Sam, with his jacket now off -- and you'll be happy to know it's only the beginning of the stripping -- sits down in the suite's entryway, right on the floor. "I'm going to sit right here," he tells the camera, "and...I don't care if I have to sit here for seventy-two hours. I'm not moving until someone comes over here and greets me at the door." Uh-oh. Somebody had better lay in a bedpan and a psychiatrist. Well, another psychiatrist. In the kitchen, the rest of the group is decompressing, and Nick starts to address Sam at some point and realizes that he's not there. But Nick does not go chase Sam down and make sure he feels included, because this isn't third grade and Sam isn't the new kid who just moved here from out of town, and they're not picking teams for kickball, and Sam isn't a nose-picking eight-year-old. IN THEORY. The rest of the roommates even call out to Sam, but he is apparently dissatisfied with this lack of adequate personal attention, and remains sprawled in a chair that he has now moved over into the entryway. If you're going to pull this routine, by the way, moving a comfy chair into the entryway is totally cheating. You have to sit on the floor. Otherwise, you're not pouting so much as you are moving the furniture. Sam next voices over that he's feeling very indignant because "when [he comes] home to [his] parents' house, [he's] greeted at the door." And that's what he expects from these people. Well, let me tell you something, Sam. When I go to my parents' house, my mother greets me at the door, too. And she gives me a kiss and tells me there's a cold beer in the fridge, and my father points out that they're still getting mail from my undergrad school seven years after I last lived there so I really need to bite the bullet and let the alumni office know where I live, and then the dog joyfully runs around in circles because he completely forgot that I existed and now remembers that he totally digs me, and then...well, you get the point. But very little of that occurs when I enter a room full of people I barely know.
Nick, in an interview on the roof, discussing Sam: "Either he's incredibly brilliant, or he's half-nuts. But he's still here. He's hilarious. I love him." In a nice, witty edit, we go directly to Sam actually removing his pants in the hallway of scenic Poutyville, right there where he's still waiting. Next thing you know he's doing...is that a yoga pose? I think it's either a yoga pose or something he learned from a Chuck Norris movie. He's lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, and...well, suffice it to say it doesn't look like something you'd normally do wearing a tie and no pants. Although I suppose the only things that do look like you'd normally do them in a tie and no pants are (1) put on pants; and (2) run out of your apartment during a fire, so he's starting at a disadvantage, just as far as plausibility. Sam interviews that if the rest of them think his "wild man thing" is just a strategy, they should come watch him in his real life, because he's even nuttier. And he has not yet begun to crack. Oh. Well. Oh, good. Sam holds his pose. Funny music guy throws in a cymbal crash. Ta-da! Hee.