Todd remains eternally breezy and dismissive whenever Edgar approaches him about anything, actually. He always lends the impression of being too busy and having much bigger fish to try, although the visible manifestations of this are a bit wacky and head scratch provoking, to say the least. Now that they've finally gotten the conference room cleared of boxes and other displaced construction detritus, they are able to conduct their Monday morning meetings over there. These meetings remain essentially unchanged from the Duane days, with everyone in the office gathered there, the store managers piping in on the conference call speaker, to recite their applicable portion of the same numbers from the same sheet that Edgar emailed to everybody as an attachment per Todd, copied into the body of the email per Fred, and was also forced to verbally recite to Vince during his morning fly-by. In other words, a near total eclipse of time wastage blotting out this hour or more of their day. Todd speaks a lot during these meetings, but whenever anybody else is, he mostly sits there at his laptop and either goofs around with pie charts or, to a much greater degree, scrolls up and down throughout his vast sea of unopened emails.

They know this because Todd does the same thing every time. He hooks up the HDMI cord from his laptop to the mounted TV, for reasons unknown. Seated where he is at the head of the table, this screen is actually over Todd’s shoulder, so he can't even see it. All they can figure is that this is another strange performative stunt, that he thinks he is impressing them, or something, by how many emails he has? Either that or how colorful these pie charts are that he occasionally glances at?

It's curious any way you slice it, and all the more so when considering that it's plain to see the subject lines and the sender. Though even Todd isn't quite insane enough to open some of these sensitive emails while broadcasting to the big screen, you can infer quite a lot by what's visible here, for example whether Todd has or hasn't opened your most recent emails. This point consistently amuses Edgar. Considering that his boss has a habit of bursting into his office at approximately 3:37 on a Friday afternoon, breathlessly asking for some crazy ass report that Edgar has to assemble by hand, such as -

“Can you send me a comparison of...ice cream sales...on Wednesdays only for the past six months...and then show the cost of Harmony Hill versus Universal on those items...?”

“Umm...I mean...we don't have an ice cream department, so I'd be sorting by the brand or the item name or something, which might not...”

“That's fine, that's fine, whatever you can come up with.”

“Okay...when did you need this?”

“Can you get it to me by the end of the day? I really need this ASAP.”

- which Edgar, despite cobbling together with a fury, possibly staying over and racking up some last minute overtime, can see is now parked, unread, in Todd's email inbox, three days or a week and a half or even two weeks and a half later, as it will continue to be, surely, long past the point it has any relevance. It's a mighty peculiar phenomenon, given that Todd seems genuinely in some sort of panic when asking for these reports, but then what is Edgar to think about the timing of these requests, that they always seem to arrive well past 3pm on a Friday? And he clearly doesn't do anything with them anyway?

They still aren't quite sure what to think about this character in general. While on one hand, this tendency to tune out the meeting when he isn't the one speaking, and blatantly just scroll and click in pure unfiltered aimlessness, it sure looks like someone who is only pretending to do some work. But if that's the case, why transmit it to the screen? It seems as though you would disconnect that HDMI cable if this were true. Many are found speculating it must be some sort of ADHD thing, this inability to pay attention when anyone else is speaking (itself feeding into the obvious, probably inevitable, behind the back jokes about this being his “ADHDMI cord,” to facilitate Todd's preoccupation with, as Valerie so succinctly puts it, “ooh, bright colors! Shiny objects!”)

Yes, there is clearly a little bit of that factor in play, to be sure. But far more troubling are these little tingles lighting up Edgar's brain every now and then, where he wonders if just maybe Todd doesn't possess nearly as much knowledge as he's claiming. To hear this guy talk, he knows every aspect of this industry backwards and forwards, down to the most arcane detail. And then if you happen to challenge him on something that maybe doesn't quite seem to make sense, he just barrels through this with the expected bluster laced bravado, saying he already knew that, too, that this is simply how he wants to do things, so deal with it.

Because applying any other explanation to some of these occurrences often proves impossible. Like yet another late Friday afternoon, where Todd calls Edgar instead, with another of his breathless requests. Todd left the office hours ago, and from the sounds of things is driving somewhere right now, but he asks Edgar to go crack open this pair of giant boxes that have been sitting in the main room for over a week. These would contain a brand new, top of the line Windows computer, and then a dual screen monitor rig, respectively.

“Can you set those up real quick? They're for Valerie, they need to go on her desk.”

Edgar agrees to this, of course, even though it's a few minutes shy of four. He does kind of wonder about what's prompting this mild panic, though, considering Valerie herself has already wrapped up her week, had bolted about a half hour ago. Also thinks to ask, “what should I do with her current computer?”

“I don't know, just move it over to the side or something. She can deal with that. But yeah, I need you to go ahead and set that up before you leave today.”

Which is all well and good, and he supposes it's a compliment that Todd trusts him to handle this – even if this is a ridiculously easy task, and comes with a large, simple, fold out step of instructions reminiscent of those Ikea assembly manuals with their mute ogres. But does he think this is Edgar's job? He does after all continue to introduce Edgar as his “techie guy” whenever they meet with anyone from an outside company. Though Edgar always chuckles and says something like, “I'm actually the pricing coordinator,” when shaking their hands, and though 99% of his conversations with Todd involve numbers, is it possible that none of this sinks in and Todd doesn't really know what he does?

As he begins unpacking and setting up Valerie's admittedly slick new machine, Edgar begins to ponder this angle. Then, maybe five minutes later, his phone rings again – a number all the bosses have because Todd demanded everyone's digits, though Destiny and a couple others flat out refused – and here's the man of the hour once more, with yet another urgent request.

“Can you download a compatible version of Google?”

Edgar's so stunned by this request he feels as though his brain has temporarily shut down, as he stammers, “uh...”

“Make sure she has a compatible version of Google,” Todd reiterates, “she's gonna need that.”

“Uh...yeah. She'll have access to Google.”

“Please make sure that she does. Thanks,” Todd concludes, and hangs up.

Okay, so now it definitely doesn't feel so farfetched that Todd might be clueless about someone's job role. Download a compatible version of Google? This sounds like something a comedy sketch show would have an old person say. Which you might expect out of Vince, maybe, but Todd is in fact a couple of years younger than Edgar. Not to mention the entire most obvious angle that Valerie surely knows how to use her internet browser of choice.

But, okay, maybe you can brush aside a little tech related weirdness. We all have gaps in our knowledge, he thinks, and not always the most obvious ones. But a series of emails a few days later, concerning the coding of some paperwork, raises a red flag that's much harder to ignore.

Their new permanent controller, Wanda Robinson, unexpectedly emails Edgar, asking if he knows why a bunch of invoices just arrived on Glenda's desk, all of them coded to “bakery.” Wanda's an older black lady he hasn't met in person yet, as she just took over that gig a couple of months ago. Following that temp guy, Andy, there had also been this short lived Lewis character, a middle aged dad type who had assumed that role while Edgar was still over there in accounts payable. Come to think of it, actually, Lewis must have lasted about two years, and while it's shocking that much time has gone by already, not so much so the fact that the dude had moved on – though intimidatingly knowledgeable about anything accounting related, and pleasant enough if you happened to speak to him, he did have a distant, unreachable aura about him, the distinct vibe of a chronic, mercenary job hopper, forever climbing upwards. A fact perhaps best exemplified by a stipulation he apparently had written into his contract, in that he was permitted to hit the gym for an hour and a half every afternoon, right in the middle of the work day. And he did, too.

Edgar has never met Wanda and for that matter not yet had any interaction with her, period. So he's more than a little surprised to receive this message from her, although plenty flattered that she would ask him. Unfortunately, as he relates to the woman, this is the first he's ever heard of any quote unquote “bakery” department as well. Yet promises to look into the matter, all the same.

The most perplexing aspect of this mystery are that they arrived marked as such from all three stores. So it wasn't just some left field glitch generated by a single person, like the notorious parking ticket or “herbal classes” invoices and their ilk that were turned in over the years. Glenda, obviously recognizing this as well, was so baffled that she took the invoices straight to Wanda, rather than even bother contacting the stores. They agreed that the stores must have reached some decision about this new department, yet failed to inform them, and decided that Edgar would be the first, best person to contact for an explanation.

Yet now that they've switched to Slingshot, he no longer sees the invoices, not unless someone emails him one with a question or a problem. The product automatically goes into the correct department when the receivers check these shipments in, on the store end of this equation. As far as the department managers continuing to code them, though, before turning these in to Glenda, this is only done because Felix still hasn't gotten around to implementing the seamless connection between Slingshot and Great Plains, which would make everyone's life a lot easier and eliminate these types of shenanigans. Actually, Reece is so fired up about the situation she's taken to hammering Rob and Todd of late, complaining about Felix, asking for an explanation on the delay.

Still, although this is relevant to the issue at hand, it's kind of beside the point right now. Right now they just need to figure out what happened. As it turns out, this doesn't take nearly as long as expected, for in sending out a mass email to everyone potentially involved, Edgar has a response within a couple of hours, from Todd. He did it. He had somehow intercepted this week's invoices, crossed out what was written in their department code box on a bunch of deli ones, and wrote bakery instead.

Wondering what motivated Todd to take this outrageous measure in the first place is itself a question for the ages, but Edgar doesn't even bother to ask, because it doesn't really matter. Instead, as a separate email chain is created that involves only the two of them and Wanda, they attempt to figure out what he was hoping to accomplish. To this, Todd says, albeit with his typical bravado and lack of any apology, as though this were a perfectly normal set of events, he says they need to create a new Bakery department, effective today. He had switched the invoices himself to get the ball rolling on that front, so yeah, send the word out to everyone, this is what we're doing now.

Edgar is able to talk him down at least partially from this ledge, by suggesting that instead of an actual new department, they probably just want to create a sub-department under deli, right, a la Meat or Grab & Go or Juice Bar? Well, no, Todd insists, the bakery is going to be its own separate entity, but he supposes a sub-department will suffice for now.

There are almost too many questions to tackle with this one, that to do so would send the body into catatonic shock. Instead, Edgar attempts to just slow down and focus on the biggies. What will the margin be for this sub-department? And what kind of items are getting switched over to it? Considering that the people who are working in these delis haven't even been informed, should he do so, or should Glenda? Shouldn't the receivers get a little heads up on this development as well?

But perhaps the most crucial question is a big picture one that nobody is bold enough to ask. Namely, how could the president of a grocery store chain, with the alleged reams of industry knowledge that Todd claims to possess, think that this is how you would go about creating a new department? You launch a sneak attack against some invoices en route to accounting, and scribble whatever gibberish you like upon them?

This isn't maybe an Emergency Broadcast System alarm going off, but it's at least a little bell chiming beside Edgar on the desk. He does begin to wonder if Todd was as major of a player in the St. Louis grocery store business as he purports. It's just really hard to get to the bottom of anything with the guy, though, as you ask him one question, and he fills your head with an endlessly swirling half hour monologue, rapid fire, that you are in such a panic to extricate yourself from, that you only realize later he had not answered your original question, not even remotely.

Not to mention, a ton of other mayhem flying at you, from all corners. Just to drill down to the Todd-specific ones, though, he's constantly returning to a few stock phrases, such as “Universal's ripping us off, I know they are,” and “I'm getting us away from email, it's costing me too much money,” or most bewildering of all, possibly his favorite, “a year from now, we'll be completely free of Bellwether,” all said with conviction, and the assurance that he is working these angles, hardcore. Furthermore hinting that none of them could even hope to comprehend the masterful moves he is pulling off behind the scenes.

They can't have a cleaning lady, and email's days are apparently numbered, but then the next thing they know, the largest Keurig machine any of them have ever seen arrives at the office, a Todd purchase for their HQ kitchen. The approximate size of your average lunar module, this thing eats up a good third of the counter on the side next to their fridge and, like that refrigerator, surely did not come cheap, especially as it's brand new.

Todd wants to pitch their regular old coffee maker, until Edgar pipes up and says he will gladly take it for his own office, because he would rather have this than constantly fool with the Keurig cups anyway. With a shrug, Edgar is given the coffee maker, then, which pretty much makes his day, although space is pretty tight now that they've moved the communal printer in here, right beside Barbara's old desk. In fact the only available space for this coffee maker is on top of said desk, the lone item upon its otherwise empty surface. The first time Valerie sees this – which doesn't take long, as she is constantly coming in to retrieve documents Todd sent to the printer – she takes one look at the coffee pot and starts cracking up.

“Is this your new roommate?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, adds, “she's a little less annoying than the previous roommate. We get along great.”

Valerie strolls over to the maker and grabs its lid, begins moving this up and down, as if this device were speaking, her motions timed with every syllable. “Rar, rar, rar,” she says, and laughs. Then, “have you guys seen my sheer cape?”