Piper screams some more at Phoebe along the lines of "Dammit, Jim! I'm a chef, not a restaurateur! And why are you wearing my dress?" before this big bleached blonde we've never seen appears at the bar. Phoebe greets "Brittany," and compliments the cheap-looking "tattoo" of an angel Brittany sports on her right hand. It looks more like a hand-stamp they'd use at the old Limelight chain of nightclubs, but whatever. Phoebe PSAs that she thought hand tattoos were forbidden, due to the proximity of the veins to the surface of the skin in that area. Brittany blithely notes that such tattoos are indeed illegal in the United States, which is why she got hers in Tahiti. Bad Brittany! Bad! You'll suffer for such flagrant flouting of this great nation's laws, you whore! Do you think we should stone her? I think we should stone her. Brittany, having thus established her credentials as a suitable object of both audience scorn and demonic violence, announces that she has to "jam," which as far as I'm concerned is the real strike against her. I'm sure she'll be sparking up her crack pipe and kicking a few puppies on her way out the door. Then again, considering how screwed the WB's priorities always are, she'll probably just light a Virginia Slim on her way to that fuel-efficient Japanese import of hers in the parking lot, which along with the tattoo should be more than enough to mark her for death on the Frog.
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.