Chuny enters Sally's trauma room mid-charcoal. Lisa works the ventilator. Luka tells her, "Antihistamine overdose can give you myocardial pump failure." Lisa nods, and hangs a bag on a pole. Haleh asks Lisa whether Sally had sleeping pills with her. Carter looks from Haleh to Lisa. Lisa looks back at Haleh. Luka stares at Lisa. Lisa doesn't answer, but asks for another bag of something. Haleh presses Lisa, "Where did she get them?" Lisa seems to be making a point not to look Haleh in the eye. Carter blocks for Lisa, yelling for someone to get x-ray. Sally starts seizing. Luka calls for Ativan. Lisa helps Carter to keep Sally's head still, and cries. Luka luxuriates in the warm bath of his complete rightness.
In the next room, Adam's in the process of dying. Basically. Frank opens the door for Brad, who's now on crutches. Benton sighs, "Not you again." Brad says that "Adam's pledging Upsilon Psi Lambda," and that Brad's his "little brother." Benton asks how much Brad made Adam drink. Brad snots that Adam drank on his own. Benton yells, "How much did you make him drink?!" Brad replies, "Thirty-five tequila shots, maybe forty." Holy shit. Finch shocks him again, and Adam goes asystole. Finch gets the results of Adam's tox screen and says it's negative for "marijuana, cocaine, opiates." Brad righteously says that "Adam wouldn't touch drugs." Because, as we all know, thirty-five tequila shots are a benign enough beverage to serve a child at a church picnic. They seem to be wrapping things up, so Brad demands, "Aren't you going to shock him again?" Finch informs him, "You can't shock a flatline!" Brad's all, "You only shocked him once!" Benton barks, "We've been shocking him for forty minutes!" Brad's all, "D'oh." Benton calls the time of death. Brad, like Adam, must hail from the same part of Pennsylvania Amish country Adam did, because he, too, has never seen a TV show or movie and doesn't know what that steady "beeeeeeeeeep" sound means, and begs, "You've gotta help him!" Finch tells him that Adam's heart has been deprived of oxygen too long: "He's gone." Benton throws down his gloves, and then picks up a cloth, moving toward Adam's face. Then he pauses and throws the cloth to Brad instead, ordering him, "Clean him up." Brad's all, "Huh?" Benton slowly walks toward him, menacing, "You and your friends -- you wrote this on him. Right?" Brad says it was just a joke. Benton husks, "I hope you got a good laugh out of it." Brad insists, "I didn't know this was going to happen." Benton says that Brad was Adam's big brother, and should have looked out for him. Brad starts to protest that Adam drank voluntarily, but Benton's all, "Save it for the judge," and tells him again to clean Adam up. See, this is why I'm glad I went to a university where single-sex clubs -- of any kind -- were expressly prohibited in the school charter. I refuse to believe that frats and sororities enrich students' lives; rather, it has been my experience that they serve only to create a means to stratify students along completely artificial class lines -- not only that, but the kind of people who would want to be in contemporary frats and sororities are exactly the sort of people who should be encouraged, when they are in an institution of (ostensibly) higher learning with some kind of academic baseline, to mix with students who are different from them and learn that not everyone in the world is a Muffy or a Reed who likes to plagiarize their papers and drink thirty-five tequila shots. Instead, frats and sororities ensure that the same types of exclusive, cliquey, lazy, snobbish, rich, boring, self-congratulatory fucking assholes only hang with each other and dream up new ways to victimize those who aren't exactly like themselves. And don't bother emailing me to say that your sorority did a lot of good work at a senior citizens' home or that you and your brothers taught inner-city kids how to read, because that is not even in the same hemisphere as the reason you pledged. You pledged because you wanted to have concrete proof that you were among the cool kids, and that they were required to be your friends. Gross. Yes, I realize that not every unsuccessful pledge ends up dead of alcohol poisoning with "LOSER" written across his forehead in shit, and that the moronicism of frats and sororities was exaggerated for dramatic purposes here. I'm just saying it wasn't really exaggerated all that much. And...you know. It's gross.