The Surplus: Creed Bratton's POV

He needed the chairs. He couldn’t describe how badly he wanted to get those last few chairs. The receptionist had been telling him for months that she’d give him her chair and now the boss was contemplating getting new chairs for all of them. Then he’d have the three that he needed. Then he’d be satisfied.

But it looked like the tall guy and the Mexican were after a new copier. Screw a new copier. Who needed copies of things anyway? People and their new technology. He never trusted Mexicans if he could help it and he was still mad that the tall guy wouldn’t give him peach cobbler on his birthday. This was war.

It was a shame that Schrute wasn’t here to take a side. The receptionist needed all the help that she could get. The red head was never any help. She was always passed out at her desk. All the black man did was do the crossword. None of them knew how to fight. But the receptionist did.

He found her in the break room, studying the contents of the vending machine. He came up close to her, not making a sound like he had been trained. “Hey, ya sweetie pie,” he whispered.

She jumped when she heard his voice. “Creed?” she asked confused. She looked uncomfortable but he didn’t notice.

“Yeah, Creed Bratton,” he said offering a hand. She didn’t take it, so he continued. “What’s the situation on the chairs?” he asked plainly.

“I don’t know,” she said frustrated.

“You still going to give me yours?” he asked. He wanted to make sure she was still holding up her end of the deal.

“If you want it, I suppose,” the receptionist answered. “But if we get new chairs, you won’t need my old one.”

“Oh, I’ll want it,” he assured her. “Gonna need it.”

The receptionist decided not to ask about that. “Look, I’ll let you know if there are any developments, alright?”

Creed shook his head apparently she wasn’t as scrappy as he’d given her credit for. “You’re gonna have to switch up your tactics. You’ll have to get the boss to succumb. Mariana and Sammy aren’t going to do you much help. Sex it up, sweet cheeks, the boss will love that.”

“What?” she asked, now a bit afraid. He still didn’t notice.

“Shake those things about,” he responded, pointing to her breasts, taking a moment to imagine what they might look like. The receptionist, when she realized what he was talking about, crossed her arms over her chest. “Wiggle your ass. The boss will love it. Sleep with him if you have to.”

“Creed, I am not sleeping with Michael for chairs.” She said defensively. “Or for anything else,” she added when she saw his eyes grow wide.

“Come on,” Creed said, his voice low and raspy. “You want to win this thing don’t cha? It’ll only take a few minutes of your time.” Creed didn’t understand what her problem was. The boss wasn’t a bad looking guy. He seemed a little sad, too, now that man with sad eyes was back.

“No,” She said firmly. “First of all, I’m engaged, and secondly of all…it’s Michael.” She grimaced.

“Oh Roy won’t mind,” Creed assured her. “He doesn’t even work here anymore. And he doesn’t seem to care that you’re banging the tall guy.”

The receptionist’s jaw dropped.

“Fine, you don’t want to do it the easy way, I’ve got something better. We wait ‘til Schrute gets back. We get a few needles and take the boss out back…”

“NO!” she screamed in horror. “No, no, no…you know what, let’s just try some friendly persuasion...or something. One step at a time.”

“That a girl,” Creed smiled, she was finally coming around. “Let me know what happens.” He patted her on the back as he left not noticing her shiver.

Money: Cousin Mose's POV

Mose curled up on the bed. Dwight had promised. Dwight kept his promise. He rocked slowly. ‘Harry Potter’ was his favorite. Dwight didn’t read as often as he promised.

Jim-Pam were there. Mose liked the way he held her. Mose wished someone would hold him. Dwight didn’t do that anymore. Jim-Pam were in love, even Mose knew that. Mose liked that they came. He hoped that they would come back. Mose loved visitors.

Mose missed Angela. Angela didn’t treat Mose nicely, but he still liked her. He wished she would come back and visit Mose. Not many people did.

Mose enjoyed the story. It scared him a little, but Jim-Pam made it less scary. Mose liked them. Mose felt safe. Soon Mose was asleep on the foot of the bed.

Pilot: The Producer's POV

Dan sat in his comfortable, leather producer’s chair watching the dailies and sipping on some whisky just as he had been for the past couple of hours. They were hilarious. More hilarious than what he thought they’d be when the project was first presented to him a few months ago. It took a lot of convincing to persuade him to let a small camera crew shoot a documentary at a small business. A paper business of all places, in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.

“You’re gonna love his audition tape,” Tom had told him.
“Check out this manager, he totally thinks that he’s the star of some hit reality show. There’s comedy gold in this place, Dan, comedy gold.”

Dan didn’t share his colleague’s vision, but Tom was so persistent, he gave the green light, letting a couple of guys go out to Pennsylvania to shoot. The Company of Broadcasting Nationwide was coming in fourth in the ratings (behind the damn alphabet network and their soap operas) and Dan was willing to try anything at this point. What would it hurt?

So, Dan popped in the first of the returned material expecting to find your average, run of the mill, office drivel. Oh, no, Dan thought happily. This schumk of a manager, this Scott guy was going to put CBN right back on top. He had never seen anyone so clueless, expect maybe the manager’s zany assistant.

Dan had spent so many hours cooped up in his little office, laughing at all the stupid things the manager was saying that he didn’t hear Tom come into his office.

“Hey, Dan, I have the last bit of footage for you,” he said handing a videotape to the producer.

“Oh, great, great,” Dan said excitedly, wanting desperately to see what kind of craziness this Scott guy was going to do next. “Pop it in, I was just about done with this one anyway.”

“We decided to cover some of the other employees,” Tom explained as he exchanged tapes. “You know, get some of more of the office. I think we did good.”

Dan watched a bit of it but he didn’t understand what Tom found so fascinating. All he saw was the mousy looking secretary chatting with a scrawny kid salesmen. “This isn’t funny.” He said seriously to Tom. He wanted more footage of the manager.

“It’s not supposed to be,” Tom said, knowing that Dan could be dense about these things.

“What am I missing?”

Tom rewound the tape, “Don’t you see it?”

“I’m not seeing anything but lull time between the idiocy. I mean, the kid was pulling pranks on the assistant guy, we should keep that in. But the girl is nothing special.”

“Dan, you have no heart.”

“I…what?”

“Can’t you see the sexual tension between the two?” The screen was paused on a shot of the boy and girl, each looking like they were going through a great deal of discomfort.

“Eh, maybe,” he wasn’t convinced. “So, they’re screwing around after hours and don’t want anyone to know about it. Big deal.”

“Sex sells, Dan,” Tom reminded him.

Dan thought about it a moment but said nothing.

“And she’s engaged,” Tom continued. “To some big guy that works in the warehouse, which means there’s only a matter of time before something’s gonna burst.”

“Which means a fight,” Dan said, beginning to like the idea.

“Right, right,” Tom encouraged. “So, we have the idiot manager and a love story going on, which means we’ll get all the demographics, which means…”

“I don’t have to listen to Shonda brag about her medical drama anymore…” Dan thought aloud. (He hated Shonda and her medical drama with its high pull.) His grin spread wide. “Are we sure, though, that someone’s going to watch these guys. I mean this girl is so…plain. And the kid needs a haircut.”

“No, Dan,” Tom interjected, “these are real people. None of the fake reality crap, we’ve got real people! We keep everything the same and see how it unfolds. That’s how we’ll market it. A reality show that really is about real people. The audience will eat it up.”

“I love it,” Dan exclaimed, gulping down the rest of the whisky and slamming the glass down on his desk. “You have my permission to get more footage…and pronto.”
Tom was thrilled with the news. “Oh and one more thing,” he added on his way out, “We’ve got to get this thing going as quickly as possible.”

“Why?”

“Apparently, there are a couple of guys in England with the same idea.”

Phyllis's Wedding: Uncle Al's POV

Uncle Al had dementia. He wasn’t sure where he was and didn’t realize that it was his niece who had just gotten married. He just knew that the lights were pretty and that the music was not. And that the pretty girl in the brown dress wasn’t happy. It made him sad that the pretty girl was unhappy. He didn’t like to be unhappy either, if he could ever remember a reason why he shouldn’t be happy. He thought the pretty girl should be happy so he went about to make her so.

He knew the tall guy, with hair much too long that flipped out at the ends, would make her happy. He noticed that the tall guy would look at her fondly, the same way she looked at him, but they never seemed to look fondly at each other at the same time. It was a shame. He didn’t remember what year it was or how he had gotten to the reception but he knew that getting the tall guy to talk to the pretty girl would make her happy. So, he cornered the tall guy near the bar.

“You need to make your wife happy,” Uncle Al said plainly. Uncle Al just assumed she was his wife. She looked like his wife.

The tall guy didn’t think he was talking to him, therefore didn’t respond. Uncle Al patted the tall guy’s arm repeatedly to get his attention.

“She’s unhappy, make your wife happy,” he advised.

The tall guy was confused. “I think my girlfriend’s alright,” he said slowly, nodding to the dark skinned girl in a blue dress on the dance floor.

Uncle Al shook his head and drifted a hand in the direction of the pretty girl in the brown dress, sitting sadly alone at one of the tables. “No, your wife,” he insisted. He was unaware that his own wife had died in 1972. “The pretty girl is unhappy. You make her happy.”

Uncle Al didn’t notice the shocked look on the tall guy’s face. Nor did he notice that the tall guy stared lovingly at girl as Uncle Al’s words were contemplated. Uncle Al had already forgotten the pretty girl and noticed the rolls at the buffet, which he wanted to take home to give to his son. He didn’t know that his son, who was 48, was currently living in Montana and unable to make it to the wedding. Nor was he aware that there was a strange looking man in glasses ready to kick him out.

Moroccan Christmas: Aaron, this dude who bought a doll from Dwight's POV

Aaron couldn’t believe that the guy that sold him beets was able to get this doll for him. He was thrilled about it even if it did cost him a good five hundred dollars. It was all about making his daughter Molly happy and pissing off his ex-wife. As he passed by the storage room door on his way out of the Dunder-Mifflin office, he thought he heard giggling. He stopped to listen.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he heard a woman’s voice say.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” a man’s voice replied. Both voices were slurred. More giggling. Then a low whisper, “What if we’re caught?”

“No one’s here. The camera crew left to follow Meredith and Michael over an hour ago. Pretty much every one is now home.”

“Phyllis could catch us.”

“Yeah, that’d be a thrilling story. Engaged woman caught having sex in the supply closet with…gasp…her own fiancé.”

“Don’t mock me.” Pause. “Did you really know?”

“Dwight and Angela?”

“Yeah.”

“It was rather obvious.”

“You didn’t know.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I don’t know, you will sink rather low to get chairs…”

“Whatever.”

“You complimented Michael’s ass…”

“You’re going to have to let that go, Halpert.” Pause. “I didn’t mean literally.” Another pause. “Now you’re being creepy, like when you were rubbing that lamp earlier. Stop making that face.” The woman laughed.

“You’re drunk.”

“I know.” The laughter continued. There were a few grunts than a loud crash followed by more laughter. “Maybe I’m too drunk.”

“God, Beesly, is this thing welded together? I can’t get this…”

“Maybe you’re too drunk…”

“Turn around, let me see…”

“Let me get the light…” A soft glow emerged from underneath the doorway.

“Wow, under the florescent lights you look so…”

“Yeah,” a gasp.

“Completely unsexy.”

“Suck it, Halpert.”

“I’m trying to Beesly.”

“Such a charmer.”

“Yeah, this is not as nearly as romantic as I thought it’d be.”

“I’m sorry, what exactly did you think would be romantic about a supply closet?”

“Just one of those fantasies.”

“I could get Andy’s sitar and sing for you.”

“Funny, no. Eh, forget about it.”

“You wanna just go?”

“Yeah, I just…need a second.”

The girl laughed. “Want me to help you calm down.”

“First of all, that was cheesy…”

“Cause I’m drunk…”

“Secondly, that’s…not…gonna…help.”

“Let’s go to Morocco for our honeymoon.”

“God no, Beesly, Michael will show up and give us an intervention.”

“Really? An intervention for what?”

“No more vodka and orange juice for you.”

“You know, I think Michael was on to something with that drink…”

“Yes, let’s give Michael the idea to run a bar.”

“Could you imagine?” Pause. “What about Paris for the honeymoon.”

“Do you think I’m made of money? I just bought you a house.”

“Cheapskate.”

“Gold-digger.” Long pause.

“I can’t believe that turned you on.

“To be fair, I was never really…off.” A moan.

“This floor is too cold and hard.”

“That’s what she said.”

A groan. “How bout we go home and have a nice bubble bath.”

“I could handle that. I’ll even let you play with my boat.”

Another groan. “Seriously…how old are you?”

A few minutes elapsed where there was no sound at all. Aaron had been listening so intently that he jumped when they finally opened the door. They were shocked to see someone standing there. He stood frozen. He felt dirty…like he was some sort of voyeur. The couple just stood there not knowing what to say. Aaron remembered the present in his hand and booked it out of there.

Hot Girl: Katy

She was used to being pretty. She had been pretty her entire life, so the guys constantly hitting on her wasn’t anything new. It was just annoying, as usual.

She was used to the guys like the manager. Middle-aged men with low self esteem thinking they could score with her. It often reminded her of how her dad’s colleagues had looked at her when she was younger. She felt dirty and sometimes cheap but she was used to it.

She was used to the guys like the assistant manger. Creepy and nerdy, just the same way as in high school. They were the ones that wouldn’t stop until you spelled it out to them. But she was used to giving the explanation.

She was used to guys like the accountant, who would just stare. Sometimes she wanted to scream that there was more to her than her pretty face and her breasts and her ass. But she kept it inside and ignored them because it was what she always had done.

She was used to guys like the temp. Pretty boys, with beautiful eyes and flattering talk but after they had their way with you, left feeling worthless. She could see right through his act the minute she laid eyes on him.

What she wasn’t used to was the salesman. Sweet and funny. Asked questions and flirted with out seeming to forward. There was possibility in him that she failed to see in other men. And as she was getting ready to leave for the day, feeling good about herself for the first time in ages, she felt she had finally found someone worthy.

But her confidence was shaken, if only for a moment, when they headed out for the night. They passed the receptionist, who grinned broadly as they did but her adoring smile was only for him. And when he returned the gesture, and the receptionist turned quickly away, she saw it. For a split second, she saw the connection.

She was used to being pretty but she wasn’t used to being loved. And when she found a good one, she owed it to herself to try, even if she knew all possibility was lost.

Valentine’s Day: Larry the Delivery Guy

Larry had worked delivery for Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration for years. He suffered through all the girlfriends and all the dumb presents that were given on the stupidest of holidays. This year was no different. In fact, it was worse because he had gotten wind that Bob was planning to marry this one. So, of course, Valentine’s Day would be more obnoxious than usual.

That morning he had brought in three, dozen sets of flowers, two boxes of candy and a couple of singing cards. It was annoying if nothing else. The holiday was useless, he thought. His wife of 23 years had left him at Christmas. His kids were flunking school. He couldn’t get the damn truck to start because it was cold. He had no time for sickening sentiment.

A box of candy was waiting to be delivered. He took it across the hall and causally tossed up onto the reception desk like he had all morning. The receptionist, who had been looking more and more depressed every time she came in, glared up at him.

“Sorry, kid,” he said not liking it any more than she did. “Phyllis Vance.”

The receptionist shot up looking almost furious, grabbed the box of candy off the counter and stormed off. “I hate this day,” he heard her mutter.

“So, do I,” he replied in a whisper. He shook his head, thinking that a nice young lady like that should at least get a decent day.

When he returned to Vance Refrigeration a very large stuffed bear was waiting for him to deliver. He groaned. “Screw it,” he stated frustrated. “Where are those two idiots? They can do the rest of these deliveries. I’m done.”

Ben Franklin: Elizabeth the Stripper

Elizabeth was bored. There really wasn’t much to do in the office and answering the phones was not killing time. Plus, she felt a little hot. She had on too many clothes. She wasn’t used to wearing this many layers while she worked.

She casually got up from her chair and made her way towards the break room for a soda. She already had binged on some jellybeans, diet soda wasn’t going to kill her and she loved diet soda. She could always throw it all up later if she needed to.

As Elizabeth entered the kitchen, she noticed that the tall salesman, whose name she escaped her at the moment, was staring out the window, his eyes fixated at receptionist where the guy dressed as Ben Franklin looked to be hitting on the mousy girl behind the desk. Elizabeth watched for a moment amused as the receptionist looked at the sad impersonated in disgust. She let out a laugh and looked back to the salesman to share the moment but was surprised to find that he was frowning.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Elizabeth said simply.

“Huh?’ the salesman turned his attention to her for the first time. He had been startled by her presence. “About what?”

She watched as Ben Franklin didn’t let down and leaned, almost comically, further in towards the receptionist. She scooted her chair away. “Ben Franklin trying to get with your girl,” Elizabeth replied.

“What?” the salesman blushed. “No, she’s not….that’s my girlfriend.” He pointed to the tiny brunette sitting at the clump of desks closet to them. “Pam’s just…” he let the sentence die.

“Right,” Elizabeth responded, completely not convinced. “Well, I have a little Ben Franklin trivia for you. Ben Franklin? He had syphilis.”

“Really?” the salesman said slightly interested.

“Yup.” Elizabeth nodded. “That guy out there…does not. In fact, I’m gonna guess that Ben Franklin got laid more in a month then that guy has ever has in his life. I wouldn’t worry about it man.”

The salesman threw his head back with laughter as Elizabeth headed back to get her soda.

Chair Model: Margaret the Landlady

Margaret had a bone to pick with Pam. She couldn’t believe that Pam would set her up with someone so rude, so inconsiderate, so condescending. It was hard enough to find guys on her own, not that she minded so much that she was single, she had gotten used to it, but to have to deal with jerks when she they were talked up, that was a bit much. So Margaret decided to pay Pam a little visit after she had done her errands for the day.

At six that evening, she climbed the stairs to Pam’s apartment on the second floor. When she rounded the corner she noticed that Pam was standing in the hallway with her boyfriend Jim, the door to her apartment opened slightly.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Jim teasingly pleaded. Margaret knew who Jim was, he was there just about every night, and she smiled thinking that Pam had found a good match.

“I have class,” Pam said responded, giving his tie a tug. “You can be away from me for a few hours.”

“Eh,” Jim shrugged playfully. “Not sure how I will go on living.”

Margaret smiled to herself and leaned against the wall as she watched.

“You’ll be fine,” Pam said rolling her eyes at him before smiling.

“Hey, Pam, just one thing before I go,” Jim started as he got down on one knee. His face grew serious. Margaret straightened, amazed that she might witness a proposal. “Pam, you are the most amazing person I have ever known and I want you to know how much I love you so,” he paused to clasp one of her hands in his. Pam’s stance was frozen as she waited anxiously. Margaret was nearly as anxious. “So…for your own health you have got to sweep this floor, I mean look how dusty it is.” He dropped her hand to run a finger along the wood floor. “See, it’s really gross.”

She automatically slapped him on the shoulder. “I cannot believe you. If you really think that I’m going to say yes if you keep…” Her words were silenced when in one swift motion, Jim rose and pulled her close for a deep kiss.

Margaret felt a little warm as she watched the two embrace with such passion. After a moment, they broke apart.

“You’ll say yes,” Jim said a slight smirk on his lips. Pam turned away slightly and if the light had been better, Margaret would have seen her blush. He gave her a soft kiss on the top of the head. “I’ll see you later tonight.” He squeezed her hand, then backed away, heading in the opposite direction of where Margaret stood. Pam watched him leave, a grin plastered on her face as she saw him turn the far corner. She shook her head thoughtfully, and if it was possible, grinned even wider, before returning into her apartment.

By that time, Margaret had forgotten the reason she had come up there and decided whatever it was should best be left for later.