Pam yawned as she sat at her desk Saturday morning. The outcome of the basketball game meant that the entire office had to come in. No Waverunner for her--and no outlet mall either.
The rest of the office was trickling in slowly, Stanley plodding in last, scowling at the clock. “I am not amused to be coming here on a Saturday,” he said in his usual slow cadence.
“Well, Stanley, neither is anyone else,” Michael said as he exited his office, leaning against the doorjamb. “It certainly wasn’t my idea.”
“That’s not entirely true, Michael,” Dwight spoke up. “If I recall, you were the one who placed the bet on the outcome of the game, not knowing for certain what it might be. In fact—“
“No, no,” Michael put up a protesting hand. “It wasn’t me. I knew we were going to win. I thought we would win. In fact, I was on my A-game. If anything…” Michael cast a glance around the room, taking in all the sullen faces, looking for an appropriate scapegoat. “If it was anyone’s fault…”
Pam winced in preparation, already feeling sorry for whoever Michael might blame for his own mistakes.
“It was Jim’s fault!” Michael blurted out.
Pam barely bit back a gasp. This could not end well.
“Wait, what?” Jim looked up from his computer screen where he was playing Minesweeper. “What’s my fault?”
Michael pointed an accusing finger. “He did it! It was his playing. We were doing just fine until he got a nose bleed. Like a little girl.” Michael announced the last bit like a jeer. “Hey Jim, you play like a girl! I knew I shouldn’t have let you cover Roy. I should have just covered him myself.” Michael was starting to get more and more worked up now.
Jim sat still at his desk with no expression on his face, a bit shell-shocked at the flurry of accusations. “Look, Michael…”
“No, Jim, you look! If you hadn’t lost us the game, then we wouldn’t have to work this Saturday. The warehouse guys would be working here instead.”
Pam could see the tips of his ears start to redden, a sure sign that he was reaching some sort of limit to his dose of Michael. She hastened to intervene before something catastrophic happened. What might happen, she had no idea, but she didn’t relish finding out. “Uh, Michael, sausage and egg sandwich?” She whipped out hers from the bag that she brought in, hoping to deflect his attention.
“You—what?” Michael whipped his head around so fast that Pam thought he might get whiplash. “With cheese?”
“Of course with cheese.”
“Yum, give me.” He extended a hand, fingers already making little grabby motions like a greedy child.
She handed him the sandwich, watching with satisfaction as he promptly opened it, stuffing nearly half of it in his mouth as he turned around and headed back into his office.
“Pam,” he swallowed loudly, mouth still half full of sausage, “hold all my calls while I eat. Breakfast, you know, is the most important meal of the day.”
“Sure,” she nodded, sighing with relief. Crisis averted. Glancing back at Jim, she couldn’t help but notice his still downturned face. “Hey,” she murmured to him quietly as she passed by his desk, “you know he didn’t mean any of that, right?” She put a soft hand on his shoulder. “You were great.” And when he finally smiled, she felt better.
Story Notes:
Taken from that one line in "Did I Stutter" when Pam tells Jim that she doesn't need her glasses to know when he's stressed/upset.
