After the break, Elizabeth "Mitchell" Mitchell is back. This week, she's made the unfortunate decision to coat both hands with Dippity-Do, work them through her hair until it's all in clumps, then sleep on it. Which is to say, she's working an inexpert curl job that gives up the ghost well before the ends of her hair, leaving them straight while the rest of her head is surrounded in a frizzy blonde nimbus. She hands Weaver a slip of paper and says, "If I...were king...of the foreeeeeeeeest!" She's also wearing a purple shirt. I'm not saying anything. She really says that the labs are back on "Mr. Mellonston," formerly "Senile Old Dude," and adds, glancing at Weaver, "Great colour." Weaver absently futzes with her collar while inspecting the sheet; Mitchell narrates that Mr. Mellonston has "a rip-roaring urinary tract infection." Weaver apologizes for calling Mitchell down "prematurely." Mitchell chattily says, "Happens all the time with nursing-home patients. Take an old guy, give him a bad UTI -- next thing you know, he's General MacArthur." Uh, thanks, lady -- see ya. Give a woman a four-episode guest role and she thinks she's freaking Valerie Perrine. Weaver says she called Mr. Mellonston's home and found out they'd already given his bed away. Seeing some kind of action in the curtain area, Weaver crutches over to Audrey (Miss Skokie)'s bed and shoos away a crowd of admirers. Mitchell asks whether Mr. Mellonston has any family who could take him in, and Weaver says that he's "at the mercy of Social Services." Mitchell gets the brain wave that since Mr. Mellonston "talks like a vet," she could try to get him a bed at a VA hospital. Weaver says that would take days, and Mitchell says she knows a caseworker at North Chicago who might be able to pull some strings and get the case transferred today -- would Weaver like that? Hey, maybe if these two become friends, Mitchell will find out what else Weaver likes. Weaver tells Mitchell to try, if she thinks it'll do any good. Chen ambles over and asks if anyone's missing an old man looking for brass cleaner, since he just walked in on a pelvic exam. Uh. Ouch. I'm not even wild about seeing my doctor when I have a pelvic exam; I think if some old dude wandered in babbling about Inchon, I'd be too traumatized ever to have a pelvic exam again.
Weaver wanders the halls calling Mr. Mellonston's name, and passes the elevators just as Benton's getting off. He asks her to hold on; she says she thought he'd left them. He hopefully says that he "could be talked into" coming back to the ER. "As an attending?" she asks, and he suggests that he could be "a liaison to Surgery." Yeah. Because Romano, the Chief of Staff, is totally going to let you make up your own job. Not. He'll maybe give you a job making up beds. Weaver reminds him, "As a surgical resident, you went out of your way to take every procedure away from us." As they talk, she ducks in and out of various rooms looking for Mr. Mellonston. Benton argues, "If you had a surgeon teaching your residents, more procedures would stay here." "How would that work?" Weaver humours him, dryly. Benton says that he could expedite cases to the OR, and Weaver tells him they have surgical residents for that. Benton desperately offers, "I could do scheduling --" "God knows we could use the help," Weaver muses. "Kerry, hire me," Benton begs. Dude! Have some pride, for god's sack! She'll never respect you in the morning. Weaver reminds him of the thing I already said at the start of this paragraph: "Get Romano to pay for you, you've got yourself a job." Of course, Romano chooses this moment to cross their paths, overhears Weaver's last remark, and snips, "Trolling for work, Peter?" OH, BURN! Get a fire extinguisher and a wet blanket for DR. BURNTON.