Mike goes home, and Nancy wants to know how it went. Mike wants a brownie. Once he gets a brownie, he'll be ready to talk. Mike's really nervous to tell Nancy that he's a scumbag. I can totally relate; I live with that feeling daily. Mike asks Nancy whether she remembers Linda Coleman. They met at a party one time. Nancy barely remembers her. Mike says that they used to flirt a bit. Nancy semi-flips out, saying, "There's TWO of them now??" Mike asks her to let him explain. They would flirt in a jokey kind of way, like Nancy flirts with the mailman when the weather gets warm enough for him to wear shorts and she woofs at him and whistles at his pale mailman legs and cups her boobies and says things like, "Have you got a special package for my aching booty, Mr. Mail Guy?" Nancy smiles and knows where Mike's coming from. Either that, or she's enjoying the mental image of the mailman's legs a bit more than she should be. Mike says his flirting with Linda is silly and meaningless. So she wrote him a jokey passionate email thanking him for his services. And he wrote her back in the same style. It was a joke. Nancy wonders how the lawyers found this out. Mike says that they questioned all of his patients, and that Linda wanted things to go further between them (i.e. hot Dr. Handsome sex). She invited him over for a little house call. When Mike said he didn't make house calls, she pulled a Glenn Close on him, which would explain the boiled rabbit in their kitchen that time after the Christmas party. Mike about starts sobbing, and Nancy tells him it's okay, she believes him. Then again, she believes in Santa Claus and baby hats; the woman's giddier than Ted Kennedy at a Pizza Hut buffet.
Phil's in a booth at the alley eating a sandwich bigger than Arnold Schwarzenegger's ego when Shirley announces that there are two men from the AFL-CIO there to see him. Two shady characters approach the table. Phil has them sit down and offers them a Dagwood. They both decline. Phil says he wants to merge unions with them. They ask him what union he's with and Phil says number 803080308060206193. The union guys aren't familiar with it, and ask if he's the president. He says he is, as well as the shop steward at Stuckey Bowl, and wants to go ahead and sign off on their merger because he's gotta get to the airport to fly to Detroit to meet with that guy whose name sounds like Dustin Hoffman. "Hoffa?" one of the union guys says. "That's it!" Phil smiles. "Dustin Hoffa!" They want to know if Phil's jacking them around, and he says that the Pinsetters Union has nothing but the deepest respect for their union. The AFL-CIO guys ask how many members are in the Pinsetters Union, and Phil assures them that the union is starting small and only has one member right now: himself. The union guys get up to leave in disgust and call him a jackass. Phil begs them to not let him rot away in this sweatshop. Something tells me Jimmy Hoffa would give his decomposed left nut to be rotting away in a sweatshop right now.