Karen and Phyllis are back in the car, painted up like a couple of Jersey mob wives with their hair blown up into vertiginous pompadours that brush the ceiling of Phyllis's car. Looks like Phyllis might have taken that mother-daughter thing a bit too much to heart.
After arriving in their client's parking lot, Jim waits patiently while Dwight sits in his car and psyches himself up with a little "Kickstart My Heart" in the backseat.
Andy continues picking away at Michael, comparing the Scranton team to the Superfriends. Except Dwight, whose superpower would be "being late all the time." Michael is either deliberately not paying attention or finds the task of driving all-consuming. "Hawkman," he murmurs absently, while Andy looks like he's about ready to climb the inside of Michael's car door.
"After you," Jim says to Dwight at the door of their client's building; Dwight refuses on the grounds that 70 percent of attacks are from behind. Jim says that still leaves a 30 percent chance that he'll attack Dwight from the front. Dwight is standing there giving a lengthy explanation about how a frontal attack is easier to block when Jim just reaches out and effortlessly bitch-slaps him. 130 percent chance, more like.
At the coffee shop, Pam notices how happy Angela is and adds, "I bet you wish you were like this all the time." Seriously, Angela is smiling all the way. She tells Pam about her "friend," Noelle, who missed a deadline, but was rescued by a "gallant gentleman" named "Kurt" who saved her ass by driving to New York for her. "I guess he just really likes her a lot," Angela says happily. Do you suppose "Noelle" is really unaware that her coworker...let's call her "amBees"...knows all about her and "Kurt?"
Michael's doing well on his and Andy's sales call, self-deprecatingly comparing his miserable angling luck to the trophy fishing photo on the client's desk. Predictably, Andy goes the opposite direction, claiming to have once shot a shark from the crow's nest of his dad's Bayliner off Montauk. Michael is doing much better at selling Dunder-Mifflin to the client than Andy is at selling himself to Michael. Not that that's hard.
In the Sebring afterwards, Andy is beating himself up for doing poorly, but even that has an agenda. "I really Schruted it," he says, claiming everyone says it around the office, and acting like he wonders where the term came from. Michael's lack of interest is epic. "Who knows how words are formed?" he says. This from the guy who normally isn't happy unless he's making up a fact of some form or another.