Then it all goes AAUUGH as Clay calls Alla over, daintily takes her wrists, and swings them about like they're playing fucking London Bridges, sing-songing to her about how "One of the things I'm really unhappy with you on is, you told me to come and do merchandising, and that y'all are going to do something else, and every time I set something up, someone else is changing it." Valid complaint. Sucky, horrific, ugly, stupid, weak, pointless, hideous, enraging execution. It's everything I ever thought about Clay in one package: totally fake and dramatic, passive-aggressive, fake-friendly, we're-just-girls-y, everybody-loves-a-harmless-faggot Jack McFarland bullshit. You can be gay, you can even be crazy gay, and I hope you are, but fucking own yourself. Is this a personal hot button for me? Have you figured that out yet? Don't complain about being infantilized if you do this shit, but please understand that, if you're the first gay dude Alla has run into, and I'm the second, she's going to assume I'm something like a retarded spelling-bee champion in the fifth grade wearing a pinafore and wanting to hold hands, and it's going to take me a half-hour to retrain her to take me seriously. This is just the exact same Jenthura thing as above, albeit in a very flattering $1500 suit, and it hurts to deal with it, because you wanna be harmless and slide in under the hate radar, but at the same time: are you helping or harming?
Alla then interviews that she has four kids, and that Clay acts like a five-year-old that constantly needs to pound his chest and contradict everything. He gets all shirty with her about something we don't get to really hear too much about, and she's like, "Clay, are you hearing what I'm saying? Or are you going to create problems that we don't need?" And we flip back to the personal ugliness of Alla, all about how verbatim "Clay is not a man, he is an insecure bitchy woman times a thousand," and how if they lose this task he's totally going in the Boardroom. And yeah, that's not pretty, but -- from what we can see here -- the actual problem she has here, no matter how stupidly she expresses it, is sound. He's leaned up against something, still on a rant that may or may not be valid, and finally she's just like, "Cut it." With a whole gesture and everything.
It's now raining again, and that "deedle-ee-deet-de-dee! SCORE!" thing is playing, with that damn carillon music. Mark and James on Excel are doing the ball-hitting thing, Josh is talking to the kids, everybody's teaching the kids to bat, Jenthura is selling cheap baseball food as insanely as any time she has to sell stuff, and Bill walks in and watches all this non-revenue stuff happening. Rebecca and Brian make sales, and are happy with themselves, and Brian is very groovy, and they note that the batting cage is actually drawing the people away from actual sales, because the kids all have to wait a million years and the whole time I'm sure they're like, "Are you watching? Are you watching me? I'm gonna hit the ball! It's going to be awesome! Stop walking away! Watch me hit the ball in an hour!" and they're both totally worried about actual receipts. Bill asks Mark what's going on, and Mark -- who's manning the ball machine the entire task -- makes a valiant effort at looking awesome for the Viceroy, all, "I've been so damned focused here I don't even know what's up!" Brian interviews about Jenthura selling her sales ability and then not selling anything, and we cut to Jenthura approaching some dudes about the radar guns, and their dead-serious response "I have no use for that." And that's kind of the deal with the radar guns -- which among these kinds is so bat-fantastic that they actually need one? It's more about hitting the ball, not rivaling their favorite juiced player in MPH. Bill continues to take notes and be amazed at the massive lack of focus, which is best embodied by James hitting the balls as hard as he can. Because nothing says "Buy me" like some slightly creepy grown dude hitting balls harder than you ever could.