Class is in session at...Chilton? Rory is sitting in class listening to her teacher talk about Roosevelt when Headmaster Charleston comes in and has a whisper with the teacher. "Rory Gilmore," Teach says, "there's been a mistake. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Dun dun duuuuuuuh! Rory stumbles, confused, out the classroom door and straight into...the foyer of the CrapShack. "Mom, I've had the most awful day," she says to Lorelai, who is skipping down the stairs, luggage in hand. Thing is, Lorelai doesn't have time to listen -- she's off to Hawaii, doesn't know when she'll be back. "I need a break, kid," she says. "Take it easy; try not to kill any plants." Totally discombobulated, Rory wanders into the kitchen, where she hears plates and silver clinking. Sure, because it's Paris and Doyle and their precious children, eating dinner and sighing about how they're really not looking forward to having Salman Rushdie over for dinner. "Is he bringing that boring wife of his?" Paris asks. Doyle: "Padma is fine," Doyle says, and while he means that she's a perfectly acceptable dinner guest, I must point out that the other definition of "fine" applies as well. "Cookbooks, Doyle," Paris snarks. "Her husband wrote The Satanic Verses and all you want to talk about is cookbooks." Doyle shrugs: "I like Top Chef."
As the tiny Gellar-Doyles chow down, their parents bemoan their difficult careers. While Paris hopes that she gets called to the hospital for a heart transplant to avoid boring ol' Mrs. Rushdie, Doyle points out the drawbacks to being the executive editor of The Washington Post. "I finally had to fire Broder," he says. "He knew it was coming, but still." Rory stands in awe of the whole scene -- not least because she sees the fridge pictures of Paris with Bono and Hillary Clinton. So awesome. Suddenly, the successful family notices she's in the room. "Hi, Rory," Paris says, tentative. "What are you doing here?" Rory says that this is her house. "Oh, Rory, we've been through this," Paris says. "It'll always be your house in your heart, but we own it now." Doyle sweetly asks if Rory needs money. "You better get going!" they tell her. "You don't want to be late...for work!" Both of them, to her horror, hand over the implements of her old job: trash picker. In a cold sweat, she finally wakes up from this bad dream, with a pretty significant nightmare-hangover.