Stamford. The three sales people get ready to leave. Well, two of them do. Jim asks Andy for a ride, but Andy is wisely not driving. He instead offers to share his inflatable bed with Jim, as he starts spreading it out on the floor between his and Jim's desks. "It's a roomy twin," he says, in one of those rare little moments that occasionally show us how any of these people are able to sell anything at all, ever. Jim shakes several gigs of never-to-be-written slash fic out of his spinning head and rolls his bike out of there. Outside, he's on two wheels for about five seconds before toppling into the bushes. And there's Karen to the rescue, getting both Jim and bike into her SUV, and really impressing his blotto ass with how well she can hold her liquor.
Michael rides in the back of Pam's SUV (not the little blue econobox she picks Jim up in next season, BTW) and he manages to both answer my earlier question and have a midnight-of-the-soul revelation at the same time: "These are not my shoes." After riding along in silence for a time, he brings up Taxicab Confessions. "If you say one more word, I'm stopping the car," Pam snaps. Fortunately for him, she doesn't seem to count his muttered "sorry."
And we go back in time for the tag. Michael, back at the party, is accompanied by a very serious-faced Dwight on acoustic guitar as he sings a song about Diwali set to the tune of Adam Sandler's "Hanukkah Song." He reads from a sheet of his own lyrics, rhyming the titular holiday with, among other things, "the goddess of destruction Kali," "party," and "Along Came Polly," which seems pretty much calculated to offend an entire major world religion. But after his big finish, the camera pans around to a rapt crowd, which erupts in totally sincere applause and cheering. Oh, please don't encourage him, Hinduism.