A guy in a wheelchair chases Carter down the hall, claiming chronic pancreatitis and that he's puking up his pain pills. "Let me guess: You need a shot of Demerol," Carter yawns. "If you say so, just do it fast," the man begs. Carter's like, Yeah, whatever, you're interrupting my daily mosey. He then moves on to Gallant, who exposits that the Buddhist nun had a mastectomy and radiation chemotherapy, but her surgeon's in Japan and she's not doing so well. Carter then gets a warning that a gunshot victim is ten minutes out; he disappears into the nun's room, perhaps for a breather from the barrage of exposition.
The nun is with her...um, personal assistant? Nun handler? Nun-ette? Not sure. Regardess, her name is Kito, and the nun is called The Venerable Zuin-an. She is bald and weak, and moaning lightly. Carter gently asks if she's comfortable with him giving her a physical exam. Kito translates that Zuin-an is fine with it; she then exposits that the nun is in terrible pain and hasn't had anything to drink in two days. No Diet Coke? No wonder. I'd be bedridden, too. Zuin-an reaches a trembling hand up to Carter's cheek, cupping it weakly. She murmurs something in Japanese. "So much sadness," translates Kito. Carter appears surprised by this diagnosis, as if he hadn't noticed his constant hang-dog expression and general malaise.
With a whoosh, we're transported to the night shift. It's 8:39 PM, according to the Graphic of Oh Shit, Do You Think We'll Blow Our Graphics Budget Before The Commercial? Flames pour out of Doc Magoo's, while the County staff watches with a glee that doesn't jibe with their previous reliance on the place, much less their grief at the owner's demise. Pratt might as well be doing a jig. "Whoa, somebody overcooked their burger," he jokes idiotically. "That's a first," Jerry giggles. Shut up. The place has been boarded up. Why is it on fire? Susan wonders if it's an electrical problem, which makes sense. Chuny offers up the pointless detail that she's been brown-bagging it since Magoo's closed. Thanks, Chuny. That matters a lot to absolutely nobody. Pratt whines to Susan that he wants her to declare this an internal disaster so that they can be sent home for the night. She chuckles that she wouldn't dream of depriving him of his last shift. Since when can the hospital just close and send everyone home? Do they chuck the patients?
The peanut gallery, grinning incomprehensibly, continues to roast itself by the light of the burning Magoo's. Abby storms out in a foul mood, ignores Susan, and yells at a smoking patient who has a bleeding ulcer. He won't put out his cigarette. "Fine, smoke the whole pack. I'll be inside. Come and find me when you start vomiting blood," she crabs, stomping back into the hospital. "Hey, Abby, Magoo's is on fire," Susan sing-songs annoyingly. "Yeah, I can see that," Abby snaps. What the hell is with these people? Why is Susan twelve? Is Chuck the key to liking her? I have lived my life never having to depend on Donal Logue for anything, and now here I am, mentally begging him to come back. Who would've thought.