In fact, Platypus is sitting in a hospital emergency room holding an ice pack to her face. She's laughing at the guy sitting on the bed across from her with his arm in a sling. "Punching a computer screen is funny," she insists. "No, no, no, getting knocked out by a guy in your acting class, that is funny," Sling Guy says. ["But both things happened on this show, which precludes either of them from being funny." -- Sars] Platypus is now holding the ice pack on her ear for some odd reason, and surprisingly she doesn't seem to have a bloody nose or black eye from the punch. She must be one of those fast-healing types. Platypus asks Sling Guy what he does when he's not beating up PCs, and he tells her he's a theater critic for the New York Times. "Oh, God, I should have been so much nicer to you," Platypus breathes, always looking for the chance to glue her beak to any butt remotely involved in the dramatic arts. Sling Guy asks if he would have seen her in anything, and Platypus tells him she hasn't really done the New York circuit. That's putting it politely. Romy blathers, "Did you happen to catch my Ado Annie in the University of Oregon's production of Oklahoma?" Sling Guy says, "No, though that's about my speed," and goes on to explain that he's a fourth-string writer. That makes them a perfect match, since she's a fourth-string actor. A nurse comes over and tells Platypus she's free to go, no concussion (at least not from this particular incident -- they didn't say anything about pre-existing brain problems). Platypus and Sling Guy start to say their awkward good-byes. "Well, I guess I don't have to suck up to you then, 'cuz the chances of me getting cast [cast, ha! Okay, I thought it was funny, and God knows there's precious little to be entertained by in this show] in something and you getting to review it are probably about zero," Platypus says. Sling Guy says they can't leave a second meeting up to chance, so Platypus writes her number on his cast.
Arsenio giving advice to richie teens with too much cash to buy real brains. Hey, Get Real changed their font. Cool.
The next day, Platypus is bragging about her date the night before: "We're going to a play tonight, mixing business with pleasure." "So did you get kissed?" Sarah asks. "He's calling me later," Platypus says, ignoring Sarah's question. "We gotta pick up the pace," Sarah tells Joss. "Maybe I should try dating a black guy," Joss muses. "Whoa, revolutionary," Platypus quips. "The last couple of guys have been white," Joss continues. "This will give me a chance to be hurt by men of all races." Platypus asks Sarah if she's going back to the laundromat to seek out more dirty-underwear men. Sarah answers in the negative, proclaiming that laundromats are just "a hotbed of misery." Change "misery" to "germs" and you've got Walt's underwear. Platypus answers Sarah's question of where to meet nice, available guys: "Public library, dog park, cheese counter at Balducci's, Staten Island Ferry, poetry reading at the YMCA..." Joss tells her she's just showing off, but Platypus goes on with her list, "Strand books ["Um, nobody calls it that." -- Sars], yoga class, art gallery in SoHo --" Sarah looks interested in the last suggestion. Notice how Platypus doesn't mention hospital emergency rooms? I guess that's her corner to work.