For his part, Dwight just wants to know how many people he's allowed to fire as part of his task of...choosing the health-care plan. "Uh, none," Michael says impatiently. More importantly, Dwight wants an office, because the crazy person who lives inside Dwight's brain and pounds on his skull all day demanding an increase in status senses that there might be something promising here. Dwight suggests that the conference room might be big enough to serve as his office. Michael, sucking the teat of his measly authority as pitiful weaklings have been doing since the Big Bang, haughtily agrees to assign Dwight the conference room "as a temporary workspace." But when Dwight smirks and happily mutters to the camera that he now has an office bigger than Michael's, Michael instantly rescinds the offer. Dwight is even weaker and more needy than Michael (WOW!), so he instantaneously retreats and agrees to treat it as a workspace. Normally, this sort of thing would play as a dick-measuring contest, but it's not even that. It's not guys arguing over who's going to be the stud -- it's guys arguing over who gets to keep the last scrap of power over his environment at the close of the Going Out Of Relevance sale, and Michael has managed to win. Just barely. Michael THs that if Dwight fails, then he'll feel good about giving him a second chance, and if he succeeds, then he'll take credit. Would that we all could work for Michael. Dwight toils in what is labeled, with a temporary sign, "DWIGHT SCHRUTE WORK SPACE."
Later, Dwight distributes information to everyone, displaying his usual, squirrel-like efficiency. He THs that he "slashed benefits to the bone," and that he saved money, so he did his job. He goes on to explain that "in the wild, there is no health care," and in the wild, you just get eaten. He does have a point, you must admit. Yet another lesson to be taken from the fact that there are no monkey doctors. Out in the office, the workers predictably fret about the deductible, the loss of vision and dental, the requirement that all surgery be performed by apprentice barbers, and whatever other horrors Dwight has managed to visit upon them.
Michael's Chickenshit Shuffle begins as he calls Pam from inside his office, and as the camera peers between the slats in the closed blinds at his office window, we can just see that he's pushing a toy D-M truck around his desk and whining about how busy he is. When Pam reports that there's unrest among the peasants over the terrible health plan, Michael tells her that he can't talk, because he has to go answer a call. He's forgotten that Pam can see his phone line, so he's chosen the one excuse she can actually determine to be untrue. The fact that she busts him immediately doesn't stop him from doing it again about two minutes later. He's a pro, that one.