Ray strides out, a red comb sprouting on his head as he crows, "Five-minute discharge, boys. Watch and learn." They gaze at him in awe. Ew. Awe has never offended me so much. One of his students -- Dork #2: The Lesser of the Dorks -- asks Ray whether ex-preemies have problems metabolizing lead. "No," Ray scoffs. "Patients will tell you all kinds of irrelevant crap. They don't know what's important." Yeah. Ha! Stupid patients, always complaining about something. The geeks gush about how great and patient Ray was with that father, as if the father was a gnat that needed swatting. "They key is to look like you're listening," Ray says. The dorks indeed look like they are, and I can only hope this is their first exercise in heeding that acting lesson. A nearby Abby wonders wryly if that is the best possible advice Ray could muster. He shrugs that he already told them about the whole "feed the nurses" racket. I seriously think Abby wants to spit on him. She suggests nicely that perhaps, since they're students, they should focus on learning where the corners even are before learning how to cut them. Ray figures that med school is just one big study in fantasyland, so it's time for the guys to wake up and smell the blood on their hands: "You'll never clear out a waiting room if it takes two hours to work up a slam-dunk case." A passing Carter points out that when you're an intern -- much less a student -- there's no such thing as a slam-dunk case. "Suit up," he tells them. Abby trots obediently after Carter, while Ray takes an extra few seconds to look put-out that Carter didn't get on his knees and smooch Ray's sagacious and highly advanced booty.

The incoming patient is a forty-six-year-old man injured in a jet-ski crash. As they situate the man in Trauma Yellow, we see that his face is completely mangled. It looks like hamburger. Dubenko arrives for a consult, toting a tub of sliced pickles and some ketchup. Carter gives Abby the code to run. Ray responds to this by immediately shouting out orders, talking either in unison with or over Abby's voice. She stops, affronted, and glares at him. Dubenko watches this like an avid sports fan. Ray smoothly orders Abby to call the blood bank while he takes care of all the manly work. Okay, maybe he doesn't use those words exactly, but he's awfully annoying. I do wish Abby would stand up for herself, though, rather than snitting around being glum. She would rather be put-upon and then martyr herself than actually stiffen up and stake out her territory. She gets on the phone with a pout the size of Montana. Dubenko slithers up to her. "What happened there, Doctor?" he whispers. "That was your patient." Abby ignores him and handles her call to the blood bank. Dubenko breathes, "Don’t say 'please' and 'thank you' to the blood bank, and don't let the boys bully you." Abby openly gapes at him as Sam twigs to this and looks up, equally startled. Abby reaches up and runs a hand over her bangs. "I wasn't letting them..." she begins. "You play with your hair when you're nervous," Dubenko says, with a creepy smile. He takes the phone so she can go back on his orders and take the men by the balls, and he can call her voicemail and go, "Hello...Abby," as he cleans off his white rubber mask.