Peggy enters the conference room and greets "Michael Ginsberg," whose good looks are marred by unkempt, spiky hair and a plaid sports jacket of the type I've only ever seen Rodney Dangerfield and Don Rickles attempt. And that's apt, as the guy is only a joke or two away from being a walking Catskills routine, speaking to Peggy in a volume that would be appropriate for one of your larger comedy clubs with a certain Jewish Noo Yawk accent to boot. Peggy tries to keep her smile intact in the face of this bullshit, but Michael keeps going on about Don and how he can't wait to meet Don and what's Don like and will Don be stopping by, despite Peggy's clear statement that he's got to get through her first. When he does some shticky thing involving pulling his résumé from his sleeve and claiming, I think, that he's related to Allan Ginsberg, Peggy's like, thanks for stopping by, but Michael at least has probably heard this tone enough to know that the wind has just turned cold. So he changes his tune (if not his volume) saying advertising isn't his day job yet, but he's got no hobbies, interests, family or friends, so if hired, he'll live at work. Peggy: "Then you're like everyone else." Hee. Michael gets off a good reply by offhandedly saying he's never been accused of that, but he adds that he's really trying. Peggy softens, but tells him he can't act like he just did with Don. Michael: "Like what?" Peggy stares uncomprehendingly, trying to penetrate that simple question's delicious ambiguity, but eventually gives up and tells him she'll call him. He does pop up to get the door for her, but then compares his work to Mein Kampf. I have the feeling I'm going to be telling you not to ask in regard to a lot of things that come out of this kid's mouth.
At lunch, Betty is already on her gallows-humor game, as she offers that she's got "the only kind that makes you fatter." Joyce tells her she's sure she's fine and asks when the test results are due, to which Betty chuckles mirthlessly that she doesn't remember. Betty asks Joyce if she's told her children and she says no, adding that she kind-of-jokes with Hank that he should just tell the kids she got hit by a car. "It'd be easier than saying goodbye." Betty's deeply affected and admits that she'd be leaving behind a big mess -- Henry's mother is domineering and Don's wife is only "twenty" (she's actually twenty-six, but her point is taken). Referring to the kids, she opines, "They'll never hear a nice word about me again." Consistent, if maddening. Betty then says she has to ask -- what is it like, knowing death is so near? Joyce considers that for a long moment and then tells her it's like being way out in the ocean, alone and trying to stay afloat and you see people on the shore, but they get farther and farther away. And you struggle to stay afloat, because it's natural, but soon you get tired and give in "and hope you go straight down." Betty thinks that's horrible, probably because it is, but Joyce casually adds that no one's ever asked, which is pretty horrible too when you think of it. A woman dressed in fortune-teller garb then greets them and offers them a reading and this looks like a pretty upscale place to allow its patrons to be accosted by random people peddling such services, but perhaps to lighten things up, Joyce encourages Betty to have her tea leaves read. The woman takes a look and tells Betty she's a "great soul," and she means so much to the people around her. "You're a rock." Okay, it may be rude to laugh when these words send Betty into tears, but I can only defend her so far. The woman looks taken aback, but Joyce pays her and sends her on her way before kindly pouring Betty more tea. I just hope Betty at least remembers to attend the funeral.