Figgins is still working as McKinley’s janitor, and with the arrival of the school board to evaluate the school, Figgins and Sue argue about Sue’s impending permanent principal-ness. When she meets with the board in her office, she gives a convincing speech about the good she’s doing, and they seem impressed. One of the men, Superintendent Bob Harris, seems to be flirting with her and asking her out, but during the conversation it becomes clear that Bob thinks that Sue is a man. That isn’t to say that he wasn’t still flirting with her – his spiel had all the trimmings of the “I’m a late-in-life ex-married gay who isn’t out and I’m only going to talk in euphemisms but let’s hook up” trope, but yep, he definitely thinks she’s a man.
Sue is horrified – rightly so, in my opinion, because I don’t think she’s mistakable for a man at all – and later has a girly heart-to-heart with Becky about whether she looks masculine. Becky says that, although Sue possesses “an allure that goes beyond gender,” she could try more feminine clothes. Sue explains how her signature track-suit style came to be: when she began as a teacher in the 80s, she looked feminine, with a pink skirt and long hair. She immediately found that her image garnered no respect, especially from male students, and she drastically changed her appearance in order to reflect her position of authority. She worries that any deviation from that now may result in the same kind of disrespect happening again.
“You’re early,” a mysterious voice says as Blaine flounces into the choir room alone, and he jumps. “Jeez! Argh! Brad! You scared the crap out of me!” he shoots angrily at Brad the Piano Guy. “Warn me before you talk.” The look on Blaine’s face is absolute Chandler Bing-esque comedy gold – someone get Darren Criss a proper comedic role, pronto. He then whines to Brad about his rough week, and ignores the piano player’s own attempts to talk about his life problems – rather more serious than Blaine’s, and including a severe gambling problem and losing his house. Blaine, naturally, hears none of this as he continues to simply rant about himself and the glee club. Not noticing Brad’s scathing irritation, Blaine comes to the conclusion that if the club wants him to pipe down then he will – he’ll sit in the back and do absolutely nothing. He parks himself in the far corner, not his usual front row seat, and we hear gentle hissing from the wall vent behind him before he wakes up in a hallucination.
The rest of New Directions have literally become puppets – Sesame Street style puppet people, and they all lavish Blaine with love, praise and attention – his subconscious is s conceited and needy, it’s hysterical. He’s thrilled in a puppyish way, and talks to them in a total children’s TV presenter voice. They beg him to sing, and he happily complies with Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend.” The puppet New Directions dance around all over him, playing with him and hugging him. Darren Criss barely, just barely, contains his own squinty-eyed, toothy grin of pure glee at getting to film this scene – you can see it in his face, but he manages to rein it in and mostly keep it to Blaine’s childish arrogance of being elevated to his rightful,