Carter evaluates a young patient while the peanut gallery watches eagerly. They fire question after question at him, most of which involve words ending in "itis" and a lot of "ph" and "b" sounds. This peanut gallery is well-read and overexcited. "I've never done a rectal," says one we'll call Salted, with a hopeful smile. Carter sighs and hands a case each to three pairs of peanuts and tells them to present the case to him shortly. Honey-Roasted raises his hand, but Carter declares a moratorium on questions from anyone in spectacles. The patient watches them roll away, relieved. "They were giving me a headache," the patient comments. "Me, too," Carter mutters.
Turning away, Carter sees Pratt and hands him an envelope. He's got one for Gallant, too. "Match day!" Gallant grins. "I thought you matched here already." Pratt shares that it was just a one-year transitional thing. Gallant tears open his envelope and crows that he's been matched to County. Pratt offers condolences, but Gallant apparently requested it. Maybe he gets off on Romano's tyranny. Maybe it feels like boot camp to him. Carter passes again and congratulates his charge on the match. Pratt rubs his envelope on his forehead. "Talk to me, baby. Talk to me, baby," he murmurs, opening it. His face breaks into a wide grin. He begins to laugh. "I got Northwestern. I'm going uptown, baby!" he cheers. Then he starts bowing to no one in particular and doing a little victory jig. Weaver walks by and dumps a chart in his hand. "What's this?" he protests. "LOL with phlebitis," she says. There they are again, the "ph" and the "b" sounds. If you are my doctor and you want to scare me, diagnose me with something that has a lot of those consonants in it, and as few vowels as possible. Pratt complains, but Weaver casually points out that if he has time to boogie, he's got time for phlebitis.
Elizabeth wheels Mac out of the trauma room and gripes that she sure hopes his brain will survive the lack of perfusion. Man, me too. Gosh. I really do. Now, what is that again? Presumably Mac lost oxygen to the noggin, and if that's not right, well, it doesn't matter that much. Abby ditches them and rushes to the desk to ask Frank whether her brother has called. "I thought he disappeared," Frank blinks. I love that Frank is on top of all this stuff. Abby bites her tongue, takes a deep breath, and then asks where Jerry is. "Break," Frank replies. The phone rings and Frank answers. "That him?" Abby asks breathlessly. "Nope," Frank says glibly.