Seth opens the front door to find a pissy Summer; she marches in, all, "Upstairs. Alone. Now." When he says he'd have to "file a grievance with the union," she insists that it's been long enough. He points out that he just left her house two hours ago, and she says it feels like four. She's been thinking about what he said, though, and she found it "totally insensitive." He asks how, and she asks why he can't accept that she's not comfortable with public displays of affection. He points out that she's offering herself for ten dollars a pop in a kissing booth: "How much more publicly can affection be displayed?" Summer flirts that she knows there's a strike, but technically he wouldn't be a scab if he didn't have to do anything. He's all, "Summer, don't say 'scab,'" and then whispers back that her strike-busting techniques won't work: "The rank and file are holding strong." As she scurries out, he holds up a fist, all, "Solidarity!"

Next door, Caleb is also on an unsuccessful sex run. Lady Heather opens the door to find him standing on the steps. She says it's a surprise and he smarms, "A welcome one, I hope." She thanks him for the unimpressive flowers, and they agree that they miss each other. He then launches into a speech about how they're not "lovestruck adolescents" waiting to be swept off their feet; they're both responsible adults and should be able to come up with some sort of "arrangement" wherein they both get what they need out of the relationship. And the words "arrangement" and "relationship" never add up to anything good. She snidely concludes, "Is this a booty call?" He's never heard the term, and she explains that it's showing up in the night without apology, compliment, or commitment, and with "the very mistaken idea that [she] just might wanna f --" The door slams shut on the rest of the word, but you can bet it rhymes with "fuck." Outside, Caleb picks the rejected bouquet off the ground and concludes, "Guess it was a booty call." Hee.