Connie's not used to this, she's used to having the upper hand, to having parents worship her the way all nurses are worshipped by those in need, or in pain. Just like Jackie is. The fact that they both speak the same language means they can't ever talk. "Your daughter has serious issues," she says, and Jackie loses the pleading tone, gets mad again: "Issues? What 'issues,' she has a personality. You guys! The minute they show even the slightest sign of being a little bit different, you want to write them a prescription."
Connie, absolutely at a loss and getting annoyed, is once again saved by the bell: a little boy appears, with a note and a fever. "Yeah, you better get him started on Prozac," Jackie bitches, and Connie flees, with a pissed-off "Have a nice day." To her retreating back, Jackie shouts, "I left a hemorrhaging ulcer to listen to your bullshit!" Another little boy, leaning against the wall, slowly turns his head to look at her, and she pulls it together impressively: "I can say that, you cannot."
Outside, she's ranting. "Buncha fucking idiots! That Nennerine guy... What the hell was that? I guarantee he's a hoarder." I don't know why, but that's the funniest thing. Like of all the things you diagnose a d-bag like that with, she immediately goes there. Hell, she's probably right. It is Jackie, after all. Kevin starts to explain that Skip's not the problem, and she jumps him: "So we have a problem? Do you think Grace should be on drugs?" This is who they are: she has the fire, and he keeps her safe and calm. "Jackie, they gave us their opinions. But we're the parents, we're gonna decide what's best for her." Jackie is stubborn and steadfast that there's nothing to decide, because there's not a problem; they both know better.
"Honestly, I'm not thrilled with the idea that she thinks planes are gonna fall from the sky if she doesn't do that thing around her desk." Jackie blows that one off, getting meaner, issuing instructions like it's the ER, as though that's the only place emergencies occur: "She watches too much news. You cannot let her sit at the bar all day and watch the TV..." He coughs. "Who was snoring last night while our daughter was watching World's Scariest Shit On Fire?"
HA! And not to mention, Jackie never turned the crock pot on, so when he was doing daytime daddy duty he had to deal with "a very stinky piece of pot roast." She sighs, he's done his job, she's thinking again. Maybe private school? Although the question there is, does she think the school is stressing Grace out, or is it that the school stresses her out? Private schools are great, because you can pay them to lie.