Inside a café, we hear a woman say, "I hope you don't mind me tracking you down like this." J.B.'s voice says, "What, you mean having coffee?" They both step out of the café, and we see it's Claustra Phobia from the salon, who has predictably tracked him down. Claustra babbles something about crossing paths with thousands of people a day, and how if one of them strikes you as being "kind and funny and really attractive," you can't just hope that you will bump into them, can you? J.B. agrees and says, "No, you gotta make your move." Claustra says, "Right. Anyway, after that, you have plenty of time to figure out why you are totally incompatible. What are you doing for New Year's?" J.B. says, "Nothing." Okay, so he waslying about that "really, really, cool" new club he told Platypus about. Claustra says, "I am going to this event, this party. It's called 'Once in a Thousand.' Have you heard of it?" J.B. says he thinks he has -- yeah, I think he hasn't. Claustra says, "It's supposed to be the party of the century." If it's supposed to be the party of the century, why isn't it called "Once in a Hundred?" I loathe all these stupid millennial inconsistencies almost as much as I loathe this pathetic show -- and that's saying something! J.B. asks, incredulously, if she really wants to take him, and she answers flirtatiously, "Hmmm -- do you know someone better for me?"
Scraggle is puttering around his music store when suddenly he notices Sarah standing in the doorway with an injured look on her face. "Hey, how long have you been standing there?" Scraggle asks. Instead of answering, Sarah decides to take the prosecutor's stance: "I don't understand you. You say that you don't want to get involved with me, because I have these expectations. Because I want too much from you. Because I care too much how you're choosing to live you life, and then I find out that you've been sleeping with Joss --" Scraggle tries to interrupt, but to no avail; Sarah continues, "And it apparently works because it means absolutely nothing to either one of you. See, I don't get that." Scraggle tells her that it's not really a relationship, it's an "arrangement." Sarah asks, shocked that he'd chosen to sleep with Joss over her, "And that's what you want? An 'arrangement'? That's what you'd prefer to being in love? Just a warm body in your bed?" Scraggle says, "It serves its purpose." Sarah, getting more and more pissed off, says, "So Joss can have you because she doesn't care about you, but I can't because I do?" Dude, hold it right there. Where does she get off saying that Joss doesn't care about Scraggle? In fact, where does she get off questioning any of this? Sarah, take a memo: pack up your ideals, your so-called morals, and your holier-than-thou opinions and get your simpering, giggling ass back to San Francisco. Stat. Scraggle, like the wet noodle he is, doesn't respond to Sarah's last question. "God, who wins in that scenario, can you explain that to me?" Sarah asks. Scraggle starts to say something, but Sarah interrupts him yet again: "Wait, on second thought, don't. Forget it. I don't want to hear some pathetic rationalization that you've spent years working out." Scraggle asks her where she's going, and she tells him that she is getting her stuff and going elsewhere. Scraggle whines, "Come on, it's New Year's." "Yeah," Sarah says, meaningfully, "yeah, and I thought we'd celebrate it together. But what would be the point? What would we toast? I don't know what to wish for you, Maguire, and I don't really think you want to have a happy New Year's because that means really wanting to be happy. I think that's a little more than you can handle." And she flounces out the door. Man, what a bitch.