Fade in on Liz "Deeper Than Desert Puddles" Parker, fighting her way through another opening journal monologue in which the words "the world just sings to you" make their metaphorically-challenged debut. On shift at the Crashdown and smiling wanly (in a bold emotional shift probably connoted in the stage directions as "laughing heartily"), Liz lustily cleans something called the "milkshake machine." Obviously still in the throes of passion from her sweeps-culminating power smooch with Max Evans, Liz’s levity is soon to be juxtaposed against Maria’s gruff cynicism. "God, this day just sucks," Maria moans, driving home an essential truism we can thank the WB for disseminating through its impressionable teenage contingency: the one where life’s only good when you’re gettin’ some. And speaking of other-worldlies last seen gracing the cover of The Nothing-To-Write-Home-About-Much-Less-Ba se-A-Whole-Series-On Tribune, Michael "Clean Clothes Are For Suckers" Gerrin and Max "I Fell To Earth From The" Evans stride in on cue. Max sees Liz. Liz sees Max. General doe-eyed gazing ensues. Breaking the reverie but somehow maintaining the fluorescent light-esque hum of stagnancy already firmly in place (and they say a week off can cause a show’s rhythm to falter. Oh, wait, dirges don’t have rhythms), Michael asks Max why they have to be at the Crashdown anyway. Hmmm. Maybe because it’s the only food establishment set they’ve finished building on the minuscule Roswell lot? Michael, have you taken a look at this show’s budget lately? Let’s wait and see if it gets renewed and then we’ll talk about finding a place where these poor kids can finally order a meal with some actual nutritional value. That’s a season-two project. If they can somehow manage to get into a contract renewal without dying of scurvy.
Max, taking on the entirely original and never trite role of good guy, responds, "I thought maybe you’d want to see Maria." Back at the counter, Liz makes like a good Stepford Alien Girlfriend and dispenses a beverage while cooing, "Max likes Cherry Cola. What does Michael like?" Maria lazily tosses her hair and shoots back one of her patented spiked retorts: "Blow jobs and respecting a girl in the morning. Why do you think it’s over?" Or maybe she says something completely different. Let’s play a round of Make Believe The Show Got Fun. Which, of course, means sacrificing every line of actual dialogue. Let’s try another one: "Oh, look. The Mother Ship is here. I guess we won’t be bothering you all with of our petty little grievances and poorly constructed winks to the word ‘alienation.’ Instead, we’ll go back to our home planet and thank our earthbound friends for their hospitality with the heavenly gift of a continuous loop of Eight is Enough syndicated reruns appearing evermore in this time slot. Why should Pax TV have all the fun? They shouldn’t, should they? Goodbye!" Goodbye.
Walking toward the table as Michael brings Max up to speed on the break-up, Maria is appropriately curt to Michael when she and Liz approach with aforementioned sodas. Liz informs Max that his cherry cola is "on the house" which allows for Maria’s bland follow-up, "Yours is a dollar twenty-five." Easily embarrassed, Michael attempts to flee, rising quickly and knocking over at least one dollar and twenty-five cents worth of the oft-discussed carbonated drink. Glasses a-flying. Books a-tumbling. Michael picks up a notebook of Max’s, opening it to find a sheet of foreign symbols and drawings. "What is this? I know this," he threatens, mad because he wasn’t disciplined enough to collect the required amount of UPC symbols for the Kellogg’s Secret Decoder Ring. Max tells him to stay quiet, but Michael further accuses, "What are you hiding from me, Max?" Oy. The script, I think. Haven’t we heard something to the effect of one character concealing privileged information from another before? It’s boring and redundant (and repetitive, and redundant) to even mention how tired a device that is at this point. Yawn yawn yawn. There must be some gosh-darn opening credits around here somewhere.