Clare brags to Lynne about her success, and how she presented the lawyer with twelve cases holding that accidental touchings count as battery. She lugs around huge files because she is knowledgeable and important. She babbles on and on about how many different legal loopholes she could use. "We're going to get an offer, I'm going to get a good result, and those power-dicks are going to have to start giving me trials!" she rejoices. Lynne's face falls; Jeannie turns, and surprise, there's Meredith, ironically the dickiest of the power-dicks. These girls went to law school, yet they can't shut their yaps in the office. Nice. No wonder people treat them like particularly stupid heaps of dirt. "Is that what you call us? 'Power-dicks'?" Meredith wonders coldly. "Do I have a nickname?" Clare contemplates lying, until Meredith notes that she probably already knows, so if Clare lies, she's just as busted. Clare admits that they call her The Praying Mantis. Meredith's expression remains stony. "I see the way you look at me," she growls. "The look like, 'We'll never become like her.' Do you tell yourselves that?" The girls are silent. Clare tries to look charmingly terrified, but it reads more like she's trying to decide what to wear. "Here's a tip," Meredith offers. "The women who survive here? This is the picture." Clare looks terrified. She would rather die than get a power perm.
Randa orders Sarah to do a bunch of menial tasks to help her argue the motion. Sarah gripes that she's second chair, not some lowly law clerk. "Meredith told you to give me what I need," Randa blinks. "If it's a problem I can ask Meredith to assign additional help." Sarah should shut up and try to score points. Instead, she acts irate. Randa snottily points out that it's not her fault Sarah's a clunky writer, and that she should really see somebody about her anger issues. "My anger?" Sarah sputters. "First, you sabotage my portion of the brief..." Randa snorts that she shouldn't pass the buck. "I think it's your own mediocrity that makes you hostile," Randa offers. Hey, I kind of like Randa. She's got a point. Sarah doesn't take well to criticism, even when she's being a whiny freak, so she continues her ranting. "What makes me hostile is, this client was my first. To have it taken away from me, handed to another associate -- an associate who schemed it from me...All of this contributes more to my hostility than either my clunky writing or you being a total dyke." Heads turn. The room falls silent. Randa's face is a steel mask. "Oh my God," Sarah shouts. "I'm so sorry. I love homosexuals. Not that I'm saying you're one, I'm just...I'm...oh my God." She eats her lip. Randa glares at her and leaves, while other people glare at her and don't leave. Sarah is left alone, looking like a complete ignorant jackass, which she probably is.