Anyway, there's hit-while-riding-bike guy, coming in from the ambulance bay. He yells at whomever may be near his head to call his wife, since she's expecting him. It's hard to tell where, on the gurney, man ends and bike begins; the whole works are snarled up, and...oh, thank you so much, the pointy metal sprocket to which the pedal is attached is embedded deep in the guy's knee. Wow. Lisa and Luka shepherd him toward the door; Lisa jogs back toward the rig to fetch something when Sally appears in the ambulance bay, carrying her suitcases and calling Lisa's name. At least she's wearing Lisa's coat. Lisa doesn't even greet her, really (and doesn't, it must be said, register much surprise to see Sally not at all on the bus back to Florida), and spits, "What are you doing here," less as a question and more as an expression of defeat. Luka calls for Lisa to catch up, and Sally trots in after her on her stupid, inadequate mules.
Inside, Lisa jogs along with Bike Guy's bed and calls over her shoulder that Sally should ask at the desk for some dry clothes, and then wait in chairs. Luka continues calling out Bike Guy's vitals, as Sally screeches, "I tried to get on the bus. I can't leave you, Abby! Abby!" They team blows into the trauma room; Lisa is last in, competently calling for someone to get a hacksaw from Maintenance. Sally watches, agog, from the hall. Yeah, Sally? Lisa may need help, but she doesn't need it from you; to me, she looks like she's got things well under control.
Carter sutures his hand-lac patient. The patient is an indigent gentleman with brown liquor stains down the front of his shirt; he is played by Anthony Lee, the actor who was shot dead this year at a Hallowe'en party by overzealous LAPD cops, when Lee, in jest, pointed a toy gun at one of them. And, to be frank, that story is so fucked up and sad and horrible that I can't even make a joke about it. ["How about this -- it's an LAPD/NYPD sweeps crossover event? Oh, wait. That's not funny either." -- Sars] Carter sutures, and The Late Anthony Lee complains that "it smarts like a son-of-a-bitch." Carter exposits that he already gave The Late Anthony Lee some lidocaine, but offers to give him some more; The Late Anthony Lee gratefully accepts, and repeats that "it hurts like hell," as does his knee. Carter asks what's up with his knee, and The Late Anthony Lee explains, "I twisted it when I fell off the curb; dropped my turkey, cut my hand." Carter expresses some disbelief that The Late Anthony Lee cut himself on some turkey, and The Late Anthony Lee explains, "Wild Turkey. I was drinking it on account of it's Thanksgiving." Carter curtly makes some stupid remark vis-à-vis the pilgrims and Wild Turkey, like, shut up, Paris Pill-ton, and The Late Anthony Lee asks Carter to give him something for the pain in his knee. Conni, standing by, smoothly asks, "What would you like this time -- Percocet or Demerol?" The Late Anthony Lee says that he's allergic to Demerol, and Conni tells Carter that this is The Late Anthony Lee's third visit, complaining of pain, to the ER this week. Carter raises his eyebrows and exhales a supremely judgmental "reeeeeeeeally?" He ingenuously adds that he didn't realize it was that serious, and offers to refer The Late Anthony Lee to a clinic to help him manage his pain. The Late Anthony Lee grouses that he doesn't need a clinic; he needs something for his pain. Carter snorts that he'll get The Late Anthony Lee some x-rays, and then give him some Motrin. He takes entirely too much pleasure in the word "Motrin," punching it as if he's offering to send The Late Anthony Lee to Motown. Carter gets up and The Late Anthony Lee asks, horrified (or, at least, as horrified as a rather drunk gentleman can muster), "You think I'm an addict?" Carter snips back, "I think you have a problem with drug dependency." "What do you know about my pain?" asks The Late Anthony Lee, which is a fair question, since all he said was that it hurts, and Carter didn't ask what kind of pain, for how long, blah bling blah. Basically, this case has all the same warning signs of the time that migraine patient came in begging for Demerol and didn't get it, or the time the woman came in freaking out and Mark thought she was a crackhead and she wasn't...so I think we all see where this is going.