That night, a crescent moon hangs over the chaos and demolition. The next day, at Mosaichaus, the team arrives, and Rob tells us that he's slept two hours out of the last 36, and he's done it in the front seat of the van, so you know he's feeling refreshed in that "fur on your teeth" kind of way. He adds that they have a lot to do. Interestingly, although he has no official stake, Rob says he "need[s] a win," probably because being first out is really a pretty ignominious distinction, and anybody to whom that happens would probably like a chance to put something better on his record before he leaves the public consciousness. You know, forever. Considering that he went out as not contributing anything, he also wants to show "what kind of a worker [he is]." He certainly appears to be working hard, although I hate the idea of his trying to prove anything to people like...Maria. Yuck.
As it rains good and hard on the work going on, Sandy is inside Mosaichaus, fretting over a weird-looking wall that Kelly assures her is fine, even though it has an ugly border marching right across it for no particular reason. Kelly is the arbiter of fine taste, after all, when it comes to both women's clothing and décor. Kelly, in keeping with Mosaic's "I Don't Know Whose Fault It Is, But It Certainly Isn't Mine" theory of manager sabotage, explains to us that if for any reason they don't win the task, it will be Sandy's fault alone. Why does he say stupid things like that? Trump doesn't take that attitude toward PMs, and it's just a dumb attitude. Supervisors can supervise, but the people working have to be competent too, and everyone has to be willing to be responsible for something, you know? He's just much too self-righteous for me, and much too convinced that he's going to avoid all responsibility for everything, permanently. Sandy fusses with a contractor upstairs in the bathroom, and then, as she explains in an interview, she reaches a low moment and cries a little about the rain, the delays, and everything else that's going wrong. She feels like the team is "losing track" and may be about to give up on the task.
Sandy pulls herself together, though, and the rain eventually lets up. Andy, somewhere around this time, looks around and sees that the contractor they have is seriously going to struggle with the work they're assuming he's going to do. He claims that some contractors who do kitchens were "in the neighborhood" (hmmm) and, seeing that there was a lot of work going on, popped over to see what the story was. One of the guys chats up Andy about the progress and warns him that at the rate the work is going, it's going to be very hard to get it done. Andy says that the guys he met outside seemed to be good, and were smart guys, and told him they could get the work done for a decent price. The next thing you know, the accordion-style music of stereotyped Italians is playing as all of these guys descend upon the house. They work, they sand, and they even fix the wall Sandy was bummed about before. Andy says that the "point man" on the kitchen was John Junior. But before you know it, here come the cousins, and it's "a big family picnic." As Andy pals around with the contractors, I think it's safe to assume that what it really was is a big family fame-whoring, but there's really no harm in that -- hell, it's probably what I would do. My whole family could come over if the task required professionals who would...I don't know, do math or make fun of their own dog. As Jen C. points out, her favorite part was the four big bosses standing on the lawn and watching what was going on, in some cases smoking cigars. "I would say that these are good fellas," Andy says, tweaking the stereotype more than necessary, "and I wanted to work with them, not against them." If I were Andy, I'd think in terms of working against, and not with, ancient and overused comedy routines. Sandy, meanwhile, says that she was happy with their contractors, who were "working hard for [them]."