The day is apparently at an end when Kevin announces to the room at large that he'll be playing in some kind of battle of the bands with his new band, Scrantonicity II, and that he expects everyone in the office to show up and clap only for him and his outfit. Michael, on his way by, says he can't make it because he's already busy, so Pam and Jim immediately seize on this, saying they want to take him up on his dinner invitation. He says he can't, and offers the weekend instead, and they say they can't, and Michael gets way too upset about it, of course, but when Jim asks what Michael's doing, he says, "You wouldn't understand. It's a secret." He stalks out...and gets on a bus...and ultimately is busted, by the camera, at a call centre, where he has a second job telemarketing a shady-sounding diet aid. ...Yeah, that's about right.

Jim and Pam pull up to the Schrute Farm, Jim marvelling that the place is actually real. Pam has evidently spent the afternoon coming up with puns for Dwight's agritourist outfit, including The Beets Motel, Embassy Beets, and The Radishon, but before she can bust out any more (...the Dillton?), both she and Jim are stunned silent by the sight of Mose running very excitedly alongside the car -- much as a dog would. That is, if one could be confident that a dog could live at Schrute Farm without having its fur turned into a canteen or something. Dwight is sitting in a rocking chair on the porch as they pull up to the house, and gives them a wave that he probably thinks is friendly and not at all creepy.

After commercials, we're back at the call centre, where Michael is claiming that he just loves sales, and doesn't get to do enough as a manager, so he took a second job as a hobby. Totally -- what could be more fun than telemarketing? Speaking as a veteran of three different telemarketing jobs, I can field that one: Australian rules football, played on a flaming field, with an armed grenade for a ball. That would be more fun. (Telemarketing sucks.) It doesn't take long for Michael's manager to roll up, all defensive about the legitimate operation he's running, and Michael introduces him as Nick Figaro, "manager to the stars." The manager at my second telemarketing job had crispy hair and put "B.A." on her business cards even though she didn't have a degree. And she had a Little Sister and would spend their Saturday afternoons together at the office. So Nick is a step up from her.