It is a well known fact that there are certain things that should never be placed at the foot of your bed: nails, poisonous snakes, and George Foreman Grills. Michael learns this lesson the hard way. Dwight speeds to his rescue, but not before running his car into an electrical pole and developing a brand new personality. Pam enjoys the company of her altered officemate, but the friendship is short-lived: a midday crisis rattles the office and leads to a visit to the hospital where we learn of Michael’s true intentions.
This episode was basically an instructional video in how to be a complete dick. I know my share of inconsiderate bastards, but none of them holds a candle to the bastardage that was on display here.
Michael : Shotgun!
Jim : You don’t think you should sit in the back with Dwight?
Michael : Pshh.
[Cut to interview]
Michael : The rules of shotgun are very simple and very clear. The first person to shout “shotgun” when you’re within the sight of the car gets the front seat. That’s how the game’s played. There are no exceptions for someone with a concussion.
I think Michael could use a concussion of his own — it might knock some sense into him. The trick would be getting through that thick skull of his.
Bizarro Dwight comes off as a strange mix between the Pillsbury Dough Boy and Dustin Hoffman from Rain Man.
Dwight : I have to go to the hospital.
Pam : I know.
Dwight : Where are we going?
Pam : I just wanna say good-bye, ok?
Dwight : Well I’ll be back, I mean–
Pam : Yes, I know, but it’s gonna be different.
Dwight : Why?
Pam : It’s just hard to explain.
Dwight : Oh, Pam, you’re adorable. [Taps Pam on her nose]
Pam : Oh, my goodness. Come here. [Hugs Dwight]
Dwight : Oh, huggy hugs!
I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking Dwight needs to be concussed more often. Brain damage is overrated, anyway.
Maneuvering through traffic with two madmen in tow can’t be easy. Fighting them off with a water spray bottle at the same time… well, that’s just insane.
Michael : What do I write under reason for visit?
Jim : Concussion.
Michael : [Scratches his old answer out on the paperwork]
Jim : What did you write?
Michael : [Clears throat] Nothing. I wrote bringing someone to the hospital.
Jim : So you thought they meant your reason for coming to the hospital.
Unbelievable. Michael operates at a mental capacity that is dangerously close to being braindead.
Whenever Michael needs something inappropriately Michael-like, he immediately turns to two people: Pam and Ryan, in that order. Make what you will of that.
Michael : Pam, messages, please?
Pam : You didn’t have any.
Michael : Really. Well, seemed, uh, very important to you earlier… that you need to stay and…
Pam : Do my job?
There we go. It’s been a while since we’ve had a good zinger from Pam.
After taking us to the brink last week, the writers did the sensible thing and reined things in with The Injury. There is literally no JP material to speak of here. Next week is shaping up to be an entirely different matter, but for now, the index remains safely at Even.
I’m glad they introduced this unexpected attraction between Dwight and Angela. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have her conspicuously delievered lies.
Dwight : [Collapses at his desk] Oh! Oh, oh…
Jim : Oh, ok, I think we need to take him to the hospital, ’cause I’m pretty sure he has a concussion.
Michael : Oh, now you feel some compassion for him?
Angela : He needs to go right now, and you’re his emergency contact. I think you should go with him.
Michael : Why don’t you go with him?
Angela : I… barely know him.
She is totally into him.
This one was close. Michael puts up a valiant fight, but Dwight has the power of mental trauma at his side. Combine this with his already freakishly odd disposition, and he can’t be beaten.
Michael : [Playing over the speakerphone] Oh, God!
Jim : Hey, whoa, Michael.
Michael : Oh, God!
Jim : It’s ok. It’s Jim. Just say again, really loudly, what happened.
Michael : Ok. [Blubbers] I burned my foot, very badly, on my Foreman Grill, and I now need someone to come and bring me in to work.
Jim : You burned your foot on a Foreman Grill.
Perhaps colorful plastic toys made for toddlers aren’t the only items deserving of garishly huge warning labels.
Michael : I enjoy having breakfast in bed. I like waking up to the smell of bacon. Sue me. And since I don’t have a butler, I have to do it myself, so most nights before I go to bed, I wil lay six strips of bacon out on my George Foreman Grill. Then I go to sleep. When I wake up, I plug in the grill. I go back to sleep again. Then, I wake up to the smell of crackling bacon. It is delicious, it’s good for me. It’s a perfect way to start the day. Today, I got up, I stepped onto the grill, and it clamped down on my foot. That’s it. I don’t see what’s so hard to believe about that.
Delicious, yes. Good for you, not so much. I’d suggest leaving the grill on his nightstand, except he’d probably just grill his hand while reaching for the snooze button, or get crackling bacon grease in his eye, or something.
Michael : Ok, can someone come and get me, please? Ryan?
Phyllis : Michael, you should stay home and rest.
Michael : There’s no toilet paper here. Can Ryan–tell Ryan to bring toilet paper. Can you tell him that?
This is an incredibly strange conversation.
Pam : Michael, why don’t you call your girlfriend?
Michael : I don’t have a girlfriend.
Jim : But, you said you went out with her this weekend.
Michael : That was all made up.
Apparently, burning your foot in a Foreman Grill has the side-effect of rendering you foolishly honest.
Michael : Pam, I just want you to treat me like you would a family member who’s undergone some sort of serious physical trauma. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
Pam : Do you want some aspirin because you seem a little fussy.
Michael : No, I don’t want some aspirin! Yeah, I am fussy! Aspirin’s not gonna do a damn thing. I’m sitting here with a bloody stump of a foot!
Dwight : Pam, I am assistant regional manager, and I can take care of him. Part of my duties are to…
Having Dwight space out in the middle of a sentence is funny for reasons I can’t explain. It just is.
Michael : Paaaam. P-Pam!
Pam : [Sighs] Oh God.
Pam : [Answers the phone] What?
Michael : Come here, please.
Pam : Tell me before I come there.
Michael : [Sighs] Wanna help me to rub butter on my foot?
Pam : No.
Michael : Pam, please. I have Country Crock.
Pam : Eh–no.
I’m pretty sure being asked to rub butter on your boss’s foot qualifies as a breach of something sacred.
Jim : So, I guess Pam and Dwight are friends now.
[Cut to Pam]
Pam : Oh, God, no. Dwight isn’t my friend. [Pauses for a moment] Oh my God, Dwight’s kind of my friend!
Pam just felt her world get rocked.
Dwight : Hmm. You like candy?
Angela : It’s alright.
Dwight : ‘Cause you’re sweeter than candy.
Angela : What is wrong with you?
Dwight : [Spanks Angela]
Angela : Hey!
This scene is awesome beyond words.
Michael : Oh!
[Sound of crashing through the restroom door]
Michael : Arggh. Arrgh, help. Help.
Toby : What–what happened?
Michael : I fell off the toilet. I’m caught… between the toilet and the wall.
Toby : What do you need?
Michael : Ugh, not you. Someone else. Get Pam.
Toby : I don’t think Pam’s gonna want to come into the men’s room.
Michael : Get Ryan. Oh! He needs to lift me, and he needs to clean me up a little bit. Bring a wet towel.
Ryan : [Shakes his head]
Toby : Ryan is, uh…
Ryan : [Makes throat-slitting gesture]
Toby : … dead.
I was tempted to give Ryan supporting honors on the basis of his facial expressions here alone. Toby was fantastic in this scene as well. Every line he delivers has that distinct Toby trademark.
Michael : Can I ask you all a question? Do you know what it’s like to be disabled?
Phyllis : Um, I had scoliosis as a girl.
Michael : Never heard of it. No, a real disability, not a woman’s trouble.
Creed : When I was a teenager, I was in an iron lung.
Michael : Wha? How–how old are you?
Two things: One, Michael better hope he never crosses paths with a feminist group, and two, Creed is awesome.
Stanley : I’m not disabled, and neither are you.
Michael : Ok, what does this look like to you, Stanley?
Stanley : Mail Boxes Etc.
Michael : Shut… it.
I love how Stanley has absolutely no problem undermining any point Michael attempts to make.
Michael : You people are jerks. Imagine if you had left Stevie Wonder on the floor of that bathroom instead of me.
Phyllis : Oh, we wouldn’t. We love Stevie Wonder.
Michael : [Sighs in frustration] I burned my foot! Ok, twenty minutes, conference room, everybody’s in there!
Dwight : [Turns and looks at Creed] Dad?
I don’t think Phyllis realizes how deeply she cut Michael with that one. Or maybe she’s just exacting delightful revenge on him for all the times he’s put her down. Way to go, Phyllis.
Jim : I want to clamp Michael’s face in a George Foreman Grill.
Not officially sanctioned use of a Foreman Grill, but exceptions can be made in the event of extreme jackass-ism.
Ryan : I ground up four extra-strength aspirin and put them in Michael’s pudding. I do the same with my dog to get him to take his heartworm medicine.
Lassie would give Michael a run for his money.
Dwight : Where are we going?
Jim : Get inside.
Dwight : Where are we going?
Jim : We’re going to Chuck E. Cheese.
Michael : Chuck E. Cheese? Oh god, I’m so sick of Chuck E. Cheese.
Jim : We’re going to the hospital, Michael.
Michael : I know, just saying.
This is bad, even by Michael’s standards. Like, really bad.
Michael : Dwight, what is your middle name?
Dwight : Danger.
Check out that quick reaction time. I think that concussion did Dwight some good.
Doctor : So I’m ordering a CAT scan.
Dwight : What is that?
Michael : Look, since you have the machine up and running, can I just stick my foot in and we can take a look?
Doctor : Well, for a burn, you really just need to look at the outside of the foot.
Michael : Ok, what kind of machine is that?
I think they call them eyes.