A harried-looking Jack is begging Chrissy, an Oceanic Airlines ticket agent, to let him bring his father's body back to the United States. He shouts, which catches the attention of other passengers, including a skeptical-looking Jin. Jack launches into the kind of impassioned speech that ticket agents at real airlines are specially trained to ignore, telling Chrissy that he needs to get his father's body back to the United States, and straight to a cemetery, right away, because he needs it to be done. Seriously, that's what he says. "I need it to be done. I need it to be over." Well, lemme tell ya, buddy, these kinds of passionate pleas don't make the average ticket agent lift an eyebrow. And I say this as someone who went to the airport with his wife for their honeymoon only to find out that the first of their flights was canceled, the second was going to leave without them, and no, they would not be offered any kind of refund, thanks for asking. "I need to bury my father," FlashJack finishes, and now we're back in the jungle, where a bedraggled Jack cries over the casket at the melodramatic turn his life has taken. He pulls the casket out of the pile of wreckage, places his torch in a handy nearby torch-holder, and opens the coffin, .-- .... .. -.-. .... / .. ... / . -- .--. - -.--. In a fury, Jack begins hammering at the coffin with a metal pipe or a baseball bat or something that happened to be sitting nearby. Jack, what are you doing! That's the nicest bed on the island! ["So I'm not the only one who thought that. Phew." -- Sars]
"A sexy pajama party gets too hot to handle! Next, on The Bachelor!" Wow, nice segue to the commercials there, ABC.
Midsection Beach. In the darkness, perfectly manicured hands set several water bottles down, then pour some water into Claire's mouth. It's Boone, God's Friggin' Gift to Humanity, who has stolen the water, he tries to explain to an angry mob, for safekeeping since Jack just left. Boone, God's Friggin' Gift to Humanity is rescued just in time by Jack, who arrives outta the jungle in a flourish of pounding drums. Jack has been rehearsing a speech since he beat up that casket, and let's be kind and just say it ain't exactly St. Crispin's Day. "It's been six days," he says, "and we're all still waiting. Waiting for someone to come. But what if they don't? We have to stop waiting. We need to start figuring things out. A woman died this morning just going for a swim. And [Boone, God's Friggin' Gift to Humanity] tried to save her, and now you're about to crucify him? We can't do this. Every man for himself is not gonna work. It's time to start organizing. We need to figure out how we're gonna survive here. Now, I found water. Fresh water, up in the valley. I'll take a group in at first light. Now if you don't want to come, find another way to contribute. Last week, most of us were strangers. But we're all here now. And God knows how long we're gonna be here. But if we can't live together, we're gonna die alone." There's a silence, and then someone asks, "How many monkey butlers will there be?" "One at first," replies Jack, "but he'll train others."