When Ivanka arrives at the gay car wash, there are two hotties with their shirts off, advertising car washes and free lunch. She asks Aimee (who?) why the detailing bay is empty, when that's the cash crop, and Aimee very confidently, smoothly, and quickly replies that their strategy is to push quantity, resulting in a higher return versus tying up their staff with hand washes that take thirty minutes. I just fell for Aimee a little bit. It's like she'd been rehearsing that since Friday. Ivanka's body says, "Well played, Aimee," but her interview calls this an "interesting strategy" and wonders how it will pay off. She visits the hotties on the curbside, where -- I hasten to point out -- they are not actually smoking crank on camera, and they are friendly but not really... classy. ["Well, not to mention their ragged cardboard-box signs suggested a cage-dance-for-food type of transaction." -- Joe R] The smaller one invites Ivanka to take off her shirt and join the fun, thinking this is somehow cute, and she classily declines and laughs, appalled.
Team Frank is like this: Crazy women wandering out into the Los Angeles traffic and screaming their asses off. Michelle, Stefani, and Nicole. In the street. Harassing passers-by about things they will never understand, thanks to our old nemesis the Doppler Effect. Aaron and Frank come running up with flyers, which I guess not all of us remember are used to advertise with parked, unattended cars, like a surprise gift. The gift of information! However, if your target is driving by, under the hot Angelino sun, you are risking not only your own safety but that of others when you attempt to advertise using flyers. I don't know how to make this point more easily without resorting to those diagrams with the little people. Michelle seems to actually slip a flyer under a passing windshield wiper. That can't possibly be right, but my notes say she did this.
"This is me with a sign, right here," Carey says, holding up a 8.5x11 flyer. "This is our sign. I work in marketing." It's a cry from the heart; I want to say that I feel it too. He interviews that Frank's enthusiasm and dedication are... large... but you can't get a moving car to pull over with "a piece of copy this big." My question to Carey, and the rest of Team Frank: Why would you even fucking try? This is so 101 retarded, I mean, you do not have to have a degree of any kind to get the basics of this. Why did they let him make flyers in the first place? I realize that he was yelling, but... flyers? For traffic that is moving? Is this one of those M-O-O-N Spells Moon things where I'm just so uninitiated that I somehow arrive at the simple answer? Carey drags Frank to a nearby drug store, which is dumb on many levels, to get posterboard. This is dumb because it's not mission critical, it's markers and posterboard, and you don't want him to go shopping in case he comes back with some magic beans, and also: of course, Ivanka now shows up. Tim watches Aaron kiss her ass and smiles when she notes, pissily, that Frank is nowhere to be seen. Aaron is sweaty and magnificent, non-explaining that "Frank's done a good job delegating duties this far... " And Ivanka nearly neck-snaps at him: "Oh, uh huh." She interviews about how there are zero signs, and James comes running up like he just drank a Starbuck's and yells about how everybody is selling! Everybody is buying! Cars are being washed! Waxes are being implemented! The world is on fire with transactions! Ivanka laughs and adores his madness, taking pains to point how wonderfully "amped" James is: Energy. Confidence. Getting Things Done. These are qualities that not only Ivanka, but all people who are not fucking losers greatly admire. Who will speak for the... oh, hi, Martin. Ivanka's lip curls the second he approaches, and she asks him in a very Connecticut Throwdown kind of way how it's going. She's anticipating the worst, and she's not disappointed. Or rather, she is: "I'm tired!" he whines. She laughs like with the go-go boy, appalled once again, and tells him not to say that. Tim is grossed out, James I think has to physically hold himself back from beating Martin's ass, and there's a gorgeous 360 degree pan around sweating, exhausted, awful Martin, going: "Hoo! Whoa! Oh, man!"