Out near reception, Dwight takes off his coat, revealing a tuxedo. He looks sharp. Ish. At Dwight's anxious throat-clear, Jim approaches, and asks him how long the wait will be for a table for two. Dwight's reply is classically beautiful: "I would never, ever serve you. Not in a million, billion years." Pam compliments the tux; Dwight takes it in stride. "I know. It belonged to my grandfather, he was buried in it. So: family heirloom." Oh dear. Pam and Jim watch him walk away. I used to think it would be hard to be Dwight but I think he does all right, on reflection.
Later, Roy is loitering, bitching at Pam about the cash bar. She demurs with some offhand comment about being a "roulette expert"; Dwight calls bullshit. "Impossible. Roulette is not a game of skill. It is a game of chance." Jim spins a tale of childhood telekinesis, which puts Dwight in a catch-22: believe Jim and give him a tiny bit of satisfaction, disbelieve and the world just got that much smaller. "I don't believe you. Continue." Jim gives him examples ("making things shake," "making marbles fall off the counter"), and Dwight demands -- calling for everyone's attention -- that he demonstrate this power. "Why don't you move that coat rack?" He asks for silence, Jim stares intensely at the coat rack, which is behind Pam's desk, and it slowly begins to wave back and forth. Dwight stares insanely.
Pam, in interview, smiles mutely, holding up an umbrella. Shines like a Christmas tree.
Back at reception, Pam winks at Jim in a sneaky and incredibly sexy way. Knees melted, I'm telling you, every time. Which is a lot of times, considering I still have this episode on TiFaux. Jim smiles but doesn't drop the act, getting even more intense on the coat rack. "Oh, my God," says Dwight. Indeed. (Credits. Take a sec to note, please, that the only thing that would make Jim more ideal would be if he did have psychic powers. That's literally like the only thing.)
Dwight casually checks his messages with Pam, and when her back is turned, he frisks the coat rack in classic stage-magic form, giving it an air-hug down to the carpet.
Michael's got Jan on speakerphone again -- never good, always awesome -- as he compares the performance of the Scranton branch to a "David and Goliath thing." Downsizing is the gun in the first act that will never, ever go off. (Cross those fingers, anyway.) Of the five branches under Jan, she explains, Scranton is number four. Continuity Patrol needs you to know that Jan's now divorced and that she and Michael have slept together; Michael Adoration Patrol would have you rest assured that he earned it, and that furthermore Jan Levinson has the most beautiful smile on the planet. Michael jokes that fourth of five puts him in the top eighty percent, and she cuts him off: "Michael. You know that I'm very serious here." He promises to "kick it up a notch," giving her an Emeril "Bam!" for good measure. She doesn't catch the reference, he smoothly continues. "...While I have you -- not that I have you, or have ever had you, but -- we're having our Casino Night tonight, and I think everyone would love to see their fearless leader here." Which, Jan points out, ought more likely to be Michael himself. He says she's more the "Eva Peron" to his "Cesar Chavez," and she actually laughs, because that's adorable Michael talk, but she shoots him down on coming to Casino Night. He begs, she puts it off, he pushes too hard ("I can hear it in your voice, you need a break!"), she hangs up.