Michael sits miserably in his office, surrounded by empty ice-cream sandwich wrappers, looking like he's about to vomit ice cream and shame. Oh, the humanity.
Back in the conference room, Angela claims dermatitis. Dwight thanks her, then is on the prowl for the jokester who came up with "this hysterical one: 'anal fissures.'" Kevin nervously notes that that's a real condition. "Yeah, but no one here has it," Dwight says. Kevin looks at the camera with only his eyeballs. "Someone has it," he finally says. Yeah, they're not putting you in the Smithsonian for "anal fissures" jokes, but that doesn't mean they don't work. Dwight gulps.
Late in the day, everyone is standing around in their coats, trying to decide whether to just go home or wait for the "surprise" like Charlie Brown waiting for the chance to run at the football. Michael emerges from his office to greet his expectant workers. They want to know about the health-care plan, and Michael pretends to be sympathetic, acting surprised and then blaming Dwight for "a crappy plan" as if he and the workers are all in this together at the mercy of Big Management. He points out, of course, that he lacks the power to change the decision now. The next order of business? The staff wants to know about the surprise. Michael pretends that he almost forgot, and he empties the hidden compartment hidden under the bottom of the barrel by asking what they think the surprise is. "We all think you don't have a surprise," Stanley truthfully reports. Michael decides to continue to improvise, and in order to buy time while he thinks of something, he starts doing a drum roll with his mouth. When the drum roll lasts so long that even a seventh-grader with a new snare drum would have ended it by now, it gets really awkward for everyone. Michael is still throat-clearing, like maybe there's going to be an end to all this, but patience runs out. People leave, just as Michael THs about taking on Robin Williams in a contest to see who's the bigger idiot. At least that's how I think that contest would turn out.
The office empties, except for Dwight, who delivers the bad news: "Oh, um...Jan wanted you to call her." I hope he's got an ice-cream sandwich left.