It had been six months since Dunder Mifflin closed its Scranton branch.

With the confirmation that they were selling paper in an increasingly paperless world, and major clients turning to the Web for a majority of their business, the corporate brain trust in New York had decided drastic measures were needed to stay afloat. The decision was made to cut one of the remaining branches: Buffalo, Scranton, or Utica. In the end, it was determined that Scranton would get the ax due to the fact that the city was already hemorrhaging money; any negotiations to renew the office space when the lease was up with the city would only add to the operating cost.

Luckily, a few of the regulars at Scranton were able to transfer to one of the two remaining branches, if they so chose. Among them was Jim Halpert. With nothing really keeping him in Scranton, he decided to tough it out in Buffalo, where the economy was not being as hard hit as the rest of the region. After all, America’s love for Buffalo wings would never waver. He thought he’d be safe for a few years.

Sure, Jim missed some of his co-workers, and had some really great memories from his days in Scranton. But Corporate had given the office six weeks to close down operations, and Michael Scott took full advantage. Every Friday, for the remaining six Fridays, the branch threw a party for a no reason whatsoever.

The first Friday after the news, the staff celebrated “Six More Fridays to Go”.

With three more Fridays to go, it was the “Halfway Home” party.

On the final Friday, they appropriately partied to the theme of “Freaky Friday”. The Party Planning Committee had really outdone themselves. The office space was cleared out, which made way for a temporary dance floor to be installed. Since there was a surplus that would just go back to Corporate if it wasn’t used, Michael splurged on alcohol. It was a hell of a way to close an office.

Those who chose a transfer had a week to get their priorities in order. Those who were let go were given six months severance pay. Not great, but still enough to stay on their feet until they found something better. It was the least they could do, the executives thought, for such a resilient group of workers.

After the last drop of vodka had been consumed, and Kevin polished off the remainder of the six-foot sub, they all stumbled out the front door one last time. Michael suggested a group hug and, to his surprise, they all acquiesced. As they all brought it in and stood in the center of the lot with their arms around each other, Michael reflected back on the great times they had. It was, without a doubt, the happiest night of his life.

 ***

On this particular night, Jim was on his way home from another grueling day of selling paper, thoughts from that final party popped unexpectedly into his head. He thought about his old colleagues from time to time, and truly wished they were happy.

As he sat down in his home office to wrap up a few work-related matters before relaxing with his wife, an e-mail sent from one Phyllis Vance popped up in his inbox. The fact that she had sent him anything at all was a bit strange because he hadn’t talked to her since her retirement party. (The reason for the fourth-to-last party, if you’re keeping track at home.) The e-mail was a form letter with an invitation to join one of those social networking sites that were all the rage.

Jim had tried valiantly to buck the trend, but after giving it a bit more thought, he decided it would be nice to reconnect with an old friend from the Scranton branch. Plus, he knew some of his colleagues used this as a professional networking tool, and establishing contacts outside of the paper industry was never a bad thing.

As the site started to pull his contacts from his e-mail account, and Jim watched his history scroll by, he realized just how many contacts he had saved over the years.

Ex-college roommates.

Ex-colleagues.

Ex-girlfriends.

They were all still stored in his address book, as if one day he would have a need to send them a random e-mail. Some things in his life were harder to let go than others.

The site alerted Jim that it was done pulling his contacts and propelled him to read and accept the requisite terms of use before he could proceed. He skimmed the language and clicked ‘Accept’.

It didn’t take him long to regret that decision.

For the first time in two years, Jim Halpert came face-to-face with one Pam Beesly, albeit virtually.

Sitting atop the alphabetical list of contacts who were already on Facebook, Pam, or rather, a 50x50 Jpeg of her, smiled out from his computer screen.

Gone was the frizzy, tightly curled hair that he had come to adore. In its place were bouncy, loose curls that framed what was possibly an even more beautiful face that, if he didn’t know better, contained a touch of makeup.

But there was something else about the photo that stood out, and it caused him to start.

You see, Jim used to think that she reserved her most radiant smiles for him. Whether they were flashed during a friendly game of hold ’em poker, or while watching videotapes of bad wedding bands, they used to get him through the day. She never game them out to anyone but him. But the smile he saw now was foreign to him.

In fact, if he didn’t know better, he was looking at a different Pam Beesly altogether.

She looked truly happy and carefree.

Without him.

And for the first time in nearly two years, Jim Halpert let down his guard and allowed himself to think how it might’ve been.

With her.