Out in the office, Dwight is working on the calendar, and he announces with satisfaction that Jim will have to work this weekend. "God, this is so sad," Jim says matter-of-factly. "This is the smallest amount of power I've ever seen go to someone's head." Point: Halpert. Pam THs that she really doesn't want to work, because she has plans with Roy. Or, really, Roy has plans. She really, really doesn't want Dwight to put her on the schedule. "Maybe I should sleep with him!" she says. And then, horrified, she says, "I'm kidding. Totally kidding." I think she feels like maybe it's a Beetlejuice thing, where even speaking the words is a dangerous temptation of some force with the power to harm her.
Michael takes Ryan on a tour of the warehouse -- or, as Michael claims to call it, the "whorehouse." It's remarkable how often Michael's attempts at hilarity resemble inadvertent errors that might be made by non-native speakers of English. He introduces Ryan to the warehouse guys, including Darryl, to whom Michael refers as "Mister Rogers," or, more offensively, "Mi-tah Rog-ahs." Darryl explains dryly, with hot disgust that he's allowed to dry into an arid powder that floats lazily from him whenever Michael is around, that his name is actually Darryl Philbin, which Michael logically turned into Regis, Reege, Roger, and Mi-tah Rog-ahs, in turn. Ryan looks surprised and relieved at the degree to which everyone down here hates Michael just as much as everyone upstairs. Familiar surroundings are comforting. Michael also tells Ryan that Roy is Pam's boyfriend, then offers to order Pam to provide Roy with more sex. Is Michael secretly sexually fixated on Pam? On Roy? On his own lack of action? I think we do not know.
Upstairs, Pam is on the phone swimming in tragedy, as she strains to get a repair covered under the warranty of the toaster oven she got at her engagement shower...three years ago. Which has broken. So the engagement has now outlasted the engagement gift. Jim explains all of this in a TH in which the relative proportions of dismay, empathetic embarrassment, and festering hope are difficult to precisely quantify.
Downstairs, Michael is trying to schedule the basketball game, and it turns out that the warehouse guys have to unload a truck, so his suggested timing doesn't work for them -- ironically because they have more pressing work than he does. Michael ribs them about never seeming terribly busy, and he hopes this is part of a warm back-and-forth, but it's really just part of him barely not getting his ass kicked because he's the one who hands out the checks. Ryan looks horrified. When Michael starts doing his full-on chicken impression, Darryl relents and says they'll play the game at 1:00 this afternoon after all.