A square-looking older man trots briskly up to Weaver and introduces himself as Arnie, a human resources consultant. Arnie is the kind of guy who wears suspenders and a belt, irons his socks, eats the same meals each night of the week, and wears garters that keep his socks pulled up and his shirt tucked in firmly. Arnie, in short, is what I imagine Milhouse might grow up to become. ["Old Larry has come a long way from his days at the Regal Beagle, to be sure." -- Wing Chun] Weaver exposits for Abby that Arnie's advising them on ways to ensure a happy and cooperative workplace. "Shorter hours and higher pay," Abby cracks. Arnie, however, doesn't understand jokes. His underwear is set on perma-wad. Abby waves off that she was just making a suggestion, and Arnie brightly assures her that he is very open to suggestions, and will be interviewing them all. Just then, his cell phone rings, and the tune is the Can-Can, because he read once in a motivational book that if you are hopelessly boring, your appliances should always strive to be more interesting than you are. Susan passes and rolls her eyes, because that's what her direction always seems to be when she enters an episode for the first time. Weaver tells her that Arnie's there because Risk Management sent him as part of "the Romano lawsuit." Susan asks, "Which one?" Interesting that this is the first anyone's heard of these. Weaver tells her it's a hostile work environment suit. Arnie happily shares that his job is to identify high-risk behaviors and implement early solutions, or somesuch business/consultancy babble that translates to "I get paid huge sums of money to recommend things that probably won't work to fix problems that have already happened." Arnie doesn't want things to get violent. "Have you ever been in an ER before?" Frank asks, voice dripping with disdain. Undeterred, and in love with corporate language since that self-help guru lit the Bunsen Burner within, Arnie delivers an impassioned speech about "navigating the twin dangers of anger and conflict," clenching his fists and bumping them together for effect. He twiddles his eyebrows. "You've got 'em now, Arnie," he thinks. "Thank God for the Learning Annex."
Malarkey dumps a dish of French fries onto Sam's desk at triage, and carelessly squirts ketchup all over them and on her paperwork. "I'm going to kill you," she says, irritated, but also in a matter-of-fact tone that I find extremely pleasant given the subject matter. "Sorry," he shrugs, offering her some fries. She ignores him, and of course, Malarkey promptly begins choking. He bangs on the table and then knocks stuff off it to get her attention. She turns to him, sees that he's choking, and gets up to help, banging him on the back with relish. Then she turns him toward the glass so that he's facing the camera, and thoughtfully pushes the "Heimlich: Puree" button on the vomit comet remote control that NBC installed in her scrubs. The French fry shoots straight out of his mouth -- wee starch bullets aimed at us point-blank -- and splats all over the glass. Lest anyone wonder what TPTB thinks of its audience, here is the answer: Malarkey has thrown up all over us. "Idiot," Sam spits, sitting back down. Malarkey thanks her and shovels another fry into his mouth as Arnie watches, alarmed; we smash into the credits as the partially chewed bits of potato ooze down the uncleaned window to form the words, "Orman Rocks."