Isabel is overwhelmingly underwhelmed by the news, but Jesse is soon to pile on, "They need someone to take over their litigation department." Isabel gets it, cutting right to the bacon and the bringing home of it: "So, what does it pay?" And now, for a case of monetary misunderstanding hijinks, when Jesse responds, "Three-fifty to start." Isabel launches into a mini-tirade about the impossibility of "living on three-fifty a week, especially in that city." What is she, retarded? Has she never opened a bill before? Doesn't she know that Watkins alone makes that in an hour? And he's, like, the Steven Stills of the group, my friend said. Jesse clarifies that the salary is "three hundred and fifty thousand a year," and then Isabel is happy, because money makes you happy, particularly if you can share it with someone you love who's making it all for you so you don't have to work. Jesse asks if that means they're going, and Isabel joyfully responds, "Probably!" Oh. They hug again and again so that no one has to talk about the truth.
Maria "The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Thin" DeLuca follows Liz around the Crashdown, asking her, "So you're clairvoyant now?" Everyone's working, and as Maria asks, "So do you think you can tell me what's gonna happen between me and Spaceboy?" they approach the grill, where a sweaty Michael "Pee Pee Diddy" Guerin throws down some plates and ignores his two sweet, sweet bitches. They pick up their orders and head in opposite directions, Maria to solo recording artist obscurity, Liz to the counter, where Kyle "The Little Engine That Could" Valenti sits in his big-boy shop-class clothes and sulks. Odd banter ensues about Kyle "flushing septic lines for a 1975 RV," but quickly gives way to some far more white-collar concerns when Geoff "Slackjaw" Parker appears with all manner of gravitas in the dining room, holding a thin envelope and announcing, "It's from Northwestern University." Not to be confused with "Northwestern Amusement Park" or "Northwestern Planned Parenthood Clinic" or something. Kyle baits, "An acceptance letter?" Without looking away from the envelope, Liz clarifies, "Or a ding letter." Wait. A what? Is that really a thing? I've never heard of it. And I went to college once also. To hammer home the reference no one gets if "no one" means "at least me," a bell rings from the grill, and Michael indicates a basket of fries. Wait. I have no idea what's going on right now. Let's get back to Liz and her discovery regarding NotHarvard. She takes the envelope from Slackjaw's hand, and as she touches it, she sees the words "accepted for enrollment" flash in her mind. She celebrates, "I've been accepted," and Slackjaw is all "I have no faith in you" with his reply, "You haven't even opened it yet." She opens it. She got in. Hugs are exchanged with all who don't secretly hate her, while Maria looks on in horror and Kyle murmurs the aside, "I gotta do something with my life." Don't worry, Kyle. Imagine how surprised Northwestern will be to find out that one of their acceptance letters made it to New Mexico about five weeks following the promised notification date of April 15. Maybe she really did get accepted to Northwestern Amusement Park after all.