Meanwhile, Phoebe glances down the bar at a rather unassuming and alarmingly square-jawed yuppie, and for her troubles is slapped in the teeth by a free-floating black-and-white premonition. Mr. Lantern-Head slides out of his seat with a grin, then shyly approaches Phoebe at her end of the bar. Phoebe snaps out of it, and directs Piper's attention towards the gentleman in question. She tells Piper that his name is Alec, and he's about to ask if he can buy Phoebe a martini. "Phoebe!" Piper chides. "You're not supposed to use your powers! We agreed!" Phoebe smirks that Piper and Prue agreed. Phoebe, on the other hand, "abstained" from the voting. And you all thought abstinence was a foreign concept for the Feebs. Besides, Phoebe claims, she can't control her premonitions, anyway -- they "just pop into [her] head." This, naturally, is Piper's point. What they can't control, they shouldn't use. She herself is worried that she'll panic and "freeze the entire restaurant." Alec shyly sidles over to Phoebe and asks if he can order her a martini. Phoebe gets giddily flirtatious while Piper grinds her back molars down to the gum line and rolls her eyes. "Prue is going to be pissed!" she hisses. Not if you don't tell her about it, Little Miss Tattletale. Phoebe playfully warns Piper that if she keeps up with all her worrying, she'll get wrinkles -- and years before Botox, no less. Phoebe leads her yuppie conquest to a table as Piper clenches every sphincter in her body.

Out in the parking lot, Brittany The Big Bleached Blonde shakes her tattooed, law-flouting ass over to her fuel-efficient import. I really shouldn't be so hard on her. Compared to the scrawny little lollipop-headed stick girlies they normally hire as innocents on this show, this actress looks, well, healthy. Then again, way back in 1998, all of the women on this show looked healthy. I'll be counting the episodes until they dwindle down to their more familiar anemic selves. Anyway, The Big Bleached Blonde peers about nervously, then opens her driver's side door. Whoops! Didn't check the back seat, did you? Bad Brittany! Bad! Should we stone her now? Huh? Brittany eases herself into the car and adjusts the rearview mirror to check her lipstick. Of course, when she does so, the squinty, glinty eyes of some serial-killing creep appear in the mirror to stare back at her from the depths of the back seat. Of course. Brittany lets loose a deep-throated howl of abject terror that would do Jamie Lee Curtis proud as the camera tracks back from her lonely little Fuel-Efficient Import Of Doom.