Harris's office, which today is known as The Ass Palace. Ron is bent over his desk, looking pained. He calls in Dr. Price. As she enters, he sits down, carefully, finally resting his padded butt on the padded chair and leaning way to the left. He asks about O'Malley, the press and all that, but what he's really thinking about is his wish that his ass were as smooth and molded and unaffected by boils as the one possessed by Dr. Williams. They talk about Reon. "Terrible tragedy, terrible," Ron says distractedly. But what he's thinking is, "That my ass should be affected by a boil when it is otherwise so smooth and round and cool to the touch is the true tragedy in this drama." He dismisses her, but Price says they had a meeting scheduled. "Are you okay, Ron?" she asks. "Yes, yes," he answers, limping over to the other side of his desk. She brings up Nurse Peeler, who needs a raise. Harris get mad, his bald pate glistening with sweat. He says it won't happen this year. "Next item," he barks. Price says Nurse Peeler also wants to take eight medical students to Palm Springs for a training session. Harris tries to sit down on the edge of a table, then gets up quickly. You know, if there's this much comic gold to be mined, you should spotlight Ron Harris' ass every week. Price again asks if he's okay. He sits down then gets right back up, his ass-boil reaching a volcanic temperature. Harris turns the trip down too and earns a sour look from Price as she exits.