A couple of years ago, a few months after Pam and I had finally overcome our hurdles and become a couple, an incident came up that affected our relationship.

It started innocuously enough with Michael popping out of his office and calling us into the conference room for one of his many meetings. This time he didn’t tell us what it was about, which led to some glancing around as people looked to see if anyone else knew what was going on; no one seemed to. Dwight had a smug, self-satisfied look, but that was so common with him that it was hard to read whether it applied in any practical way to this situation.  I waited for Pam and we made our way into the conference room together, finding seats near the back.  I had been working on a sales call with a client and promised him I’d get back in an hour with some hard numbers, so I pulled out a pad and wrote some notes about what I could offer him while Michael did his pre-speech wind-up.

“Today’s presentation is from Kevin.  Only he doesn’t know it yet,” Michael announced with a grin, standing at the head of the room.  I whispered to Pam that he reminded me of an eager amateur on open mike night at the local comedy club. Only the audience isn’t allowed to leave or drink, she whispered back.

We all looked around at each other wondering what Michael meant.  Kevin, who was seated against a wall further up the room than us, seemed roused from what was probably daydreaming about fantasy football, and just shrugged. “I have no idea what he means either,” he said after a moment.  “No idea. I didn’t prepare anything.”

Next to him, Angela shook her head in disapproval.  “Of course not,” she snapped. “You never do.”

“Today’s presentation is about decision making.  About how to decide between two equally valid choices in a professional way,” Michael explained, seeming more proud of himself than usual.  However, like Dwight’s smugness levels, it’s a fine art to detect variations in Michael’s pride when giving a speech or presentation.  I was surprised at his choice of topic. So far it seemed unlike him, surreally close to being a normal business meeting. I wondered if perhaps my boss was turning over a new leaf somehow and what that would be like. I put my sales notes aside and started to pay attention.

“And yes, hard as it may be to believe,” he continued, “Kevin is the inspiration. While going by his desk yesterday, I noticed a folder on the floor.” He waved the manila folder for several seconds and then kept his hand up and waved it a few seconds more in case somehow anyone hadn’t seen.  He seemed very excited about his discovery.

“Yes, we get it.” Angela shifted in her seat. For a woman who was probably born looking uncomfortable, she seemed even more so. “That one.”

“And inside...” Michael opened it up and took out a few pages of legal paper with a flourish, as if he was pulling a rabbit from a top hat.  I always figured that in Michael’s ideal life he’d have been a combination comedian and magician, like Penn and Teller only unsuccessful and stuck in Scranton. “…was a fascinating dissectionation…. dissec…blueprint of a difficult choice made by one of our own. I had it copied down and put on a chart here.”

On cue, Dwight stepped forward and handed Michael an approximately three foot by four foot piece of cardboard, which was then taped up on the wall so everyone could get a good view.  It was a simple table, a line drawn down the middle and one horizontally across near the top, above which were written the names “Karen” and “Pam”, on either side of the vertical line.

“As you see here,” Dwight pointed out, “we have a listing of Pam’s attributes, and Karen’s attributes.”

This is where I snapped out of my quiet reverie and felt quite alarmed.  “Wait.  Michael, can we stop this?” I asked, urgently.

But he merely chuckled at me, unmoved.  “Not a chance, Jamesanova. This is your moment to shine. You made an excellent choice, using Kevin as your assistant, and here we can see exactly how you did it.  You are an excellent employee and this will be a good lesson for others.”

I  tried again to stop them, explaining that Kevin did it all on his own, which Kevin agreed with, but Michael brushed off, calling us hecklers and pointing to the page where Kevin had scrawled that he was my “Official Assistant” and in the margins he’d written: “I’m so glad Jim asked me to help.”  I tried to explain that away as well but was rebuffed, with Dwight threatening to call security if I caused any more outbursts. If security wasn’t on a lunch break, he’d have to check first, he said. 

As Michael went down the list point by point, listing the pros and cons that Kevin had come up with, I sank further down into my chair.  I didn’t dare look over at Pam to see how she was reacting.  It went on for what seemed to be forever: from height to hair color, from legs to bust size, from likelihood of being a good parent to potential as a good lead singer, with Dwight holding up pictures Kevin had included in the file to illustrate his points. The rest of the room listened in stunned silence.  My heart was racing; this was not good, and I closed my eyes with resignation and waited. Waited for the sound: of her key to my apartment clacking down on the table in front of me, or of her chair pushing back fast as she rushed from the room, or even the sound of a sad sigh.

But none of that came. Instead, I heard Pam stand up and say, “Kevin left a few things out.” I looked up at her, she appeared serious and focused. “On Karen’s side it should say that she’s a way better dancer. And on my side....well, I’m a much faster typist.”  She then looked down at me and smiled broadly.  The kind of smile that told me I had nothing to worry about.

Michael absorbed this with interest and confusion, and turned to Dwight. “Add those to the table,” he instructed.  “Also, Pam’s boobs bounce when she stands up real fast.  Put that down as a ‘pro’ for her too.”

I had already known that I loved Pam but that was the day I gained confidence that we’d be able to weather the little ups and downs that our eccentric workplace threw at us.

“…And that’s why we can’t allow things to get too out of hand around here,” Michael said. “The author says it will cause the three D’s. Distraction, Destabilization, Downsizing.”

The meeting had reached a lull, and Michael could sense that he was boring his employees.  This was an unusual situation, as typically they seemed captivated by his lectures in the conference room; almost as if they would rather be here than hard at work at their desks. Today though, it seemed like everything was going wrong.  The topic, a book Jan had suggested titled Maintaining Office Discipline as a Key to Increasing Productivity, bored him so much he was only able to get twenty pages into it and had to miss lunch in order to get that far.  He might have been able to get a few pages further along and more prepared for the meeting if he hadn’t become distracted and annoyed when he noticed the price tag. Jan had paid a premium for an autographed hardcover first edition. She always lived first class and he had a new line on his forehead each month as evidence.

The lull was broken by the sound of a loud thunk.  Everyone in the room swiveled in surprise and found the source of the noise to be Creed Bratton sitting at the far end of the table, slicing open a pineapple with a knife; his handkerchief tucked into his collar as a makeshift bib. 

“Keep going,” Creed said, putting a paper plate under the pineapple and preparing to cut it into smaller pieces. “Don’t mind me.”

“Well, Creed…” Michael was nonplussed and tried to regain control of the situation. “You know what they say. If you don’t have enough for everyone, you’ll have to put it away.”

Creed swallowed a piece and nodded. “Oh, I have enough,” he said, wiping his lips. He reached into a bag beside his chair and piled more pineapples onto the table. “One for everyone here. Who wants one?”

“We are in the middle of something important.” Michael said, weakly.  He held up the book so Creed could see it.  He was too tired to be angry and thought maybe the old man wasn’t aware there was a meeting going on.

The pineapples rolled loudly across the table as Creed scattered them toward people with their hands raised.  He then wiped off his knife and passed it around so that anyone who needed it could use it.

“How…” Michael stammered, “How can you afford that?”

Creed shrugged. “I can’t.  Someone else is.”

“Well, I’m not paying for it.”

“Were you standing outside Steamtown Mall last night?” Creed asked, his sharp eyes meeting Michael’s with an inquisitive glance.  “Listening to an iPod and with a wallet sticking halfway out of your back pocket?”

“No.”

“Then relax, you’re not paying for it.  Now, who needs a paper plate and a plastic fork?”

Michael gave in and asked for a pineapple himself. He found a seat and dug in; he was hungry, it had been a long, tough day.  Getting things back on track was hopeless at this point and he hadn't been too fond of the track to begin with. But he liked the pineapple, and the freedom that came with the anarchy Creed had introduced.

The next morning, he sold the book on eBay and decided that he’d find a way to celebrate a Pineapple Day at work once a month.  A day in which he'd do everything he could to stop worrying so much about personal finances, productivity, discipline, and Jan.

“Cats don’t always come when you call them,” Mose said to Dwight in the darkness.  They were standing outside Angela’s house in the late evening, trying to coax Garbage to come to them so they could take him back home where he belonged.  Dwight had parked a hundred yards away and they had approached quietly.  The last thing he wanted was for Angela to notice he was here and mistakenly believe it was to see her.

His cousin Mose had missed Garbage more every passing day for weeks, making no secret of the fact.  He had lamented the cat’s absence often, even during table-making sessions.  It also bothered Dwight that Andy had turned the cat into a gift to further the former Stamfordian’s misbegotten, wrongheaded – depraved, Dwight sometimes thought - pursuit of the fair-haired accountant.  Returning the cat safely to Schrute Farms would bring a sense of justice on two fronts, so Dwight had set out in his Trans Am that night with a strong sense of determination and with Mose riding shotgun.

“Then why do people name them?”  Dwight shot back, tensely.  They kept their voices low.

“We could try another name, maybe she changed it.”

Dwight tried several more, any likely candidates he could think of - Excel, Easter, Jazz, Purgatory - but none of those worked. Garbage just licked a paw and didn’t pay much attention to them, his eyes sparkling in the dim light from the street lamp as the two men stood by the curb, unsure of how to proceed.  Dwight then remembered something he had seen Andy do once in the office to impress Angela.

“Moonwalk! Come here, Moonwalk.”  His voice was calibrated to be as quiet as possible and still be heard by the cat. He had rehearsed this a few times at the farm before they drove here.

The big cat looked over at them and stood up.  It took a single step in their direction, and was clearly intrigued but still wary.

Dwight was unhappy about the discovery he’d made.  “Dammit. How dare he!” he hissed, feeling a surge of frustration.  Then on impulse, he ran over to the animal and scooped it up, holding it tight.  He began to run back to his cousin, but Garbage didn’t cooperate at all and was out of his arms in a flash, leaving Dwight bleeding and stumbling back to the curb. 

Mose nearly tripped rushing forward to help his cousin.  “I thought we weren’t going to do it that way.”

“I know!” said Dwight as quietly as he could while trying to staunch the bleeding. “Let’s go home.” 

He had forgotten the number one rule about dealing with an independent, headstrong cat. Fact: you can’t force it, you let them be free and hope they choose you.

At work the next day, after a satisfying lunch of a bacon, chicken and beet sandwich on homemade bread, Dwight made his way to the empty conference room and plopped down in a chair to change his bandage in privacy. It was not a life threatening injury and he bore it stoically, but there were several deep scratches along his right hand and forearm.

A few hours earlier, Angela had noticed he seemed injured and asked him about it in passing, but he had brushed it off as nothing.  He had given her a wide berth ever since she’d made it clear to him that their days as a couple were over.  These days, he only let himself long for her from a respectful distance and had even taken to eating lunch alone in his car, listening to the radio and playing air guitar to sad oldies.

He finished applying ointment and started carefully wrapping a fresh bandage around his wounds from a full emergency medical kit he kept in one of his desk drawers. He had brought it in as a replacement for his weapons which had been confiscated, because a Schrute needs to be useful in an emergency in some way. As he gingerly covered the scratches (he was in more pain than he’d ever admit to anyone), he was vaguely aware of someone entering the room and standing near him, but he didn’t look up. No doubt it was Jim, coming to gloat, or perhaps Pam showing up to make a comment that would sound helpful and then later on the way home he’d realize she had really been making fun of him.

But the voice he heard was more sympathetic.

“Are you alright?” asked Angela.

He looked up, a bit stunned. There was not much emotion in her voice but her face was more open than he’d seen it in some time and her eyes were wide with sincere concern.

“I’ll live.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

“It’s a free office.”

She pulled a chair close to his and sat down.  Her smell, her voice, her presence that he’d missed so intensely was now overpoweringly close. A cat pendant she was wearing drooped against his arm as she took a closer look at what he was doing. “You’ve been avoiding me for months,” she said.

“You made your choice.”

She reached over and helped him finish securing the last part of the bandage snugly into place.  “I miss you, D.”

Video interviews with employees of Dunder Mifflin, Scranton, after a meeting called by Michael Scott to discuss his recent summons for jury duty.

Stanley Hudson

He spent a lot of the time asking us for ways to get out of it.  I told him to do his civic duty. He said that he didn’t have a Honda, he had a Chrysler.  Oh, Lord.

Phyllis Vance

I tried to explain to Michael that his presence on the jury could end up being the deciding voice that sways them and he should take that seriously. Later when I thought about it all, I had a little cry.

Dwight Schrute

I advised him to do it but to be aware that the real criminal could be anyone in the courtroom. Scan the faces, look for tells. Be very skeptical, someone could be out to trick you. Also, I gave him the truth-detecting headset that Jim made for me once.

Meredith Palmer

Juries are a great place to meet guys. They’re cut off from their wives and girlfriends. They never call after it’s over though.

Andrew Bernard

I was called for jury duty once in Stamford, but I didn’t get chosen. I think it’s all about who you know.

Kelly Kapoor

I can't imagine ever stepping foot in a courtroom.  Unless it was a celebrity trial, I'd do that. But there aren't any celebrities in Scranton.  My life is so sad.

Kevin Malone

Oscar bet me ten bucks that Michael finds some way to get out of it.  Creed bet me ten that he doesn't.  So either way, I win.   Hey, wait a minute…

Angela Martin

He’s making too big a deal out of it.  You just listen to the evidence, talk about it with the other jurors for a while and vote to convict. It’s a simple process.

Toby Flenderson

I informed Michael that if he needed to take time off for jury duty, the company would make arrangements to help him out. I said I’d even be willing to step in as temporary manager till he gets back. 

I missed your follow-up question. Could you repeat it? My ears are still ringing.

Oscar Martinez

I won’t complain if he gets out of it.  I wouldn’t want anyone to be judged by him.  I get enough of that at work, and I can’t imagine if it carried a sentence too.

Creed Bratton

I told the bossman straight out that what he needs to do is disagree with everyone else on the jury no matter what. Then find out who most wants to go home and how much it’s worth to them.

Jim Halpert

I always figured that someday the government would step in and take him away from us.

I now feel a little better about the taxes I pay.

Pam Beesley

Yeah, I convinced him to give up trying to get out of it. I explained to him that he’d be in a locked room with eleven others who can’t leave. A captive audience for days that he can use to try out new impressions and jokes.

After the meeting he asked me to find out if he can do jury duty every month.

It had been a long meeting, and after it ended Creed made his way back to his desk, only to discover that someone had had been messing with his stuff while he was away.  Sitting down and stretching out his legs, he immediately noticed that something was wrong. His regular mouse was gone, replaced by a new one he didn’t recognize; the blender he’d been working on repairing during the many quiet moments in his workday was missing; and the solitaire game he had been halfway through playing had been closed, which was not a big concern to him in itself, he could probably figure out how to start another one, but it was more evidence that someone had been tampering with his desk and belongings. He quickly went through the desk drawers in a vain hope that he’d find the missing items there, but had no luck.  All he found there were forms, files, a sweater and some candy. 

His reminder note to check on quality assurance once a year which he normally kept taped to the side of his monitor was nowhere to be seen either, having been replaced by a  squiggly drawing, some photos of people he didn’t recognize, and two separate to-do lists.   He never kept to-do lists himself; it was like receiving orders from a second boss and one was more than enough. Most noticeable of all, his regular phone had been replaced with a big new one which had a bunch of strange buttons and lights on it.

“Creed,” said a soft, familiar voice. It was the receptionist chick, and she was looking down at him with a sweet smile. Man, she was probably good in the sack.  He’d try to get her digits later.  “Creed,” she repeated, “are you lost?”

“Pardon?”

“This is my desk. Yours is over there.” She pointed to a desk on the other side of the room.  It did look strangely familiar, so he gave her the benefit of the doubt and wandered off in that direction. With any luck he’d find his blender at this other desk, and finally be able to finish that solitaire game.

“And then what happened, Michael?” Pam said consolingly, putting a hand on her boss’s shoulder. “Let it all out.  I closed the door; nobody out there can hear us.”

It was early in the work day, and they were in the conference room, seated at the table. Michael was still in his overcoat and Pam not quite awake yet.  When he’d arrived just minutes earlier, he had made a bee-line straight to her and stared plaintively. She knew what this meant: he’d had a bad experience and needed to unload to a sympathetic face.

“The man just kept getting closer to her,” Michael said, hands clasped in concern as he leaned in. “I could tell he was up to no good.  At first I thought things would work out fine, because they were in a public place.  In a department store, with people around. But I guess evil doesn’t care about things like that.”

Pam had thought ahead and brought with her a tissue which she now handed to him. He mouthed “Thanks,” used it, and then continued.

“He waited till she had her arms full of clothes and was on her way to the counter to check-out.  And then he just attacked. I couldn’t believe it when I saw it.”

Pam looked up at him with as much care as she could muster and put a hand on his. “What happened then? Did she live?”

Michael’s eyes misted up. “I don’t know,” he said.  “I just know that the girl - the friend of her son - stepped in and tried to defend her, and she fought the man hard for at least a minute.”

“That must have been intense.”

“It was.  They really went at it… breaking everything around them... sparks flying. But in the end, the evil Terminator knocked the good one out and carried Sarah away. Who knows what will happen to her now?”

“Don’t worry, Michael. I’m sure the good one will repair herself and rescue Sarah. And John will do something.”

“Do you really think so?”  He started to look relieved. She could see tension leaving him, as if he hadn’t dared let himself entertain that hope and now felt able to.

She reassured him that she had no doubt of it and would look for spoilers on the subject and forward them to him if she found anything hopeful.  He thanked her for listening and went into his office refreshed, ready to start the day.

A few minutes later, Jim made his way to Pam’s reception desk.  “What was that about?” he asked.  “He seemed really emotional.”

Pam shook her head and giggled. “I’m so glad the strike is over. I preferred the Grey’s Anatomy updates.”

David Wallace didn’t make it to Scranton very often, usually finding reasons to avoid the need for a trip there, such as sending Ryan instead or settling the issue over the phone.  He was tolerant of the Scranton branch and its manager to the degree he could be, but liked to keep his distance and thus his sanity.  Somehow, Michael Scott assumed this was due to his being allergic to local plants and trees and had over time sent Wallace various different allergy medications, suggesting he try them on his next visit. 

But Wallace still only rarely visited, despite these efforts. He was here today though, as part of a company-wide drive to improve sales and consider new ideas.  Over a period of weeks, he was traveling around to all the branches to hear in person what the employees had to say.  Anyone was invited to give an idea or opinion.

He dreaded it, but prided himself on being professional and tried not to let it show. He looked forward to seeing Jim Halpert again as the one highlight of the visit.  He viewed the young salesman as one of the few sensible people at the branch and hadn’t heard from him since a post-interview phone call withdrawing his name from contention for the job. But Jim was nowhere to be seen in the conference room.

Kevin had gone first with suggestions, urging that productivity could be improved if the accountants’ desks could be rearranged so that he and the head accountant were back to back, rather than facing each other.  Dwight had then stepped forward with his sketches of a paper-selling robot, the next step after a website, he claimed.  After him, Phyllis suggested issuing Blackberrys with bigger buttons, and finding a more objective way to assign new clients.

This was all pretty much as Wallace expected, and the only notes he took were of the highway routes he’d taken to get there, so that he wouldn’t forget and could get out of town as fast as possible once this was over. He was disappointed at Jim not showing up to make a presentation, though.

Finally, it was the regional manager Michael Scott’s turn and he made his way towards the front of the room, closed his eyes as if meditating for a moment and then said a single word.

“Blimps.”

After about fifteen seconds of ensuing silence, Wallace looked around confused.

“I’m sorry, is that all there is? Did I miss something? What about blimps?”

Michael smiled serenely, as if he had an ace up his sleeve. “Dwight?”

Dwight had been standing discreetly off to the side, and at Michael’s request reached down and pulled a large gray object from the corner and handed it to his boss.

“This,” Michael said, holding it up so everyone could see, “Is a scale model of a blimp. I have a vision of our beloved company having two of them in the sky above Scranton at all times, with the words ‘Dunder Mifflin’ on one side, and ‘Paper is Awesome’ on the other.”

Wallace cleared his throat and sat upright. “Michael, take a moment to listen to yourself. Do you really believe this would be a wise use of our resources?”

“Yes. Success in business is about making an impression, whether it’s in personal connections or your company’s image in the community. We have to get their attention before we can get their money. And two, big, expensive balloons-”

“Blimps,” Dwight corrected.

“Yes, blimps.”

“With full crews,” Dwight added. “And lots of technology.”

Michael looked at Dwight with one of his stares that implied he was finally starting to wonder why he kept him around, and then continued.

“With these floating above our fair town, they would get people to remember us. When someone thinks paper, they’ll think blimp and what is on the side of the blimp? Dunder Mifflin!”

 “Can you imagine how expensive that would be?” Wallace shook his head in disbelief.

“I already thought of that.” Michael handed the blimp back to Dwight. “We might have to close down Albany to pay for this but we could absorb the…. Albanians?

“Albandroids,” suggested Dwight.

“No. Albaniacs? That’s it. Anyway, there’s room.  We’re a welcoming family.”

Silence again overcame the room, until David Wallace eventually stood up and clapped half-heartedly a few times. “Is that it? Thank you for your input.  We’ll take it under advisement.”

“I hope so,” said Michael. “It took us all day yesterday to build that model. I had to let four client calls go unanswered to get it finished in time for this meeting.”

Wallace shook a few hands and made his goodbyes. On the way to get his coat, he spotted the missing salesman on his way in and met up with him near reception.

“Hey, Jim. Smart guy, being out on a sales call today.”

“Ah, you caught me.” Jim grinned, looking a little nervous. “No hard feelings, I hope? I just didn’t have much to add. And I really did have a sales call, though I suppose I could have rescheduled it.”

“It’s fine,” said Wallace, waving it off as a concern. “But I was hoping you’d make some suggestions too. I’m sure you have some good ideas.”

“Thanks. I don’t though.”

“You sure?” Wallace looked at him questioningly. Sometimes Jim was hard to understand. “I bet whatever suggestions you have are better than what I heard just now. Sometimes it seems almost like you don’t want to rise up.  You have a lot of potential.”

“Thank you.”

Wallace felt like he was being a little too hard on the young man. Jim probably didn’t want to withdraw from the interview last year but had to.  Maybe he’d been forced to return to his hometown due to an illness in the family or something similar.  It was the most likely scenario that would explain things.

“I understand how it is, though.” He gave Jim a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You’re probably needed here for now.  With your loved ones.”

A couple of feet away, the receptionist answered the phone, stating her name and company.  Jim looked over at her for a moment.

“You know what?” he said, facing Wallace again and smiling. “You’re exactly right.”

Michael dropped the large cardboard box on the conference table next to Pam with a thud.  It was approaching noon and they were alone in the room.  She had a fresh legal pad, ready to take notes, and he was determined to get the chore over with as painlessly as possible. But before they could get started, there were two sharp knocks on the open door and Jan swept into the room unexpected and unannounced.  Michael immediately gave her a kiss on the cheek and a smile.

“Hi Michael,” Jan said, handing him a bagged lunch. “I need to talk to you. Am I interrupting anything important?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”  He looked into the bag.  It appeared to be a turkey sandwich with a cereal bar on the side; she knew him well. “What can I do for my Jannifer Leviston?”

“I asked you to stop calling me that,” she said curtly. “Hi Pam.”

Pam exhaled a quiet little hello in return.

“This won’t take long. I’m here about Ryan. Michael, we’ve got to do something about him.”

“Aha!” Michael felt a small wave of pride. She’d be glad to know what he was up to. “Well it’s interesting that you mention my former protégé, because-”

“It’s so many things,” She interrupted him but he didn’t mind. He could feel the frustration churning inside of his girlfriend. Sex with Jan was no longer Sex with JAN! to him but he was still in awe of their relationship at times.

“That stupid beard,” she went on.  “His condescending tone.  His plans to repaint my former office. Hunter texted me about it yesterday. We really have to do something about him.”

Michael tapped the side of the box and Pam, knowing what was coming, looked as if being somewhere else at this time was high on her wish list.

“I already am,” he said, proudly.

Jan looked confused and seemed to notice the box for the first time. “What’s in there?”

“This, my love, is the chickens coming home to the rooster.  These are Ryan’s future birthday gifts. Or they would have been if he’d played his cards right.”

“Birthday gifts? I don’t get this, Michael. Explain.”

He reached into the box and started pulling out items and setting them on the table.

“Entourage Season Two.  A Sharper Image alarm clock. Look at this cool stress toy!”

Jan still looked puzzled and picked up the Entourage box, as if hoping some explanation was printed on it.

“These are all his birthday gifts,” Michael attempted to explain. “I bought them in advance to give Ryan over the coming years. Through 2015. But he’s changed so much now. Success went to his head, and facial hair.” He was surprised at no reaction from Pam or Jan to that line. Tough room. “I’m going to give them away to charity.”

Donating them to charity had been Pam’s idea and she smiled

“If a charity gets the top bid for them on eBay,” he clarified.

Pam was disappointed and it showed.

“Okay! To charity. The Salvation Army if that still exists. And if they haven’t been sent to Iraq.”

“Iraq?” Jan looked more confused by the moment.

“Sand would scratch some of this stuff up.”

“Why….why would you do something like this?” Jan stammered, stepping forward and looking into the box herself.  She sifted through a few of the items still inside. “Buy all of these things for him?”

“You’ve been telling me to plan ahead financially.” He had expected her to be pleased with his foresight.  “Even Oscar has told me that. And besides being Mexicanical, he’s also an accountant.”

“This is just… too much.” His girlfriend focused her penetrating eyes on him. “Even for you. I don’t know where to begin.”

For a moment, she seemed as if she might yell at him but instead just thrust the Entourage box into his hand, turned on her heels and walked out the door, saying, “We’ll talk at home later.”

Michael pulled out a chair and sat down, already tired and it was early in the day. He and Pam spent a half a minute absorbing it all in silence, neither knowing what to say.

“So does this mean,” Pam finally, hesitantly asked him. “That we should put off cataloging and giving away the box full of Ryan’s future Christmas gifts until you sort this out with Jan?”

“Yep. And find out where the Salvation Army is stationed. Thanks, Pam.”

One day recently, the members of the party planning committee were seated around the big table in the conference room, working out the details for Stanley’s upcoming surprise birthday party.  Pam had an idea which she illustrated for the other members on a sketch pad.  There was to be a big sign with a crossword on it spelling out “Happy Birthday,” with intersecting words.  This went over well with everyone and they all agreed it was just the sort of simple but stylish approach they needed; it broke their creative logjam.  Amid smiles and supportive comments, more ideas spilled out from each of them.

Everyone was getting along well, and Phyllis was greatly enjoying the consensus decision making. It was such a nice change from the way things usually went that, without thinking, she blurted out a suggestion. 

“Why don’t we vote for a new leader of the Party Planning Committee each month?” she asked with a cheery voice.

“What?” said Angela, flatly.

“Then we could all have a turn,” Phyllis explained. “It would be fun and more like working together as a group.  Like we are now.”

The ensuing silence was so complete that a few crumbs spilling off of a cupcake in front of Angela seemed almost audible.  Phyllis looked around from face to face. “I just thought, since we were all getting along so well, it might make for a nice...” She trailed off at the end.

Angela narrowed her eyes and began clicking the end of her pen with her thumb. “Very well,” she said. “Who else here would like to vote?”

Pam averted her gaze; she suddenly found a loose thread on her sweater worth staring at. Oscar sighed and leaned back, closing his eyes and waiting for this to be over.  Meredith started to speak and then just closed her mouth and stayed silent.

“Okay,” said Angela, turning her focus completely onto Phyllis. “It’s just you and me. How do you vote?”

Phyllis blinked a couple of times.  “I, um…I abstain.”

“Fine.” Angela let the moment sink in so that it wouldn't happen again. She then turned to the others.  “Now that we’ve settled that, let's get back to work.  Does anyone have any ideas for party hats?”

“Her art is amazing,” Roy said, between mouthfuls of his sandwich. He slumped on the floor against a wall, beside his toolbox and a pair of books.

It was lunchtime, and he and Darryl had volunteered to fix a leg of the conference room table.  It was a nice change of pace and a chance to eat their bagged meals in a more comfortable environment.  Roy had brought with him two library books about art that he'd been trying to get through in recent weeks.  They were tough reads for him, but he had been making an effort to understand his Pammy’s interests and in the process was learning more than he expected.

Darryl popped open his soda and sat down.  “I still can’t believe you’re going through all this just to get her back. That’s not the Roy I know.”

“I got her back," said Roy. "Now I’m trying to keep her. Hey, I’m trying to change. I’m going to impress her at her art show tonight.” He smiled and imagined the scene. “I’ll tell her that her paintings have a pix....pixilated look reminiscent of impressionism.”  He had seen how much work she’d put into one of her works, a painting of the very building they were in now, and was looking forward to complimenting the many layers she used to get the sky just right and her skillful use of the right angle in composition.

“Wow,” Darryl laughed, and put his can down before he spilled it. “That is not what she wants to hear at all, man.”

“It’s not?”

“She knows you’re a simple guy.  That’s why she likes you.  If she wanted a smart guy she’d have gone with that skinny-legged dude.”

“I guess so,” Roy shrugged.

“She came back to you because you’re down to earth,” Darryl said firmly. “Don’t go changing her image of you, or you’ll mess things up and lose her again.”

Roy took another bite and looked at the books beside him.  Had he made a mistake? Would this drive her away again?

“I guess you’ve got a point,” he grunted.  Darryl was right, what had he been thinking? It was best she never knew about this dumbass idea of his. “I’ll put it more like she expects me to.”

“There you go.  Just say it’s pretty or some shit. Now pass me that hammer.  We have a table to finish fixing.”

Dear Diary,

It's the end of the week and I haven’t talked to you in many days.  Much to tell.  A lot of it about this glorious conference room which I write to you from while having my delicious lunch.

Talked to Jim on Monday about wanting to make this room a more relaxed atmosphere.   Like a comedy club or the Golden Globes, only businesslike.  With a better room design, I was betting that more people would appreciate my lectures, workplace mediation and impressions.

Jim advised me to get rid of the big table, and to replace it with a bunch of smaller tables. Sounded good. I did that on Tuesday.  After that, he told me people would listen more attentively if they weren’t so hungry.  Made sense to me. So on Wednesday I had a couple of new vending machines brought in.

On Thursday, Jim said adding a microwave and a stack of magazines would finish it off nicely. Thursday afternoon, I realized he was creating a second break room.  Today, I had the big table put back in and things returned to normal.

Didn’t get mad at him though, how could I?   Ryan has become a Death Eater (hehe – Jan wants me to stop using hehe but sometimes it’s necessary), and now Jim is my main protégé.  

We’re a lot alike. Except that his girlfriend didn’t get implanted and doesn’t make him dress up in a school girl’s outfit. As far as I know.  Will confirm and get back to you.

Besides, Jim helped me out of a bad mistake yesterday. I was in the break room, the real one, chilling out with Angela the accountant. I suggested she try a piece of my beef jerky.  She reminded me she was a vegetarian. I asked how serious she was about that. She really didn’t have any meat in her cauldron at home?

I know.  It doesn’t look good when I write it out like that.

Jim was sitting nearby and made one of his faces at me, and I caught myself. I meant to say kitchen of course, and quickly corrected myself a bunch of times.  It was an easy mistake, since Jan and I had just watched a History channel show last night about Puritans burning witches.  And you know how Angela always looks at work? Like a cross between both sides of that?

Anyway, diary – I am so glad that this room is back to normal.  I love it. The conference room is like Central Perk meets the Room of Requirement. It is my place of teaching.  It is where I bring everyone when there’s a situation that needs to be unsituated.  I make everyone gather in here and I impart the wisdom of my experience.  Not that I’m that old because I’m not but I am old enough to have wisdom – youngish wisdom.

The conference room had a very personal impact on my life too. This is where I first fell for Jan. She was visiting from New York, giving us all a lecture on how to cut costs without getting people fired.  Blah blah, you know how it is.  Who has time to listen to that?

She had an indefinable quality that drew me to her immediately.  I told that to Packer later and he said “So she gave you a boner?”  But it was more than that. She was hot, but she had class. It was a classy boner.  A classy boner that ended up changing both our lives. Me and Jan, not me and Packer.

So the room holds memories and importance to me. And is a surprisingly good place to watch a movie.

That’s it for now.  Text you later, by hand.

XOXO

Michael