ER
Lockdown

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Lockdown

The ambulance bay is a complete hectic mess. First up is Marge, a school bus driver. Marge is, as you might expect, large. It would seem we have some Pee-wee Herman fans on the ER writing staff. Marge was "altered" at the accident scene, but can breathe normally. Luka takes Large Marge and says that Carter should grab the next patient. "She might have a subdural hematoma," Carter frets. "The next one might be worse," Luka notes. Carter nods and moves on to Colin, who was in the car that the bus hit; he has a two-inch scalp laceration and he broke the steering wheel with his chest. Wuh? Can a torso do that? He must have a sweet-ass muscular chest. "Was he driving a Matchbox?" gapes Pratt, there to assist. "Worse," the paramedic snorts. "A Gremlin." Pratt whisks him off to Trauma Two as Carter yells for him to corral Susan. Our third patient is an old man whose arm was fractured in the crash. "How am I supposed to play the slots now?" he cranks. "Use the other arm," Carter advises. And finally, an Asian woman arrives with a cut on her face from flying glass. Her name is Lenore. "How old is she?" Carter asks. Lenore answers in fluent Mandarin, and Chen translates: "It's rude to ask a woman's age." Carter is self-satisfied when he notices that the ambulance bay is empty. "That might be it," he grins. The Jinx Fairy dances on Mark's grave. Sirens wail. "Or not," sighs Carter.

Abby staggers up to Reception with a mile-high stack of paperwork. They're her script notes; John Wells instructed her to take her feedback and ram it where the sun don't shine, so she's off to bury it next to Mark. She impatiently asks Jerry whether he's yanked the nurses from their class yet so they can help with the workload. "I would, but they're all on a break," he shrugs. She's frenzied. "Get clerks or something," she orders. "We're dying down here!" She passes a horde of patients she's too harried to help, including Alison and Chandler, and an old woman whose colostomy bag is leaking and probably dribbling excrement all over the hospital floor. Very sexy. A visual and aromatic cocktail of bliss. Finally, Abby passes a distraught mother and father with two feverish children. "Someone will see them as soon as we can," Abby promises. "Okay, we were here first," he calls after her, worried.

Marge, ever large, is in Trauma Yellow. Luka figures she is fine in addition to being robustly large, so Susan continues into Trauma Green, where Pratt is treating Colin. Pratt's making the paramedic do what a nurse usually would, since they're enduring The Great Nursing Shortfall of Aught-Two because the show blew its budget on rubber babies and miles of Bounty paper towels. Susan rattles off a list of tests to order up. "The nurses usually call," Pratt shrugs. "I don't know the number." He acts like this is no big deal, and that the tests will find a way to magically order themselves, just like my foot will find a way to magically insert itself in his...OW! Stupid TV screen. Susan snaps that Pratt might find success by checking the phone list. She then finds a pelvic fracture and yells out more instructions while Pratt balances the phone with his other work. Pratt Ralph-Wiggums, "The chem panel goes in the red top, or the green top? And which one's 'oral'?" Susan begs an incoming Abby for help. Pratt is indignant, because Abby is not just a nurse, but a female, and therefore belongs in a kitchen with her shoes off and a bun in both ovens. Susan placates Pratt by sending him to see if Luka needs help.

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