Jim: "Why did I talk to Jan about transferring? Well, you know...I have no future here."
Pressure? No pressure.
Michael has Darryl in his office (This should be brutal. He's like Stanley with a little extra black on top, Michael-wise.), and they're arguing about how Michael is going to have to forfeit the deposit on some "fire eaters" that Michael ordered. For Casino Night, which is taking place in a paper warehouse.
Michael: "It's Casino Night! Like Las Vegas! There are fire eaters all over the place."
Darryl: "Except my warehouse."
Michael: "Well actually, it's my warehouse."
Remember how intense little kids get about "my property" and what constitutes the proper circumstances under which you could order someone to get off "your property"? This is the kind of situation where Dwight ends up being the voice of reason: "Actually, it's owned by Beekman Properties, and Dunder-Mifflin is four years into a seven-year lease." Hilarious. Michael hisses at Dwight and Dwight says -- in an even tone -- that when Darryl was coming up, Michael said he needed Dwight there for protection. "Nn. Nn. I said...not...that." Smooth. Darryl, heading off on another topic, worries that there's "a lot of stuff down there that could be stolen." I don't know exactly how Tourette's Syndrome works, but I seem to remember from Oprah that the more you don't want to say the thing, the more you have to say the thing. Sounds horrible. "That's ironic," says Michael, and Darryl's jaw drops: "What?" "That you are...afraid." Because he's "from the hood"? To which Michael responds with a simple, but quite eloquent, "Dinkin' flicka." Bested, Darryl sighs. "Dinkin' flicka."
Darryl, resolutely not bursting into hysterical laughter: "I taught Mike some -- uh -- some phrases to help with his interracial conversations. You know, stuff like 'fleece it out,' 'going mach five,' 'dinkin flicka.' You know, things us Negroes say." Michael, with a "gimme some," leans in for a very amazing handshake. "Oh, yeah," Darryl finally laughs to us. "I taught him a handshake, too." I love Darryl.
Out in sales, Dwight tries to move his Dwight bobblehead doll with his mind, gives up, closes his eyes and tries again. Stuff in your living room starts to shake with the effort, but the bobblehead, no dice. Until he remembers the camera, and then he glances around like nothing happened.
Conference room. Jim pops in a tape. Pam, adorably, talks about how hard the decision will be, since all the bands are so awesome. They make small talk about how the wedding should have three stages and a hundred bands, like Lollapalooza, and Jim says her mother would love it. Pam's mother is like a fairy Godmother that sits on her shoulder, eyes twinkling at Jim and waiting for her daughter to figure it out: "She would!" The next band cues up. Scrantonicity is the name, "Don't Stand So Close to Me" is their game. They are totally awesome. Pam recognizes Kevin ("On the drums! On the drums!") and Jim just gapes: "Oh my God! That's Kevin! Great song, Kev. Oh my God, he's the drummer and the singer!" They laugh; Pam dances.