There were five simple rules that Thomas Corcoran followed.

1. Never carry a gun.
2. Never help a cop (or a Lackawanna Co. Sheriff’s Volunteer)
3. Never get in a fight… people remember brawlers.
4. Never tell the truth.
5. Never fall for a girl.

 As he stared down at the gold medal, he realized that in the last couple of years, he’d broken every damn one of them… because of her.

‘Don’t forget the rest of us when you’re famous! – Pam’

Forget her? How could he forget… Jesus, Mary, and all the Blessed Saints!

The crap he’d done because of her.

He’d moved to Stamford because he’d told her the truth. God! What a patsy he was.

He’d signed that waiver to be on a documentary that would never air just because he’d fallen for her and wanted to be near her. 

He’d helped Dwight (Dwight!) become a sheriff’s volunteer just so she would laugh.

He’d stood his ground when Roy came at him just so she wouldn’t think he was a coward. Him, a coward! All his street-trained instincts had screamed ‘Run, Jim, run! This guy has 50 pounds of hard-packed muscle on you and a bejesus of a right hook! Run, you fucking fool!’ Christ!

If the Feds ever found out he’d been sitting in front of her apartment with a Glock .357 at his side…. All he could say was Roy was damn lucky he hadn’t shown up banging on her door and giving Jim the slightest provocation….

He looked up to see that the gasbag Wallace was still in the room. No surprise the guy was talking as usual, “How do you think you function here in New York?”

Christ, what a question. I function in New York like I functioned in Chicago and Boston. Just fine, dipshit. “What’s that?” Jim stalled, “Oh, uh, great, you know? I just, um, really appreciate the buildings, and, uh, the people, and um, there’s just, uh, energy. New York has, uh… Not to mention, they have places open past eight.” He was glad he finally got Wallace to laugh. That was his major complaint about Scranton. The place died at 7:59. “So that’s a bonus.”

Wallace said something about Jim’s being in Scranton a long time. Jim had to look at the note again. Five years he’d been there and the time had just flown by. He looked up at the CFO’s next question, “What have you liked most about that place?”

Not getting shot at. Not watching people die. Not having my life threatened daily. Working with boring people with boring lives and boring problems… “The friendships.”

He could tell Wallace didn’t like that answer. He guessed Wallace didn’t know that friendship saved your ass more than liquor or drugs ever would when you were on the streets. He bet Wallace didn’t know that whoever wasn’t your friend was your enemy. And he sure as hell could tell that Wallace hadn’t had a hard day in his life. The guy was too green, he’d be going down soon. Just like Ryan. Two guys who thought they had all the answers when it was obvious they didn’t know what the question was.

Jim tried not to look bored as the CFO spouted off his next textbook interview question, “Okay, well, we want the person who takes this position to be here for the long haul. So, long haul? Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

In a body bag. In prison. Still in Scranton… in Pam Beesly’s bed.  Rule #4, never tell the truth.

“It’s a tough call,” Jim laughed, “I can’t decide whether I’ll be having dinner out with Donald Trump and his new wife… or shooting hoops with the President.”

It was no surprise that Wallace offered him the job and it was no surprise that he accepted. The surprise was when he got to the lobby and saw the mousy little accountant standing by the building map. Jim sighed and strolled over to examine the legend at the bottom of the copper map.

“Turn down the job,” was all the bespectacled man said before grimly walking into the elevator.

Jim leaned against the map and felt all the energy leave his body. Out of the corner of his eye could see a security guard watching him suspiciously. Rule #2, never help a cop.  Jim straightened up, finger-combed his crappy new haircut, and walked out of the building.

He’d agreed to meet Karen at her friend’s house. She wasn’t there. Her friend’s roommate opened the door so he went with the flow. He sweet talked her out of her clothes within ten minutes. They were in a compromising position on the couch by the time Karen and her friend returned twenty minutes later.

Jim acted surprised. He could tell the girl beneath him was totally mortified. Her body had clenched in fear... which wasn't exactly a bad thing.  He continued thrusting slowly as Karen stormed out. Once he was finished with his business, he thanked the protesting girl sincerely. Being a typical airhead, she wanted to discuss the whole awkward situation and all the implications. He bolted after saying he’d give her a call that night. He didn’t mention that he’d never learnt her name, let alone her phone number.

He found Karen and her friend, Stacy? Tracy? Macy? Whatever her name was…  They were at the bar down the street shooting back Stingers.

He didn’t like the situation because of the potential of breaking Rule #3 Never Get in a Fight, so he kept it quick.

Spying him, Karen blurted out, “What the fuck, Halpert?”

He nodded.

She half stood, half fell off her stool, “That’s it! That’s all you have to say? You fucking bastard!”

Jim started to back away. “Hey,” he said, lifting his hands in a peaceable motion, “Let me explain.”

“Let you explain? Let you explain?” She turned to her girlfriend, “Listen to this Darcy…” Jim snapped his fingers. Darcy! He knew it had been something like Tracy. Her voice was getting higher and higher pitched, “Listen to this! He’s going to explain why his cock was in…” She couldn’t finish the sentence and grabbed her half-empty drink to chug it down.

He decided that soothing words were needed, “Okay, I think we need to settle down.”

Karen retaliated in an acid tone, “The only thing that needs settling down is your fucking dick, Jim!”

Jim could see that the entire bar was gawking. What worried him more was that he could also see the bartender had placed his hands beneath the wooden bar. Baseball bat? Gun? Alarm system? Best not to find out.

“Ok, well then…” Jim started backing out of the room, “So, do you need a ride back to…”

“I don’t need ANYTHING FROM YOU, YOU GODDAMNED MOTHERFUCKER!” Karen flung her drink at him, but he’d anticipated that and the door was already swinging behind him.

As he was driving to Scranton, he dialed the Corporate office.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Grace.”

“Yeah, uh, hi Grace. This is Jim Halpert. I was in earlier. I was wondering if you could please connect me with David Wallace?”
       “Certainly. Please hold,” Grace’s voice disappeared and the gentle strains of the muzak version of ‘Scarborough Fair’ came on the line. He whistled along as he passed a Mayflower semi and a couple of single-occupant SUV’s.

Finally, Wallace came on the line, “Hello, Jim? What’s up? Have some questions about the new promotion?”

Jim looked in the rear view mirror to make sure his expression was just right. You had to sell things like this and people could hear it in your tone, “God, I’m sorry, Dave, but I’ve got some bad news.”

“Bad news? Don’t tell me you can’t take the position!” Wallace’s voice was thunderous in comparison to the traffic outside.

Jim checked his face in the mirror again, “I think that’s going to be your call based on what just happened.”

Wallace sounded wary, “What just happened?”

“Well, I don’t know if you knew it but I’m dating Karen Filippelli?” Jim tried to sound like the aggrieved lover.

“Yes, at the party she mentioned it… amongst other things.” he kept his voice neutral.

Jim nodded. The fish was hooked. “Well, I just told her you made the job offer and she went, uh, went kinda ballistic.”

“Oh,” Wallace said.

“Yeah, said she thought she deserved the job more than I did. Laid out a case for why she deserved it more. Said that she could see if I had an MBA or something…” Jim left that hanging. Wallace didn’t grab it. “So, um, she broke up with me and said something about suing the company because Dunder Mifflin’s, you know, anti-woman, or something like that.” Jim heard a little explosion of sound like Wallace had just farted. He tried not to laugh.

Wallace finally replied, “She doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

“No, totally. Absolutely. No leg. But I thought it just might be better if I didn’t accept the job at this time,” Jim finished.

There was a pause as Jim could hear the wheels turning in Wallace’s head, “You’re a good man, Jim. Thanks for letting me know before this really blew up. I must admit that Karen was a strong contender except that I’ve heard she hasn’t meshed well with the Scranton group. That’s really not a good indicator of a potential strong manager.”

Jim knew a lifeline when he heard it, “Oh no, no, no. She’s great. It’s just, well, the Scranton people take a little warming up, you know?”

Wallace gave a small laugh and Jim knew he had a friend for life in Corporate.