Alex and Izzie are trying to fix some charts they messed up the night before. Alex can't remember who any of the patients are, and Izzie gets impatient with him. She asks if he ever wakes up in the morning, realizes nobody likes him, and cares. Alex: "Oh, I think somebody likes me." Haaa! Alex really is Dirty Uncle Sal.
Cristina runs into Burke in the stairwell, and he completely ignores her. She's like, "What, you don't speak now that you're chief?" Burke asks her what the hell she wants: she won't go out to dinner, she won't meet him in the on-call room, and she sure won't talk to him. "I don't even have your home phone number! So tell me, what do you want?" Cristina, flustered, screams that she doesn't know. Burke gets close, kisses her hard, and says, "Figure it out." Yes, do, or I will for you. Pan up the stairwell, and George the Sponge is standing there, absorbing it all.
Of course, when he reports back to Webber, he says there's nothing to report -- it's been very quiet all day long. Webber can't believe there's no gossip, nothing new, or anything. George: "You know, not in the halls, or the OR. Not in the stairwells. Especially...you know? They're just stairwells." Aw.
Alex checks in on Joe the Bartender, who begs Alex to get him out of here and get him transferred to County or something. Alex says he doesn't want to go there, they'll kill him. Joe says he can't afford this place, and he's going to lose the bar. Alex assures them they can worry about that after they save his life. Joe: "The bar is my life, man. I'm gonna have to shut it down, or sell it." George, who has clearly figured out how to be in ten different places at once, sponges and looks concerned.