The next day, Syd stumbles into Oops Center with her hair piled messily on top of her head, wearing a pair of flip-flops, some yoga pants, and a sweatshirt that looks like it might have just crawled out of her laundry basket. There are dark blotches under her eyes, and she's draining a Super Gulp of all its liquid caffeine refreshment. Mrs. Vaughn walks up and trills, "Hi, there!" in her super-confusing-British/Aussie/Virginian accent. Syd force-feeds Mrs. V. the business end of her cruller, smacks her around for a bit, then kicks her ass out the door. "Screw you, Blondie," Syd snarls, returning to the Oops Center halls. "What're YOU all lookin' at? Huh? I'm hung WAY over. No calls till after three."
Or, Syd just ambles into Oops Center looking for all the world like she didn't lick the inside of a tequila bottle the night before. I hate her. Wendy seemed to think that the blurriness of the office surroundings was an indicator of how Syd's hangover might be affecting her vision. I begged to differ.
Wendy Kroy: Oh, please. My office looks like that EVERY damn day.
Regina: Huh. Could that be because you drink EVERY damn night?
Wendy Kroy: Well, DUH. I'm not kidding, dude. Drink something. Anything. You might very well be a bigger bitch sober than drunk.
Regina: Oh, tell me something I DON'T know, Fancy Pants.
Syd makes it into the Conference Room of Endless Expositions and greats Mr. and Mrs. Elephant warmly. There's a little forced nice-nice between Mrs. Elephant and Syd, but then Marshall saves the day by showing up and delivering to Syd a mix CD of music from the past two years. Blah blither blather, I made it as a gift but flim flam flummox, it's also supposed to trigger some memories or some such shit. After another AWKWARD moment wherein we're all supposed to FEEL HOW AWKWARD this all is, in case we didn't know this already, Marshall leans forward and anvils, "Awkward!" DID YOU KNOW HOW AWKWARD THIS MUST BE? BECAUSE I HAD NO IDEA.
Thank Christ. Dixon's here. Turns out that at exactly 4:47 pm something bad happened in Russia. Yeah. I know. The whole "47" thing. Don't care. Also don't care what happened in Russia. I'm assuming this has something to do with that flaming ball of poo or whatever that burned its way through Gorky Park. Yuck yack yick, Dixon says something about a falling satellite and how it triggered Russia's early warning system. What? With the who?
Wendy Kroy: Who knows?