The park employees fan out to their designated stations and go to work. Skips makes short work of his first restroom before moving on to the next in good time, but by the time he returns, the whole restroom is wrapped with even more plastic than before, which now includes the sinks. Steadfast, he dives in and resumes the cutting and collecting. Pops, for his part, is having trouble with the smell getting to him quickly. Halfway through the second half of his first restroom, he eventually has to leave to catch a breath of fresh air. Upon returning, he finds all the plastic is back where it had been, now layered twice as thick. Mordecai works steadily, regularly checking his watch and groaning at how long it's taking. He tries to work faster by plunging the box cutter blade into the center of the seat opening, only for it to get caught after piercing the plastic. Mordecai pulls on it repeatedly to free the stubby knife until his grip slips and the cutter falls through the slit and plunks into the toilet water. With a look of absolute disgust, he opens the cut wider with his hands and reaches inside.

For their part, Muscle Man and Fives stand by the snack bar as guests enter and leave the nearby bathroom, their eyes always on the lookout for anyone suspicious with a bag or hoodie. Muscle Man goes so far as to tackle a man with a plastic sandwich bag who is walking near the bathroom. Benson patrols between all the bathrooms, keeping tabs on everything from the radio on the cart, occasionally stopping to inquire about the suspect to park visitors or giving directions to an open restroom. Soon, much to the gumball machine's delight, the sightings start and quickly intensify. The first sighting is by Fives, who sees the culprit trying to climb inside the snack bar restroom through a thin vent at the top of the building. Then, by Skips, as he's finishing up the fifth cycle of his two restrooms. Mordecai reports a sighting as he is about to move onto his second restroom of his third cycle. He sees the criminal run away from the building as he arrives. The cart whirrs quickly down the park pathways as Benson chases the prankster repeatedly but is always too slow to catch him. Then, to his great misfortune, he accidentally drives into an elaborate invisible trap that leaves the cart tangled in plastic wrap as the culprit laughs and vanishes into the shrubs.

As all of this is happening, Thomas and Rigby do their duties, walking back and forth and cleaning up the plastic from their assignments quickly and efficiently. Neither seem to catch sight of the plastic prankster, although they don't try very hard. Rigby's eyes rarely leave the ground as he collects the plastic into wads and tosses them into a garbage bag Thomas handed him on their way out of the house. And while Thomas does look around, his eyes narrowing every time, he spots a shifting shadow in his peripheral view. He mainly focuses on his work while sparing the occasional worried glance towards Rigby, who hasn't said a thing in hours. It stays this way until the last hour the park is scheduled to be open when the assaults on all the restrooms abruptly stop, and they can clear their assigned buildings with no more pranking.

"Everyone stay on your toes. Until the park officially closes, don't let your guard down. I have a feeling this guy isn't done just yet." Says Benson over the radio, followed by a chorus of affirmatives.

"So are you buying us food later, or are we-"

"Thomas!" The collective groan of the others came through the walkie-talkie, cutting him off.

"Sorry. Over and out." Clipping the device back onto his belt, he walks back into the restroom. Rigby is sitting on the floor by the sinks next to his stuffed garbage bag of plastic wads, staring into nothing.

"Benson says to stay put until the end of the day. I don't know if Benson's going to catch the guy tonight. It looks to me like the prankster already left." Rigby nods but otherwise says nothing. Sighing, Thomas leans against a wall to rest his aching back, forgoing the splintery bench beside him. Being bent over gross toilets all day does nothing good for his spine. His ears perk at someone mumbling something.

"How do you do it…" Rigby is staring at Thomas with tired eyes.

"How do you do it, Thomas?" he repeats.

"Do what?"

"Be so awesome." Thomas chuckles bashfully at the praise.

"Thanks, dude, but I'm not that awesome. I'm just me, is all."

"Everyone likes you… and hates me…"

"They don't hate you. It's just been a rough day. Everyone's frustrated and tired. It'll all be better tomorrow." Rigby doesn't believe him as he folds in on himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and looking even worse than before.

"It won't get better, dude… and it's all my fault… they were right about everything. I'm just a worthless loser who can't be trusted to do anything." He looks away from Thomas and back at the ground in despair, returning to silence. For his part, Thomas has no clue what to say; he doesn't have the necessary experience to deal with this. But an idea does form.

"Well then, why not change that?"

"I can't. You heard what Benson said."

"Okay, sure, not immediately, but you can with time."

"Ugh! I've been covering for Mordecai for over a month; nobody's noticed! Every time I cover for him, I always do the work we both are supposed to do together, on my own, and not only does everyone not believe me, Mordecai says I'm worse than useless!"

"Well, most people don't get recognized for just doing the job they're expected to do. But…"

"But what?"

"If you're serious about wanting to change, I might know of a way to make that happen faster." For the first time in hours, Rigby perks up and excitedly scurries up to Thomas

"HOW? I'll do any-"

"Woah, first." Thomas' appearance at that moment became stern, much like he had earlier with Rigby during lunch. He leans down, looming over the smaller raccoon, "I need you to think about this, and I mean really think about it and give me an honest answer. Are you willing to do whatever it takes? No matter how hard it gets?" While Rigby's first instinct is to immediately say yes, the weight Thomas emphasizes with the question gives him pause. In truth, can he do it? He's done it in spurts before, but can Rigby consistently do whatever Thomas suggests? Can he even motivate himself enough to stop slacking off altogether in the first place? Uncertainty swims inside Rigby and is joined by the harsh words the others had said today. The harsh truths. The words he's heard his whole life really from someone or another. Is it even possible? Thomas seemingly reads his mind,

"Look, Rigby. I wouldn't offer this if I thought you couldn't do it, but you can. However, the choice is yours. So, what'll it be?" Thomas stands up and holds out his hand, waiting. Rigby stares at the offer right in front of his face that he's been asking for all day. With a shaky hand, Rigby takes Thomas's.

"I'll do it." Thomas' grip is firm as they shake hands.

"Alright." The seriousness disappears, and the friendly Thomas he knows returns, "So the obvious thing to start is to stop slacking and only take the designated breaks. Second, you'll have to do more than just your job. I'm talking about going above and beyond what Benson and the others expect of you if you want them to recognize your hard work. Thirdly, you must stop complaining when Benson gives you an order. Just do as he asks, even if you don't like or agree with it. You do those things and keep up with it they'll change their minds eventually."

Rigby looks at first like he wants to protest. The advice on the surface seems really generic, but he decides against it.

"Okay, fine. But how? It's not like Benson will let me go around and do stuff on my own." Thomas nods, crossing his arms.

"Well, we are stuck here for at least another forty-ish minutes. What do you think you can do here that might impress Benson?" Rigby turns around and surveys the restroom itself. It isn't the largest restroom in the park, with only two stalls and a pair of urinals, sinks, and paper towel dispensers with a long mirror across both sinks. Rigby and Thomas are standing in a small area to the side by the entrance between a trashcan and a short wooden bench.

"Uh…" His eyes flicker around before he homes in on the ground by the paper towel dispensers,

"Oh!" He walks over and picks up a crumpled paper towel. Thomas smiles but gives a 'keep going' gesture. Brow, now furrowed Rigby, looks around again and, this time, notices that there is litter stuffed here and there, and in the corners of the room are leaves and debris along with dirt on the floor, "Oh…"

"Mhmm. It'll be some time until you get used to doing both your normal work and more without sacrificing your overall efficiency, but now's a good time to practice. I'll grab some supplies from the storage locker while you start." He walks to the entrance.

"Wait, what about Benson? If he sees you without me, you'll get in trouble."

"Don't worry, there's a small supply locker behind all the bathrooms with basic cleaning supplies; I'll be real quick." And with that said, he is gone. Rigby hates it, but already he can feel that same old feeling of laziness bubbling up. Instead of giving in, he does his best to ignore it as he throws away the trash into the trashcan and tosses the leaves outside the door. Once all that is done, the bathroom admittedly does look better. After thoroughly washing his hands, Rigby sits on the least prickly part of the bench, waiting for Thomas to return as there is little else he can do without at least a broom.

A few minutes, though, became a lot longer, and the longer Thomas was gone, the more concerned Rigby got. Is this a test? Is he supposed to find some way to keep cleaning? Is this a joke at his expense? Thoughts and doubts swim in his head until he has had enough. Exiting the restroom, he peers around, trying to catch sight or sound of the cart, but finds nothing and no one. The lights are on all over the park as the afternoon becomes evening and the sky dims. It's likely close to or after the end of the shift, but without Thomas around who has the radio, he can't be sure. Sneaking around the back of the small building, he finds that Thomas is still nowhere to be found, but he does see that there is indeed a locker, as the goat said.

"Come on, Thomas, this isn't funny." Walking over to it, Rigby can see that the locker has been unlocked, the rusty lock on the ground, and the door partially open, "Hmph hmph, so that's your game, Tommy boy? Fine, I'll show you how serious I am." Opening it up, he can see a wide array of jugs with faded or ripped labels, a bucket, mop, and broom with a taped-together handle. Grabbing the latter items and a tall blue half-empty bottle with what looks like a mop on the label, Rigby quickly returns to the restrooms and goes to work.

He, unfortunately, learns the hard way that he should sweep the dirt and dust out first before mopping if the resulting gross, smeared, watery, pudding-like mess on the ground is anything to go by. Pushing the sludge outside took tons of water and mopping, but he refused to give up. When finished with the men's side, he goes to the women's, takes care of the garbage, sweeps it out, and then mops, achieving much more desirable results. And though time passes quickly, Thomas is still nowhere to be seen, so Rigby continues on his own while muttering angrily about tricky goats and lazy people unable to throw away gum properly. Ultimately, he cleaned all the toilets, urinals, and sinks, wiped down the mirrors (having to climb on the sinks without a stool), and degummed the underside of the benches. He'd get the dead bugs out of the buzzing fluorescent lights, too, but there isn't a ladder in the locker for him to use. In the end, though, the bathroom is spotless and smells of chemical lemons.

"Hmph hmph, who's taking this seriously now?" the air gives no response, "You can come out now from wherever you're hiding, Thomas. I finished all of it." Still, there is no answer, just the buzzing of the lights above. "Whatever, I'm heading back to the house." He's about to make good on that, too, when he notices the bags of trash and the bag of wadded-up plastic just outside. Groaning at having to make one last dumpster run, he puts away the cleaning supplies, reattaches the lock, and then walks to the dumpster, dragging the bags behind him. Night has fallen, time having escaped Rigby while he was cleaning.

As he walks, he is eventually and abruptly halted after running into an invisible barrier.

"What the.." He touches it, feeling taught plastic wrap. Looking around, he notices that some of the bushes look shiny in the dim lights of the lamps while something thin and shiny flutters from tree branches and light posts. Feeling a growing dread, Rigby takes out the box cutter that Benson had handed to the goat, who then gave it to him, and cuts the obstructing barrier before quickly pressing on. However, the further he travels, the more plastic he sees covering everything or littering the ground, from park benches to drinking fountains and all sorts of flora in-between, coated in the thin material. Picking up his pace even more Rigby feels prickles on the back of his neck, as if someone is intensely watching him. He's almost at a sprint by the time he gets to the dumpster, thankfully devoid of plastic bindings.

"Oh, thank goodness." Not wasting a moment more, he throws all three bags into the trash dumpster and breathes a sigh of relief. Turning around, ready to hurry back to the house, he is met by the sight of a dark figure standing not even two feet away from him.

His screams are muffled as plastic shoots out from within the person's hood, rapidly trapping Rigby in a plastic cocoon with layers so thick he's rendered blind, deaf, silenced, and unable to move at all, only able to barely breathe through his nose. Panic flows through his body at being so tightly confined. His captor takes no notice of his struggles as they drag the panicking raccoon away into the night.