He was breathing too loudly. He knew it. Everyone was looking at him. Staring him down, silently imploring him to shut up and listen. He held his breath until he realized that no one was looking at him… anymore. He shuffled his notes in front of him trying to control the amount of rustling noise the paper was making. ‘Why, Jim, why can’t you just sit silently until it’s your turn?’ It was just nerves. Nerves he didn’t have until this squeaky little girl started pitching her idea. It was painful, the way that no one was really listening despite the amount of effort she had clearly put into her presentation. He wasn’t even listening anymore. Soon everyone would be stretching and yawning in their chairs, letting him trip all over his words. Why didn’t anyone stop her from going on for the last 5 minutes? He prayed they would have mercy on him. He hated Wednesday, pitch day.
He carefully stood when she began gathering her things, taking the DVD out of the player that she didn’t use. He did not have a DVD prepared. Hell, he didn’t have any visuals. He looked at his boss, Roger Branson, who was crossing something off his paper.
“Thank you, Ms. Pfenning. Jim, you’re up,” Branson said without every looking up from that paper.
He passed the girl, giving her a comforting smile that she did not return. And there he was finally, in front of this small intimidating group and he shoved his notes into his pocket before he had a chance to look down at them and freeze.
“The Real World, how many of us grew up watching it? Truly ground breaking, not that I knew what ground breaking was at the age of 11, but yet, there’s nothing like it on TV right now. Not even the Real World season 16 or 17 or whatever season they’re on is what it once was. Today reality shows are oversexed, over produced, and over scripted. These are reality shows we’re talking about minus the reality. There’s no connection to cast members anymore. We literally cannot relate to these people. What happened to the regular guys?”
“Bunim/Murray won’t let this get past casting,” Branson said, slightly intrigued now. He had for the first time in the meeting sat up, leaned forward, written something down.
Jim smiled at the table. “That’s the interesting part. We won’t be doing individual casting.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
“A documentary about a workplace and their workers.”
“What do you mean?”
“Where do we spend are our days? Do we spend them drinking with 6 strangers in an amazing house? No. We spend them here,” his hand smacked the table in front of him, “sitting in our offices, some of us sitting in our cubicles hoping for that promotion. Dating, making friends, making enemies. This is where our life happens. I think with the right group of people we could capture that magic.” Jim was on a roll, he felt invigorated.
“Maybe a different location like a restaurant or something,” someone threw out.
“Forget about the office. It’s not about the office. It’s about real people. Adults, not some co-ed hoping to break into the business. Just the drama of life and it just happens to be unfolding at work.”
“I can’t imagine getting more than 1 useable hour for TV, Jim. It’s just not something that I can see us doing and having any success with it. Work on the idea a little more. There’s definitely something there.” Branson placed his pen to his note pad and began making that swift stroke across his name.
He hung his head as he passed the next man up.
“Jane, put something together for Jim’s idea,” Branson said to his assistant. “This one’s all you, Jim. Find the right group of people and I’ll give you the green light.”
They had placed a small, almost unnoticeable advertisement following their hit comedy about a rich dysfunctional family last month. The applications were underwhelming compared to other reality shows they had casting calls for.
Jim was sitting in his office surrounded by stacks of envelopes and not one would be enough to let Roger Branson sign off on his show. He was on day 5 of watching audition tapes. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t go past 16 hours of watching audition tapes today. He yawned as he stopped the current audition playing of a realtor sitting in his office explaining in intricate detail about his dalliances around the office which would lead to an affair more often than not and in some of the houses of course.
He leaned back in his chair, listening to the slow creak of his chair as he rocked back and forth. Maybe this was the universe’s way of saying it was just a pipe dream. These people he had imagined, they didn’t really exist, and this chance that Roger Branson was giving him wasn’t ever going to come to fruition.
He grabbed a stack of manila envelopes and put them in his messenger bag. He needed to get this done, even if it meant doing work from home. He threw his coat over his shoulder and turned off his computer and the lights before locking up.
He had been looking at this stupid Dunder Mifflin submission since he got home, more intrigued by the actual name of the company than anything else. He finally settled in bed, grabbing his laptop from the night stand and placed it on his knees and hit play on the DVD. He let out a small chuckle with the graphics that opened up the Mifflin submission. The first actual shot seemed to be taken from the ground. Someone, an older gentleman, finally acknowledged the camera with a nod and offered the cameraman a piece of beef jerky. The camera slowly and arduously spun around to get a better view of the entire office. Still on the ground, accompanied with light panting, he made his way through several more office employees each stranger than the first and then giving a little introduction for each, and then there she was. She gave the camera a lackluster look before returning to her work. The video camera spun around to face the cameraman once again as he introduced this last employee. He gave the camera a defeated look, like he thought that this employee would be on board with this filming, she just had to be. He needed her to be, and so did Jim.
“Pam Beesly, ladies and gentleman. Best receptionist ever.”
“Glad I can be the best at such an important job,” she retorted off camera.
“Pam, tell the camera about Roy.”
“Michael!”
He quickly backed off, but never turning off the camera. Instead, he whispered her story.
“Pam is the nicest person I know, other than Gandhi. It’s like Gandhi, Pam, my nana—wait. Gandhi, Angelina Jolie, Pam, and then my nana.”
“Thanks, Michael,” she said sarcastically but still never looking again at the camera. “No more cameras, Michael, please. Not a good day.”
The camera slowly moved back before fading out. The next scenes seemed to be old footage dating back several years; he counted at least 3 Christmases. This was is it, this was his cast.
She rolled over at the sound of the phone. It lit up the phone with Michael Scott’s name and phone number. She reached for it, contemplating hitting end on the phone but picked it up against her better judgment.
“Michael?”
“Pam! We got the show!” He screamed.
“What show?”
“The Office!”
“Yeah, okay. I don’t…”
“The TV show I’ve been filming everyone for.”
“Michael, what did you do?” She sighed.
“I sent in a tape, like an audition tape. They’re coming out on Friday to do actual auditions! We’re going to be movie stars!”
“TV stars,” she corrected, “and I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Friday, Pam!”
“It’s only Wednesday!”
“That’s my point. We only have 1 day to prepare everyone else for the camera. Bring any makeup you have. I’ll look into how much a hairstylist will cost. Do you think they’ll pay for that?”
“No,” she answered curtly. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” She hung up the phone before he could ruin her day anymore. A camera in her face was the last thing she wanted.
Chapter End Notes:
So here I am again with another AU. I've been sitting on this one for awhile. I really wanted to finish one of my old stories before writing this. Some of you may have read this first chapter way back in 2009 and if you have, thanks for reading it again. Hope you all enjoy it!
