Romano stalks up with the nurses' petition clutched in his good hand. "Did you sign this?" he asks. "No," Abby says. "Smart girl," he retorts. "Should have," she mutters. Romano orders Jerry to collect all the signees within five minutes, but Jerry busts them thoughtlessly: "They staged a walkout." Abby smacks Jerry behind Romano's back and covers, "No, they're on a break." Romano threatens to fire them, and Abby claims he can't, but he points out that he can do as he likes if they walk off the job in an effort to service Abby's storyline. I'm not sure how much of this is true, but it definitely seems like Romano's wielding more power over union employees than he realistically would, and that Abby's officially the least effectual Nurse Manager in history.
Abby trots off to find her fellow nurses. Frank spies Go-Go-Gadget Nurse-Axing Attachment and grins, "Hey, you got a hook! Suits you." Romano fumes, "Shut up."
Outside, Abby bumps into B.Y.O. Urine Sample; now he's toting a stool sample in a Ziploc bag. Horrified, Abby tells him to dispose of it, and runs off to find her colleagues. She's interrupted by a young kid tumbling out of a car, clutching at his profusely bleeding left side. "Somebody shot me," he sputters. Abby runs to him and lets him collapse against her. His name is Bobby. "It's okay, Bobby," she soothes him. "Don't let me die," he blubbers as she hugs him and yells for assistance. We fade to black wondering how long it will take those words to form a sandwich and force-feed themselves to Abby with a side of potato chips and a pickle wedge.
It's half-past midnight and I'm about to crack open a bottle of Diet Coke. I just thought I'd share. Incidentally, I'm also watching Bob Hoskins and Ralph Fiennes pay the rent by agreeing to star in Maid in Manhattan, and really, I have to wonder if both of them were drugged into signing their contracts.
Bobby is in the process of depositing the contents of his veins onto Trauma Green's floor. Pratt barges in to help. "He got dumped by a homeboy ambulance," Abby says, and I have to say, I like that turn of phrase a little. Okay, a lot. Shit. I need to bathe in lye immediately. Suddenly, Bobby passes out, just plain disgusted that he's going to give up his life in this dreary room but glad he drew this one instead of Trauma Yellow, which wouldn't flatter his coloring. "Bobby?" Abby yells. "No radial pulse!" Pratt orders her to page surgery. "Penetrating trauma with impending arrest," Abby notes. "You've gotta crack him." Pratt waves her off. Abby blinks. "I'm prepping the chest," she says firmly. Pratt's annoyed, but Susan enters just as a bunch of machines start to beep this scene into total incomprehensibility. Thank God I cracked this Diet Coke. "Abby, crash cart, now!" Pratt yells as she preps the chest. "What are you doing?" Susan asks. "Talk to Abby," Pratt snaps. "I'm just trying to put in a chest tube." Abby explains to Susan that Bobby was talking to her moments ago and now he's about to arrest. "Run the code," Susan says, as if any of us know what that means. "What are you going to do, Abby, crack him by yourself?" Susan adds. "Get Corday and order some more O-neg." She shoots Abby a pointed glare, and Abby frustratedly throws down whatever she was holding -- it looks like a rag -- to pick up the phone. Susan watches her and they swap glares. Pratt even gets in on the action. Everyone's good and stubborn today. I'm not entirely sure why no one addressed the thoracotomy issue, but I'm guessing -- and call me crazy, but I'm going to say it anyway -- that this might come up again later.