Part Un.
Part Deux.
Part Trois.
Inside, in a real move-the-needle moment, Steve busses and Brandon chides him about missing a spot. I'd seriously rather spend the evening with The Zuck and her non-entity of a boyf than have to endure much more of this brainless rich-dunderhead-works-at-restaurant / is-a-total-failure / morally-superior-friend-has-the-last-laugh absurdity.
Worthless Nat emerges from the kitchen carrying approximately all the eggs. He calls out to Steve to help him in the backroom, and we're about to slip into some Imbecile Breaks Eggs Waka Waka Comedy (truly the lowest form of comedy) so buckle up.
Brandon scolds, "You better hurry, Stevie. Don't want to tick off the boss man." Steve spouts off some delusions about Nat loving him: "This is working out great!" I'm sure his barber also said, "This is working out great!" as he spun Steve's salon chair around after putting the finishing touches on the in-hibernation frillback pigeon slumbering on the back of his cranium, so I don't know how much stock I'd put into his words here.
Nat apparates table-side as if from nowhere, and scares the ever-loving shit out of me, not unlike something something Steve's hair something something every time that sun-bleached steel wool bastard appears on screen something. He asks to speak to Brandon in private...
...and then takes him two feet away to sit at the counter. Worthless Nat: a true Virtuoso of Subterfuge. He tells Brandon that he's going to fire Steve, GASP, saying, "I don't know how to break it to him."
Brandon, nothing but a simpering, skeevy snake with a good head of hair, smirks and fires up the ol' gaslight: "Maybe you should just tell him the truth. I'm sure he can take it." Nat ponders, "I can't even figure out why he wants this job. It's not like he needs the money. It's like he's got something to prove, ya know?" I hope when all is said and done, Nat finds out everything and goes all Laney Boggs StyleZ, "Am I bet? Am I a BET?? AM I FUCKING BET????" And then beats Brandon to near-death with his fucking precious spatula, the handle of which is currently lodged in Steve's pubes.
Whatever whatever, Brandon seems to feel a bit of remorse and tells Nat to give Steve another chance and then there's clinging and clanging and crashing from the kitchen and, in the grand tradition of the iconic Chandler Bing, someone should really ask Steve on the daily, "How do you not fall down more?"
Nat hurries back to hopefully kick half-witted Steve's half-witted perm as Brandon chortles and ambles back to the table, asking everyone, "Omelets, anyone?" My sides? Decidedly not splitting.