вy day: andy dwyer, ѕнoeѕнιnιѕт. вy dιғғerenт тιмe oғ day, andy radιcal

The Pawnee Diner is a small restaurant, but not unestablished in the world of New York dining. Neither stuffily refined or so bad for you it's good, the Diner sits comfortably in Paula Deenlandia, serving up the kind of down home food you really wish was like mom made. Join us this season on Inside the Kitchen as we shadow the talented team over at the Pawnee Diner!

In the first shot, someone has rearranged the letters on the marquee style sign--

"it's charmingly retro!" Leslie says, clasping her hands together and staring at the big black letters with eyes that shine. "This will be our crowning jewel! The calling card for our era's leadership of this fine establishment. The--"

"I give it a week before someone rearranges the letters to spell out something nasty," Donna says quietly.

"A day." April's voice comes from somewhere inside her hoodie.

Donna scoffs. "Not even in this neighborhood. Plus Leslie's going to be pulling an all nighter watching that thing and we all know it."

Under grey cotton, thin shoulders shrug. "Bet you a hundred bucks."

"You're on-- prepare to pay."

("Leslie asked me to help her guard the sign. She thinks it'll help me be more involved or passionate or good with customers or whatever." April bites her lip, squirming a little in the interview room chair. "So I told her okay so she'd stop talking, but I just wasn't going to show up. Then Donna bet me a hundred bucks and now I'm going to make the sign say dicks." She pauses. "A lot."

Reaching out from under her sweater, she pulls out a thick stack of marquee size letters, all with k on one side. "I brought extra k's.")

-- to simply say 'DICKS', over and over. Below the sign, Leslie frantically gestures at a shrugging April, while Donna glares in the background and pulls out her wallet.



( blah blah blah connective tissue. )

"Andy is our busboy." Ben raises a hand to fuss with his collar, realizes he's doing it, and jerks it down with a weak smile. "Sorry should we resh-- I'll just. Andy is our busboy, and he's been working here for about two years now. Before that, he was... stalking our sous chef." The enthusiasm in his voice fades out, and he blinks slowly. "it was uh-- gentle stalking. Really more of an enthusiastic following. Can we cut that part? That's really not... really not anything I should have said at all. Sorry, is it hot in here? Can I get a--"

Fifteen minutes later.

"Andy is our busboy, going on two years now. He's a dedicated employee, always gives it one hundred and ten percent."

"Les-laaaaaaaaaay. Leslie!" Andy pokes his head in the freezer door, wiggling his eyebrows when Ben and Leslie jump apart too fast. "Oooh, where you guys makin' out? Because I can totally tell you about the thing that happened later it you wanna keep making out."

Smoothing down her whites, Leslie shakes her head. "Nope! No. No, we weren't-- okay we were, but you can't tell Ron."

("Ron hates it when Ben and I express our natural, human affection towards each other at work." Leslie crosses and uncrosses her arms, shaking her head sadly. "Just because of that one time with the sirloin we knocked off the counter, and we really could have washed it, and he wasn't even supposed to be there, so really--"

She breaks off, looking pained. "Ron takes his meat very seriously.)

Andy nods, agreeably. "Sure thing, boss. So, okay, the thing. I kind of did... something to the coffee maker in the office? And now it doesn't work. At all. And parts kind of fell off. And the carpet's all soggy. Should I... call someone about that?"

"He tries." Ben sighs as something outside the room crashes and a familiar voice yells 'I'm okay!' "He... he tries."