucky to be at County because they give the best care in the city. In a moment of mixed fairy tales, Pratt's nose immediately grows to the size of Dr. Diego's big red dog and skewers Gimpy right in his good leg. Pratt decides that, to divert attention from his Pinocchio moment, he ought to deliver a rousing motivational speech. "Listen up!" he stops and shouts. A crowd of extras promptly assembles nearby. Gimpy's face is like, "Holy shit, people, can you shut up and start paying attention to my protruding shin bone?" "We're the A Team, people, you know what that means?" Pratt booms. Oh, God, please can it mean Mr. T. Please! It's been three seasons! Don't I deserve this? Don't you, TPTB, pity the fool who recaps your show? "We've got twelve hours to clear this place out and show those quacks in the day shift how it's done," Pratt shouts. Then he heaves a satisfied, yet slightly put-upon sigh. We smash into the credits hoping that Gimpy stood up and stabbed Pratt with his bone shard.
After some people try to sell us a combination of things we don't need (the Halloween episode of Fear Factor) and things we do need (enough beer to erase completely the memory of accidentally seeing the horrifying toe-related agonies in the commercial for the Halloween episode of Fear Factor), we return to ER and its prosthetics lab. There sits Dr. Robert "Stumpy" Romano, the dwarf with the bad temper and the asymmetrical body. He is, for possibly the first time on the show, shirtless. Which is rather unfair, for as wonderful a person as I hear Paul McCrane is, he doesn't really compare favorably with Dr. Diego's torso or Pratt's shoulders. It's so unfair to him. It's kind of like asking Noah Wyle to quoteHamletright before telling Goran Visnjic to do it in Croatian. Anyway, the prosthetics lady is showing Romano a big old rubber arm that's the tops in myoelectric devices. It's called a Utah Arm, and after last episode's big deal about Romano's not getting one, I'm glad to see that the show has remained careless and subsequently given him one without addressing how and why. It's a weird-looking thing, too: although it is arm-esque, it looks more like the oversized beige hand of one of those creepy CPR dummies. The lady demonstrates to a crabby, wisecracking Romano how the arm is moved up and down through bicep contractions. "Bicep up, tricep down," she repeats as the arm makes mechanical noises. Romano shoots her a withering look. "They actually pay you to state the obvious?" he sneers. She politely explains that the arm can lock if he pauses abruptly with it, and it unlocks through a code contraction that he'll have to learn. This all sounds incredibly complicated and like he'll have to retrain his muscles, but Romano doesn't care -- he wants to wear it now. "Donning and doffing are complex..." the prosthetist attempts. "I WANT MY DAMN ARM, ALL RIGHT?" Romano screams. "I've waited long enough."
Gimpy complains in Trauma Green. He just likes to bitch and moan. You'd think he'd be a little more polite and encouraging of the people who are trying to rebuild his leg. Pratt has Neela with him. "What is she, ten?" shrieks Gimpy. "Almost sixteen," Pratt cracks. Neela frowns a little. She seems shy and sweet, but I'd really like her to have a sense of humor. She needs to laugh once. We then get a very pointed moment of audio clarity, in which Pratt tells Lester The New Bearded Med Student From Somewhere That Isn't The U.S. to call the OR folks and tell them to fetch Gimpy in no more than three hours. As Pratt makes a move to bolt for the bathroom, Abby points out that Neela needs supervision, so Pratt flags Gallant to do it. Abby groans; I can't tell if it's just general aggravation or because Pratt didn't turn to her to supervise Neela -- but if it were that simple, why would she have pointed out that there needed to be supervision? I'm not clear.
Pratt is pissed off because the obese boozehound hasn't been dealt with yet. He finds out that the man is Malarkey's patient, and rolls his eyes. On his way to find Malarkey, Pratt notices that no one's been down to see Betsy yet, and promises he'll call the GI people himself. Then, Nameless Dark-Haired Med Student sidelines Pratt from dealing with anything, begging him to talk to a man named Gamble who suddenly stopped being able to speak while arguing with his wife. "I can talk now, though," Gamble says brightly. Before we get any more of a handle on who these people are, Pratt excuses himself to talk to Susan, who hands him a couple cases. Abby drops by with a few more charts and points out that Malarkey's got a pelvis fracture case that's been waiting for fourteen hours now. Malarkey is kind of a craphead. And this whole show so far has been about procedure, which isn't that interesting. I don't care about it. I feel like half the stuff I'm transcribing is irrelevant.
The paramedics bring in a seventy-three-year-old woman, Winnie, whose granddaughter called the ambulance and is trotting alongside them. Weaver yells for Abby's help, but Abby has punched out already. Spying Neela, Weaver says, "Want to be a doctor? Move it." Neela jogs after them toward the trauma rooms, and Abby stares wistfully after them. Jerry lumbers up with a fax for her and helpfully says, "Your loan's not going through"; he rattles off Abby's credit rating. Abby's stunned that he knows this, and Jerry freely admits he read it on the fax, which is so charming of him and yet not unexpected. "Couldn't lease a moped with a score that low," he says thoughtlessly. Abby blows out her cheeks in frustration.
The little girl stands around watching her grandmother get worked on by Coop, Weaver, and Neela. Why any of them hasn't ushered her out of there is beyond me. It's one thing when it's a person of age, but she's, like, ten. Put her away. "Is Grandma okay?" she asks. "We're trying to help her," Neela promises. The doctors rip open Winnie's shirt and remove her bra, exposing her breasts -- well, sort of, as they are really just gray-looking blobs with no visible nipples. Ew. It's a little weird because on this show, they never seem to remove patients' bras -- so for them to make a show of taking it off this time does make one wonder why they bothered. It's like they invested in a Rex The Wonder Preemie, but shaped like boobs, and they can't wait to flaunt it.
Anyway. As they tear off Winnie's bra to reveal her colorless, nipple-free breast-mounds, her granddaughter shrieks, "Don't do that! She wouldn't like it, she's DNR!" And the whole room comes to a halt. For real. The promo didn't lie. Of course, it had no business including this in the first place, but hey -- one step at a time. Everyone in the gang looks at the granddaughter like she's an alien. She needs a name. Let's call her Frizzy. Weaver slowly and carefully asks Frizzy if she knows what "DNR" means. Frizzy hasn't prepped a bunch of wacky wrong answers, like "Damn Nice Rack," or "Distilled Nut Runoff," so she just exhales deeply and whimpers, "She doesn't want to be naked." If Winnie could sneak one peek at Gallant, she'd sit up and be all, "Shut up, child. Just shut up and let him strip me."
As soon as it's established that Frizzy does not, in fact, know whereof she speaks, the crew whirs back to its normal activity, Neela pausing to cover Winnie's chest with a blue cloth. They want to tube her; Neela warns that clearly the subject of DNR has come up, or Frizzy wouldn't know the term existed. "Doesn't matter until we have proof," Coop says evenly. "Put her on a vent. She won't come off," Weaver says callously. She orders Neela to take Frizzy to the family room, where Frizzy can wait and stew in the memory of her naked grandmother and the doctors who were all, "Whatever, she's toast." Heartwarming.
Ed Gamble The Conveniently Mute Husband has apparently pissed off his wife. She stalks up to Pratt and snits, "I asked him for a divorce and he went mute. It's his variation on the cold-shoulder act." Pratt doesn't much care, and Gallant interrupts to dump a bunch of charts into his hand. "These are [Malarkey's]," Pratt gripes. Gallant swears he's searched high and low and hasn't found him, and he's late for dinner with his family. Finally, some breeders I would want to see. Mostly so I could thank them. Pratt agrees to cover for Gallant, surprisingly pleasantly considering they haven't historically liked each other, and turns back to Ed's wife. She thinks Ed is faking this to keep her with him, not realizing that she's kind of boring and not really worth it. But he might just be insane; she figures he needs psychiatric help either way. Pratt orders a passing nurse to call Psych. "Yes, doctor," she says in accented English.
Then, Lester resurfaces to ask Pratt to look at a patient who claims he was bitten by a rat. Pratt calls over Easily Nauseated Blonde Nurse, who whines, "That woman blew her nose on my smock!" Pratt orders a tetanus shot and a test. "Test the rat," the man says, holding up the rat that bit him. ENBN -- who is also apparently easily grossed out -- throws up her hands and quits, shrieking, "This is not what I went to nursing school for." Turns out she thought it was breastfeeding school, and boy can you color her embarrassed. Pratt calmly orders Lester to throw out the rat. "Still gotta take a piss," he says, proud to hear no bleeping over that word.
And finally, at long last, The Roiling Bladder Of Greg Pratt comes to an end. As he scouts the urinals, Pratt hears a voice coming from one of the stalls. Angrily throwing open the door, he finds Malarkey on his mobile, asking questions of someone with a textbook open on his lap. "Hang up!" Pratt shouts. "You're a second-year resident, not a med student. You can't be calling [anyone] just to help you through a shift. Get on the floor and do your damn job!" Cowed, Malarkey blinks and nods. "And for God's sake, light a match or something," Pratt sneers, slamming shut the stall door. We fade to black wondering why, sweet Jesus why, Pratt felt he needed to give us that malodorous detail. Or why Malarkey didn't lock the stall if he was actually dropping some samples at the lab.
Ed runs up to Pratt to ask if he's learned anything about this oddly timed muteness. Pratt tells him that they're getting "a special doctor" to see him, which is totally child-speak for "The Crazy-People Doctor is going to take you away now." Ed wonders if this might be a stress thing; Pratt doesn't get to answer, because a really uptight and irritated woman called Dr. Hampton comes raging out of Betsy's room. She screams at Pratt for yanking her out of a movie to check on a frequent flier, one she's dubbed an addict trying to squeeze juice out of naïve residents. Pratt argues that Betsy has a real disease. "She's a manipulative drug-seeker and we're not here to support her habit!" spits Hampton. Pratt demands that she put a note in Betsy's chart saying she won't admit her. I'm not sure why that note isn't already in there. "Bump her steroids, give her a Vicodin, and do NOT call me again," Hampton seethes, shoving Betsy's chart at him. I guess Betsy wins, then -- she gets the painkillers. Way to play it, Hampton. Pratt shouts after Hampton that he's just asking her to care for her patient. "Actually, she's your patient now," Hampton mutters. Wait, so what did he do wrong, exactly? If she has a real disease, why won't...ach, AGAIN with the hurting brain. I need to stop seeking meaning and just flat-out accept that Pratt Is A Put-Upon Yet Controversial Figure, and leave it there. Sadly, Pratt turns to the omnipresent Lester and tells him to discharge Betsy with the news that she won't be admitted today -- news she won't care about until the Vicodin wears off anyway.
Abby and Luka take a relaxed stroll by the water. She observes that Luka seems to be improving quickly. "I couldn't run a four-minute mile, but I'm okay," he smiles. "Still a little anemic." Abby wonders if it's nice being home, or if he misses Congo. Luka affirms that he does miss it there. "You're not in your own head all the time. You're part of something that's in constant motion over there," he explains. "Any break you get is a luxury, not just something to be taken for granted." As Abby and Luka descend slowly, apace and each leaning lightly against a banister, Abby observes that it doesn't sound terribly different from County General. Perhaps she missed the memo about the malaria, the AIDS, and the pissed-off trigger-happy militants in constant camouflage. "It's its own addiction, I guess," Luka says. "It hooked Carter," Abby notes. Luka kindly asks how she's doing with that, and Abby lightly tries to insist that she's absolutely fine about it all. "Are you happy?" Luka prods. Abby laughs and flashes him a funny "have you forgotten who you're talking to?" look. Self-awareness. Nice. "Getting there," she allows. Leaning against the railing, she confesses, "I've made a few decisions." Just as Luka's about to tell her that there's no need to become a pre-op transsexual, Abby's pager beeps. Abby bites her lip and smiles that she doesn't want to jinx herself by discussing her plans, then reads her pager and sees that work's calling. "Pretend you didn't get a page," Luka suggests mischievously. Abby seems tempted, but ruefully admits, "I need the money." Luka's eyes flicker to the side, and then meet hers. "See you soon then?" he says hopefully. Abby nods and smiles warmly. "Yeah," she says, sincerely. It's a really nice moment. There's real affection. So naturally, it gets spoiled when Abby snaps out of it and says a very rushed and clipped "Goodnight," and disappears in a flash. It's so inappropriate to the moment. Not to mention that, although Luka is a big boy and could have spoken up if he needed help, she did leave a sick man alone to walk home up a long flight of stairs. Not too thoughtful.
The nurse from the beginning who walked away from Pratt is apparently named Duvata, if the closed-captioners are correct. Duvata tells Abby that Gimpy still hasn't been sutured. Coop spies Abby and expresses surprise that she's still there. "What can I say -- the attrition rate for nurses here sucks," she shrugs. Coop sympathizes, but Abby points out that she's getting double overtime, so it's fine. As she preps some paperwork, Abby stands to Weaver, barely noticing her until a sudden outburst. "How's it going?" Weaver asks. Abby almost ignores her, and then lifts her head, checks around to see if anyone's there, and asks, "You're talking to me?" Weaver nods. "Fine," Abby says, startled. "Glad to hear it," Weaver says. "You're one of the best nurses on the floor. With all of the changes Robert's making, I'd hate to lose you." Abby genuinely seems to appreciate this, yet is still completely floored and maybe even a bit suspicious as to why Weaver's suddenly saying this now. In all these years, she still hasn't decoded the secret language of anvils. The moment is ruined when Neela asks for some crayons for Frizzy, and Weaver lays into her for having compassion instead of ruthless efficiency. Abby rolls her eyes and leaves.
Pratt hands out a bunch of charts to his med-student posse, requiring that he use the words "tampon" and "douching." When the dialogue's not brimming with incomprehensible inanities, it's a minefield of female problems. This is the "Can We Make Mekhi Quit?" episode. Out of the corner of his eye, Pratt spots Malarkey staring raptly at x-ray films. "We have a board full of nasty and you're studying radiology?" Pratt accuses. Malarkey unsmoothly snaps to attention and explains that a boy named Damian, who is there with his parents and baby sister, swallowed a quarter and is wheezing. "I'm thinking it'll pass," Malarkey shrugs. "In my poop?" Damian sputters. So it's come to this: I'm so hurting for entertainment in this episode that I actually laughed at that. Pratt impatiently corrects Malarkey, saying that Damian needs to have a specialist remove the coin. "No cutting involved," he assures the parents. Malarkey can't really save face, so he just outright asks Pratt who the specialist is. "Hampton," Pratt says. "She's a real special friend of mine. You page her."
Someone screams for Pratt, and he bolts to an incoming MVA victim. Apparently there was some drag racing; a geeked-out guy moons over the number of times his car rolled, because evidently he's delighted that he is a complete fucktool. His girlfriend, in the passenger seat, is critically wounded too. She's got blood in her airway. Pratt wants to know where they can take the patients, and Malik tells him there's a DNR hogging Trauma Green. Pratt rolls the gurney right in there and orders Neela to wheel Winnie out of there. Neela protests that they're still not sure Winnie is DNR, but Pratt snots, "Consider it confirmed," and Malik unplugs the machines. Poor little Frizzy looks a little traumatized. Neela glares at Pratt as Frizzy jots this down in her lawsuit journal.
An older guy from the accident rolls into Abby's care with a chest abrasion. Weaver orders a few tests and clears the way for him to go up to CT if the technicians are free first. "Want to go when he does?" Abby asks. Weaver declines, saying she can't leave the floor because she's the only Attending. She tells Abby to go.
In the room adjacent to Trauma Green, Gimpy is still waiting for his leg bone to be returned inside his skin. He is understandably miffed that he can still see it. He's dated people for shorter periods of time. "Someone needs to shut him up," Malarkey crabs, working with Coop on Idiot Driver. They toil for a bit while Idiot excitedly recounts details from the accident. "Hey, where's Janie?" he then asks casually. "You're just now asking?" mutters Coop. Malarkey determines that Idiot is okay, but that his belly's tender, and orders Coop to perform a rectal. Coop's like, "The hell?" Malarkey pretends he's better used seeking information on Janie, and actually, considering what we've seen of his medical skills, he might not be wrong. "You're going up my butt?" pales Idiot. Coop looks at him. "Just one finger," he says reassuringly. Hee.
Malarkey trots into Trauma Yellow and starts sassing Pratt about how Gimpy is screaming and threatening to sue almost everyone for not tending to him. Just then, Janie loads up the NBC Vomit Comet 3.0: Now With Red Food Coloring, and spits up a whole mouthful of blood. Malarkey pales and tries to flee. "Where the hell you going?" Pratt booms. "Bathroom," Malarkey twitters nervously, fleeing. Pratt groans but lets him go, because he's the only responsible one around here, Janie's barfing blood, and it's his episode so he's going to make sure he rules the roost. He cleans Janie up and suctions the blood out of her mouth. Jerry pokes his head in and informs him that Hampton called and is refusing to see little Damian The Quarter-Eater until tomorrow morning. That, I don't get. The kid's not a slot machine. He's not built to suck down money. It seems like a good idea to get the quarter out, no? Jerry also merrily shares that Hampton's planning to complain to Romano. "That all she said?" Pratt grouches. "No. She said you're an asshole, too," Jerry grins gleefully. No bleep. In fact, things went a little quiet before he said it. It's kind of a special moment, given that Pratt is often a complete and utter asshole -- in a way, I think Jerry and Dr. Hampton speak for the world. We fade to black grateful that someone over in the story department understands which body part Pratt most resembles.
Malik grabs Weaver and sends her up to CT, where her patient just crashed. Pratt tiredly tells "Severa" to pull the plug on the Obecalp. Since when does this nurse have a name? "I never gave it to him," she says, and lo, she not only speaks English, but it's not even really accented. It's hilarious, except for the fact that it was a pointless and slightly insulting little running gag. The best TPTB could muster. Sad.
stop on the Pratt Reunion Tour: Damian The One-Armed Bandit, all eager to spew his quarter of doom. Pratt tries to let them down gently that the GI specialist won't arrive until later, but they're understandably not all that thrilled about the idea of letting their son go to sleep with something lodged in his airway. Especially a dirty and disgusting quarter that's been in God knows how many cash registers, dirty palms, vending machines, and cheap strip joints. Pratt chews on this.
Weaver arrives in CT and leaps astride her patient to try and revive him. Abby's already on one side giving compressions. "Never, ever send an even slightly unstable patient to CT," Weaver seethes quietly. "You TOLD me to..." Abby protests, defensively. "I was talking to me," Weaver says evenly, through clenched teeth.
The med students corral Coop and some others to watch Pratt do a Foley catheter trick on Damian, Holder Of The Key To My Complete Load Of Laundry. Coop's a little dumbfounded that Pratt's doing this. Music kicks in so that we know these are hijinks. The interesting thing is, Dr. Diego did a similar procedure last season in the OR while snazzily getting a bullet out of a patient, and people disapproved and frowned but couldn't help admitting that it was kind of flashy. Pratt wasn't there to see it, but perhaps we are still meant to be drawing a parallel between the cowboy surgeon Diego and our own little ER renegade. Perhaps. This show is often so subtle, it's hard to tell, you know? Right. Pratt feeds the catheter into the right spot and says he'll blow up the balloon with saline and use it to pull the quarter back into Damian's mouth. "Couldn't he aspirate the quarter into his lungs?" Coop asks in a low voice, frowning but not complaining. Pratt breezes, "Not if I grab it first." He then pops the quarter out and lobs it at Damian's delighted and applauding parents. The mother clutches it to her chest, because her son's sticky metallic snack is precious indeed and deserves to be saved. Until the time she needs a Diet Coke at work. To his credit, Coop looks relieved, but concerned at all the showboating, as the impressionable med students clap and worship at the altar of Pratt -- a false idol if ever there was one.
Abby passes two nurses speaking Tagalog. They ask her to cover for Melinda in triage, and Abby frustratedly agrees. "Sure, love to, triage is my personal favorite, thanks for asking," she complains to herself under hear breath. Pratt oozes up behind her and flicks on the radio at the front desk. "Wild Thing" is playing, and he grabs Randi for a dance. Interestingly, Mekhi Phifer has absolutely zero rhythm. He looks vaguely like Bill Cosby dancing stiltedly in the credits of his old show. Richard Simmons is possessed of more innate funk.
Amused but wishing the night would pass a little faster, Abby enters triage for her stint and begins treating a toothache patient. But Damian returns with his father, who explains that his son got queasy in the parking lot, and he's thinking it might be an effect of the anesthesia. Just then, Vomit Comet 3.0 does its foul deed and explodes blood all over the triage desk's plastic sneezeguard. Abby bolts to his side and lies him down, yelling for Pratt. "Page Surgery," Pratt says, turning pale. He and Abby swap nervous looks. We fade to black wondering if they're prepping Damian for Operation Nickel Slot, wherein he's converted to a machine that takes smaller denominations.
It's 3:02 AM, according to The Graphic Of Hey, It Actually Is 3:02 AM as I'm Typing This. Pratt escorts Damian up to the OR, where Elizabeth is with him, appalled that Pratt attempted something so risky as whatever that Foley catheter thing was, and convinced that it led to the boy's bloody downfall. "Are you out of your mind?" she hisses. Pratt insists that the blood exploded from his chest ten minutes after the procedure. "The quarter must've been in there too long," he says. Oh, you think? Shouldn't Dr. Hampton be getting torn a new one for refusing to come in and help? Disgusted, Elizabeth hands him off to Dr. Diego, explaining that Damian's esophagus is busted and he needs aortal repair, then spits, "Apparently not all ER residents can walk on water." She then steams that he's damn lucky Damian blew up while they were still here, or the kid would be dead.
The guy who crashed in CT gets wheeled out, followed by a glum Weaver. She and Pratt make eye contact and say nothing.
Back downstairs, Pratt gets called to Ed Gamble's side. His wife explains nervously that he slumped to the floor as they were preparing to leave. They hook him up to a monitor; he's lying there with his eyes open, looking creepy and kind of dead. Coop joins them as Pratt exposits that Ed seemed totally normal, other than being a nutcase. "Young, healthy guy with transient loss of speech," muses Coop. He asks for a Sonosite. Pratt explains that his head CT was negative and curtly tells Coop he's got this one. Calmly, Coop continues, asking, "Any risk factors for stroke?" The wife freaks out. Pratt brushes him off and orders someone to call CT, but Coop has found something on the Sonosite -- a carotid dissection. He hands the Sonosite to Pratt, whose face registers that Coop bested him. Coop is awesome about it, though -- just very efficient and low-key and cute. Pratt reluctantly explains to Ed's wife that Ed's got a tear in one of his main arteries, which caused a blood clot. Duvata pops up and tells Pratt, "Your open-fracture patient demands to be euthanized." Hee. Pratt's upset that Gimpy hasn't gone up to the OR.
Abby takes a break and sneaks into a room to use the phone. She calls a credit-card company to see if she qualifies for a cash advance, but then she spies Winnie and Frizzy napping together on the bed and hangs up the phone. Carefully, she takes Winnie's pulse and realizes that the older woman is dead. Spying Neela, she scurries outside and gently tells her that Winnie died. "We need the bed," Abby apologizes, asking Neela to move Frizzy elsewhere. Neela stares sadly at the pair of them.
Gimpy's calm, whacked out on morphine. "Am I gonna lose this thing, or what?" he moans, scared. Pratt's face registers surprise, then regret at how frightened the blowhard really was, and promises, "No." Gimpy yawns that he can't get along without it because he works for a living. Pratt sets his jaw. "I know I've said it before, but we're gonna get you in the OR real soon," he vows. "That's what I hear," cracks Gimpy with a sad smile. Resolute, Pratt stands up and trucks past Weaver, ordering her to have Coop cover for him while he does something important. It's "A Hero Does Something He Should Have Done Eight Hours Ago."
A bunch of surgeons laugh the night away while operating on some hacked-up slab of meat or other. Naturally, they're talking about golf, because that's how surgeons are portrayed on this show -- lazy, arrogant men who like to whack small white balls. Pratt busts up their little party, scrubbed up, and grabs some gloves. "I'm here to hold your retractors," he says pleasantly. "I've been calling you for hours on an open tibia fracture. Now that I'm here to help, you can free someone up for the consult." The surgeons stare at him, dumbfounded.
Neela scoops up Frizzy and carries her out of the room. Interestingly, she manages to open the door, push it wide, and slide through it without smacking any of Frizzy's limbs or her own against anything. I'm sort of amazed at how smooth that was. Maybe that was take seventy-two, and Frizzy was covered in really nasty bruises.
Abby strolls through a nice neighborhood and rings the bell at a lovely town house. A baby immediately starts bawling inside. As she scratches her face uncomfortably, Abby clearly has second thoughts and turns to leave -- and just then, a willowy blonde opens the door. "Can I help you?" she grouses. Abby turns and greets her uncomfortably, asking for Richard. "Honey, your ex-wife is here," says the wife, a trifle put-out and shooting Abby a hard expression. Abby sees the baby, sees the pretty wife, and sees the glam chandelier in the background, all so that we can see the lifestyle comparisons in aid of our Getting It. Richard comes down the hall, rudely kicks a toy out from his path so that we know that he's an ass, and appears at the door. "What do you want?" he demands. "I need a favor," she begins. He lectures her for showing up at 8 in the morning, although I'm not sure why, because he and his wife are both awake and up and functioning. Abby blurts, "I need you to co-sign a loan." Richard's pissed and scornfully tells her to give up and declare bankruptcy. I can't really understand where all this asshattery is coming from, because the last time they spoke, it wasn't this vitriolic at all. Abby loudly defends that she's not in trouble, but that she does need his signature. Richard thinks she wants his money, but Abby frustratedly fires back that she never asked him for anything (except for med-school tuition, which she evidently didn't get) and didn't contest any of the divorce agreement. "Look, you must know how much I hate doing this," she says, desperately. "I wouldn't do it...I don't want your money! I just want your signature." I feel kind of sorry for her, although I'm not really sure why she's suddenly broke. She has a nice apartment. And Richard is a total shithead. Hot, but mean.
Pratt splashes water on his face and exits the men's room the morning. Romano jumps right up in his face and lets him know that Ortho, Psych, GI, and Weaver have all complained about Pratt's conduct. "You are a screw-up," Romano says, lifting his arm to point at him. It makes a really loud mechanical noise and Pratt stares at it, mystified, unsure when Romano attached a forklift to his shoulder. Romano continues yelling at him a little, the arm whirring every time he moves it, which cuts through his biting words and just sort of makes you want to see if he has a bottle-opener attachment.