Movin’ Out

Episode Report Card
Demian: B- | 69 USERS: B-
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In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description!

Will blunders his way through The Hallowed Halls Of Dear McKinley High, bumbling past several table displays with titles like "Burger Repair" and "Sewage Processing" affixed above them on the walls until he finally catches up with Sue and wonders what gives. Seems we've arrived in the middle of "The First Annual McKinley High Career Fair," which is something you'd think Emma would have dreamed up in her role as the school's sole guidance counselor, but as Jayma Mays has been spending much of her life as of late on a truly horrible sitcom, the primary responsibility for this evening's wacky plot-stirrer has fallen upon Principal Sylvester's more-than-capable shoulders. And she seems quite proud of her accomplishment, indeed, even after Will points out, "These jobs are terrible!" "It's not the '90s anymore," Sue counters, "when any high-school dropout could stumble his way into a six-figure salary as COO of a dot-com startup." "Upon graduation," she reminds him, "our students will be entering the most competitive job market in recent history." Change "most competitive" to "absolute worst" and we're probably closer to the truth, Sue.

Naturally, Will blows past both Sue's sage arguments and my equally sage amendments to same to complain about the fact that he's not seeing "a booth for theater, or music or dance." "There is nothing here representing a career in the arts!" he whines. "That's because there's no such thing as 'a career in the arts,'" Sue patiently explains, and let's face it: She's not entirely off the mark, there, now is she? "I will not encourage members of this student body," she continues, "to further endanger their already uncertain futures in the unrealistic and narcissistic pursuit of stardom, when the very best they're likely to achieve is coaching a high school Glee Club and marrying a redheaded googly-eyed Homo afarensis with early-onset Dressing Like An Old Lady Disorder. Not gonna do it." She got the genus wrong, there, but I'm still not disagreeing with her primary point. "However," Sue kindly concedes, totally ignoring me, as befits a fake person on the television set, "if you would like to set up a stool in between Salad Artistry and Fecal Sculpture, well, you're more than welcome to regale passersby with your inspiring story of how you dreamt of Broadway stardom, and ended up rapping for high-schoolers with a head of hair that looks just like Olympia Dukakis's merkin." And that certainly represents a fascinating bit of imagery. In any event, Will rolls his eyes and sighs his way straight into this evening's title card.

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