Josh and Sam banter, and finally Josh points out that he nearly lost the election, and that's made him appreciate this chance even more. Sam's still not biting, pointing out that he's also got a life in California: "I'm getting married." "I've heard that before..." Josh replies, and when Sam exclaims in horror, Josh adds, "Congratulations! Is what I mean." At this point, Sam asks Josh the question he's certainly not going to answer truthfully: "So what about your life?" Josh replies with silence, only seeming to prove Sam's assumptions on that point. "What was I thinking?" Sam asks, and Josh protests that he's been busy. Sam cautiously adds, "That explains the..." "The what?" Josh squeaks. Sam's mouth is tight, dimples dimpling, as he looks over his glasses at Josh: "Your general..." Josh: "What? It's the hairline, isn't it." "It's...retreated," Sam concedes, politely. "It's routed, like Napoleon out of Moscow." Sam helpfully saves himself: "There's also a pallor issue." "You live in Melanoma Central," Josh counters. "Healthy glow turns out to be oxymoronic." True, Josh, but there's "beautifully alabaster pale," as I like to consider myself, also living in Melanoma Central, or "pasty crazed hermit," which Josh is starting to resemble. Okay, fine, FINE, so "pasty" might also be applicable to me in some circumstances. ONLY SOME! I reserve the right to mock you, Josh, since sometimes I have so many freckles that they give me the illusion of some color.
Sam gives Josh a bottom line, which is that he'll help with the inauguration speech, but Josh is insulted: "That's not what I flew out here to ask." There's a pregnant pause, and then Josh offers, "Deputy Chief of Staff. You're me to my Leo. Think about it." Finally, after twisting Sam's arm a bit, and admitting that he's acting like his mom, Josh gets Sam to agree to consider it. Josh then waits about half a second before checking back in: "You done?" Josh is clearly not getting the point here -- he can't understand what Sam really has to think about. Sam: "For one thing...whether I really want to end up looking like you." Sam sounds at least a teensy bit guilty at this, but? Good point.
Bartlet and C.J. are meeting in the Oval. C.J. reports that the cleanup figures for San Andreo are bad, and Bartlet adds that Team Santos will freak out at the Kazakhstan figures as well. I can't help wondering, though, whether Bartlet doesn't have the tiniest amount of apathy since it's not his problem any more, like I am right now at my job, where I only have two days left. Then again, when you're President of the United States, you might be even more emotionally invested than, say, I am. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt on that one, and maybe not use myself as a perfect comparison. C.J. reports that Santos will be by for a Sit-Room meeting on the Kazakhstan situation, and Bartlet tells her to be as helpful as she can be in making the transition; they can be difficult, etc. Bartlet also demands that there be no pranks. "That turned out to be apocryphal," she says. C.J., stop confusing me with five-dollar words! Thank goodness for my handy thesaurus translating West Wing banter to normal-recapper-speak: the tales Bartlet heard about cutting cables turned out to be entirely mythical. Bartlet wants no myths, then: "We're going to leave with some class." She smiles. C.J.'s looking great in a grey suit that makes her look even taller and leaner than she already is. Way to show off the height for tall girls everywhere, C.J.! Debbie comes in to let Bartlet know that Marine One is waiting, but he shuffles papers, and points out, "It's not going anywhere without me." Ah, to be Leader of the Free World.