Okay, when they said "riot," they weren't kidding. Stretchers pour in bearing football players, cheerleaders, a mascot in a Viking costume, and even one unfortunate tromboner. As the action swirls around him, B.B. sits in the hall with his wife's corpse, clutching his sad little baggie of meds to his chest. Mark wheels into a trauma room with the mascot (named Mitch), and sees that Mike is still there, with Elizabeth. As Mike and Mitch shoot the shit, Mark tells Elizabeth he thought she'd be operating. She growls, "They're backed up; half the rooms are empty, but filthy because of this custodial work stoppage." Custodial -- what? Work stoppage? Is there a strike, or something? Wait, we got that. We did. Look, let me use these wads of wet toilet paper to spell out "WE GET IT" on the sodden men's room floor, and prove it. As they prepare to wheel out the Viking, Mike asks, "Who won?" "Nobody," answers Mitch. See? What they did there? When you riot at a high-school football game, nobody wins. Mark asks how soon Elizabeth might be able to get an OR, and she says the nurses are cleaning one now (and they must just love that), but there's another, more critical patient in the queue ahead of Mike, and that she'd planned to do a pericardiocentesis right where they are. "All this so that housekeeping doesn't get an extra dollar an hour," Mark growls, as if he's all friend of the working man and wasn't totally dissing the strike earlier. Much earlier. Around 1 AM when I recapped that scene. Sigh. Mike asks whether they're saying that he doesn't need an operation anymore, and Mark explains that it means he'll have to wait a little longer.