The summer of ‘04 was a hot one. The air conditioner in the office was broken, making it sweltering, humid and incredibly uncomfortable. The monotony of work combined with the heat made us all miserable. The days slipped by slowly, each of us watching the clock, waiting for the day to end so we could all go someplace much cooler.
Jim, however, seemed to be having a harder time than the rest of us. One particular afternoon, I looked up from my solitaire game to see him not working but staring intently at Dwight. His lips were pursed, his body was tense and he looked as though he were about to snap. Wondering what Dwight was up to, I grabbed whatever excuse I could find, (it ended up being an old price sheet), and headed to Jim’s desk.
Dwight had a fan. A very large, black square floor fan that rose higher than the desks that was turned toward himself and Jim. He had had it for about a month, and so I’d make it a point to visit Jim’s desk a dozen times a day to cool down. I had a small desk fan myself but it barely pushed the muggy air around. Jim, however, hated the fan. Not only was it extremely loud, it blew anything loose on the desks around. I could tell that Jim was keeping his arms firmly on some loose sheets of paper so they would not blow away.
“Hey,” I said, louder than normal since the fan drowned out my normal speaking voice.
Jim didn’t notice I was there until I spoke. He shook his head as if coming out of a trance. “Oh, hey,” he said with a half-smile.
“Price sheet,” I said handing him the paper I was holding.
“Yay,” Jim responded in a monotone voice. He didn’t bother looking at it, since he knew it was nothing important, and placed it under his arm to join the stack of other neglected work papers. His eyes turned back to Dwight, who happened to be nearly yelling into the phone to compensate for the fan.
“Yes, of course it would be a pleasure to do business with you,” Dwight was saying into the fan. “I’ll be happy to get them out to you as soon as possible. If you’d like, we could just meet at my farm…”
“Is he talking about paper?” I asked.
Jim shook his head. “Beets,” he replied. The annoyance crept on his face again. “He’s been talking about beets for the last three hours.”
“Thank you,” Dwight concluded in his most businesslike voice. “A pleasure doing business with you, too.” He hung up the phone and proceeded to continue with his work, not noticing that the two of us were staring at him.
“You know, you really shouldn’t be doing personal stuff on company time,” Jim said after a moment. He gave Dwight a smug look, loving that he could needle Dwight for something he often got on Jim’s back about.
“You’re one to talk,” Dwight shot back. “It amazes me that you even work here with amount of time you waste every day doing frivolous things.”
Jim didn’t have a come back for that, only let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head.
“You know, Dwight, maybe you should be more conscientious of those around you,” I pointed out.
“And maybe you should learn how to work your email so you aren’t coming up to Jim’s desk every five seconds with a new memo,” Dwight said with a smirk. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe I do not want to hear about your boring lives?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine,” I huffed, heading back to my desk.
Not even an hour later, Jim was at my desk looking miserable. “I don’t get it,” he complained. “If he has such a successful beet farm, why does he need to work here?”
“Maybe you can convince him to focus only on his farm,” I suggested, giving him a half-smile.
“He’s never going to leave this place,” Jim rubbed his face in frustration. “Maybe I should make his life just as miserable as he makes mine. I should take away that damn fan.”
“No, please don’t,” I said quickly, causing him to look at me funny. “No, I agree, he’s super annoying but the fan is the only thing that is moving the air in here. Why don’t you just…unplug his phone so he can’t do any more of his farming stuff.”
“Or I could steal it all together,” Jim said, growing excited. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “Or I could…do we still have a ton of rubber bands in the back?”
I looked at him curiously. “Yeah, why?”
“You’ll see,” he grinned. “Just gotta wait until he goes on his sales call this afternoon.”
Jim waited until Dwight had left for his sales call to head back to the stock room, returning a few minutes later with a pound bag of rubber bands. I watched, amused, as he began to place the rubber bands around the phone. Every once in a while, Jim would look up at me grinning proudly over his work.
At first, I was slightly worried that someone might say something to him, but no one seemed to notice or care that Dwight’s phone was being completely covered in rubber bands. Oscar stopped by Jim’s desk at one point and lectured him on the misuse of company supplies but ultimately was only annoyed because he has spent a good fifteen minutes looking for a rubber band and told Jim it wasn’t worth mentioning to anyone.
While Jim was working on his prank, Michael came out of is office practically giddy over the piece of paper in his hand. “Pam, Pam,” he came bouncing up to my desk. “Check this out.”
I read the headline of the internet article he had printed out. “Office Documentary makes an impact in the UK.”
To this day, I don’t know what Michael had been searching to have stumbled across that article. I do, though, consider that moment as one of those times in your life when you know from that moment everything will be different.
“Why are you excited about this?” I asked, not even skimming the article.
“Don’t you see what it is?” he asked. I shook my head. “These people in England made this documentary about an office just like ours and now they’re all famous.”
I almost asked his point but thought better of it. “That’s nice Michael.”
“But don’t you see the best part?” Michael asked. Again, I shook my head. “There are American producers who want to do the same thing here. We could be famous, Pam! Famous.”
My jaw dropped slightly. I was unable to find words as I figured out that he wanted our office to be like the one in England. “Michael, I don’t-“ I began. I wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t even bother, that out of the millions of office they’d probably have to pick from, he’d never be chosen. But he seemed so eager in that moment, I couldn’t just dash his dreams. “You know what, Michael. If you really feel that you want to do this then go ahead. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“Bah, don’t be such a downer, Pam,” Michael said with a wave of his hand. “We’re a shoe in.”
I refrained from arguing. “Sure,” I gave simply.
“This could be my step into show biz,” he said with a giggle. “I’ve got to go tell my mom.”
After Michael left, I headed straight to Jim’s desk. He was putting the final rubber bands around Dwight’s phone.
“You’re never going to believe what Michael is up to,” I said with a giddy grin. I placed down the article in front of him before proceeding to tell him everything that Michael had told me. “He really thinks these people would want to come here,” I finished.
Jim stopped with the phone long enough to take a look at the article, then gazed around the room. He saw what I did, everyone working quietly, nothing of any interest happening, just like every other day. It never occurred to us that we might be the interesting ones.
“Yeah, he’ll never win it,” Jim said with a shrug. “Though we should definitely get a copy of that audition tape before he sends it out. You know what ever is on it is bound to be entertaining.” He smiled.
“Oh, we definitely should,” I agreed.
Jim placed the final rubber bands around the phone. “There, finished,” he said proudly.
I giggled at the sight of the completely covered phone. “That is amazing.”
Jim was at my desk when Dwight returned from his sales call. “Call him when he gets to his desk,” Jim whispered to me excitedly.
I waited until Dwight placed his coat on the rack and made his way to his desk. Trying to make it casual, I picked up the receiver and slowly dialed Dwight’s extension. Dwight’s phone rang and he hurriedly went to pick it up. Jim turned to watch, grinning wildly in anticipation.
“Alright, who did this?” Dwight asked, his face contorting in frustration as he held up the still ringing phone. No one said a word. Barely anyone turned around to acknowledge him. Jim held a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. I had a hard time myself keeping it together as we watched Dwight throw accusing glances at everyone. “While I’m sure someone thought this was very funny, the joke is really on you.”
With that, Dwight whipped out a Swiss army knife from his pants and flipped it open. Jim’s face began to fall as Dwight, in a matter of seconds, cut through Jim’s hours of work.
“If the perpetrator does not make themselves known, there will be an investigation,” Dwight announced to everyone’s displeasure.
Jim turned back to me, his head hung low. “Well, that was only gratifying for about two seconds.”
“That’s what she said,” I laughed. I felt bad for him but I couldn’t help myself.
“Really?” he tilted his head.
“I’m sorry, it’s the heat.”
I had worked at Dunder-Mifflin for too long.
---
It was a few months later, when summer had slipped into fall, that Jim first died of boredom. I had been working on a drawing up at my desk when I looked up and watched him for a moment. He was busy typing away at his computer, but he must have noticed me out of the corner of his eye; suddenly his head went down to the desk. I was a little confused until Jim spoke in almost a moaning tone.
“I have officially died of boredom,” he announced, not taking his head off the desk.
I let out a laugh. Dwight, however, was not amused. “Oh please. You can’t actually die of boredom.”
Jim picked his head up. “Am I actually dead, Dwight?”
I could see Dwight thinking of some retort. Jim rolled his eyes and got up before Dwight could respond.
“Alright, you have to revive me,” he said, leaning against my desk, taking a few jellybeans as he did so.
“Oh, I have to revive you,” I laughed.
“Yup, it’s the only cure,” he insisted.
I thought for a moment, trying to think of something at all interesting that we could be doing. “We could try to prank Dwight again.”
Jim tilted his head. “C’mon. We tried that once and it didn’t work that well.”
We both turned our heads towards Dwight, who had his bare foot up on his desk and was busy clipping his toenails, making sure they landed on Jim’s desk.
Jim grimaced. “Did you have something in mind?”
I thought about it for a second. “Oh, you know what? I have some clear nail polish in my purse. Why don’t we put some on the end of all his pens and then he’ll go crazy when he tries to use them.”
Jim looked at me with wide eyes. “Does that really work?”
“Well, some girls in my art class pulled it on …a jock …when I was in high school,” I explained. “It ticked him off pretty badly cause nothing he used would work.”
“Roy?” Jim responded automatically, giving a smirk as he popped a jellybean in his mouth.
“Who wasn’t relevant,” I said, slightly defensively.
“Okay, so now all we have to do is get him away from his desk,” Jim said. “And you know it can’t be me.”
“I’ve got it covered,” I assured him, getting up out of my chair and coming around the desk. I went straight for the unsuspecting Dwight. “Hey, Dwight,” I said casually. “Michael just sent me the most interesting memo. He said that if you use bear manure on your crops it’ll help the beets grow.”
Dwight hurriedly brought his foot down and pushes his glasses up his nose. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Everyone knows that—“
“Maybe you should tell him and not me,” I interrupted. “And maybe you should let him know what kinds of manure would work well on crops.”
Dwight got up in a huff and stormed into Michael’s office, where he proceeded, very loudly, to tell his views on manure to Michael. Meanwhile, Jim and I scurried to Dwight’s desk and began searching for all his pens. When we figured we had found them all, we brought them to my desk, where I began to apply the nail polish. We had gotten half way through when the yelling and arguing died down and only silence came from Michael’s office.
“What do you think is going on in there?” I asked as I finished up one of the tips.
“I have no idea,” Jim replied. He took the pen I had just finished an placed it inside Dwight’s desk, the same as he had been doing each time one was finished, all the while keeping one eye on Michael’s office. “There was movement earlier, but now they’re huddled around the computer, completely invested in something.”
“Maybe Dwight is making Michael watch some kind of weird, farm animal porn or something,” I suggested.
“Beesly, wow,” Jim said astonished. “I was going to suggest an email scam of some sort but—“
I shrugged innocently. “It sounds like something Dwight would make Michael watch.”
A few minutes later, Michael and Dwight both came from Michael’s office. Michael looked ecstatic. “Attention everyone, I have an announcement,” Michael called out to the entire office.
“Michael has an announcement,” Dwight echoed.
Michael waved at him to be quiet. “I’m happy to announce that Dunder-Mifflin has been chosen as a finalist for the American Workplace Documentary.”
Everyone stared at Michael blankly, none of us really understanding.
Michael continued to beam. “I just got my acceptance email.”
Kelly was the first to speak. “Wait, a documentary? Like they’re going to film us?”
“Yes,” Michael replied excitedly.
Oscar was skeptical. “Michael, are you sure this isn’t a hoax or something?”
A round of concern sounded throughout the office.
“Stop it, stop it,” Michael insisted. “We are all going to be on TV, just you wait.”
“What the hell was on that tape?” I whispered to Jim. Jim and I had known he had made the tape and had tried in vain to get our hands on it. To this day, I don’t know what was on it and for some reason, it was one point Michael was coy about. The filmmakers claim to have lost the footage and it was never placed on the DVD.
“Maybe it was farm animal porn,” Jim joked.
I bit my lip to stifle my laughter.
Michael continued to explain the situation. “They’ll be coming in a few days to meet with us so I expect all of you to be on your best behavior.”
“Best behavior, people,” Dwight repeated with a clap of his hands.
“There’s just no way,” Jim said to me in disbelief. “I mean there’s no way they could choose this place.”
“I can’t believe it, they may actually film here,” Kelly said growing excited. “We’re all going to be famous.”
“Oh, please,” Angela scoffed. “Who would ever want to film at a place where nothing ever happens? Or with such boring people…like Kevin.”
“Hey…” Kevin said offended. “I’m an interesting person.”
“We are all interesting people,” Michael agreed. “And Scranton is a wonderful place. Who wouldn’t want to work here? Who wouldn’t want to film the people who work here? We are a family and that family should be represented on national TV. Like the Sopranos.”
Jim and I exchanged amused looks.
Stanley spoke up. “This isn’t a family, we just work here. We’re just the same as everyone else.”
Michael became agitated at his comment. “Yes we are, god! You don’t get it. Just—we are a family—we—fine, you’ll see. Once this airs, you’ll all see.”
“Michael, we haven’t even been chosen yet,” Phyllis reminded him. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
He waved his hand at her. “Gah! You don’t get it. None of you get it.” With that, sulked back into his office to pout for the rest of the day.
Dwight returned to his desk, immediately going back to work. Jim turned to me and I could see the anxiousness in his eyes, even if he tried not to give himself away. However, our plan wasn’t working as well as we had hoped. Dwight began to use the personal pen that he kept in his pocket. Every once in a while, Jim would shoot me a disappointed look. Finally, I got up from my seat and came over.
“Hey, Dwight, can I borrow your pen?” I asked.
A smile started to form on Jim’s lips.
“No,” Dwight said shortly, his head remaining down, focusing on the document he was filling out. “Why don’t you just borrow one of Jim’s? You’re over here enough.”
“Oh, well, I only have one pen,” Jim deadpanned.
Dwight finally looked up. “You do not.”
“Do too.”
“Do not—“
I took the pen right out of Dwight’s hands and began to mark the blank sheet of paper I was holding. “Thank you,” I said as I headed back to my desk.
“You can’t do that,” Dwight called across the room. “Give me back my pen.”
I pretend to ignore him.
“Why don’t you be nice and let her use it?” Jim asked.
“Fine,” Dwight scoffed. He pulled a new pen from his drawer. “But I’m going to write Pam up for petty thievery.” He tried using the new pen but it wouldn’t work. “What the hell?” he demanded. He grabbed a new one and it didn’t work either. After four or five, he began to grow incredibly irritated.
I glanced up, watching the scene unfold. “What’s wrong, Dwight?” Jim asked casually.
“This damn pen,” Dwight said. He grabbed a new one, it didn’t work either. Frustrated, he threw it on his desk and tried a new one. “What the—What is wrong with my pens?”
“Oh, looks like you invested in some bad pens,” Jim replied. I placed a hand over my mouth so not to laugh.
“I didn’t—I—these weren’t---“ Dwight stuttered.
“Really, Dwight,” Jim goaded. “Are you sure it isn’t just user error?”
“What do you know?” Dwight accused. “You know something, don’t you?”
“Me?” Jim asked coolly. “I didn’t do a thing.”
“Yes, you did, I know you did,” Dwight continued as he pounded his fists on his desk. When Jim couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, Dwight lost it. “I—Damn it, Jim,” Dwight shot out of his chair. “Michael!” He screamed as he ran into Michael’s office.
Jim turned towards me, a large grin plastered on his face.
“Well, that was successful,” I said as he got up and joined me at my desk. “I think I’m going to keep his pen as a souvenir.”
“I think we should go bigger next time,” Jim said.
I raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”
Jim came around the desk and we began to look up pranks on the internet. After about ten minutes, Jim stopped my scrolling.
“What about that one?” he asked, pointing to the screen.
I gave him a doubtful look over my shoulder. “I don’t know, it looks funny, but I’m not sure it really works.”
Jim nodded assuredly. “Oh, I think it just might…”
--
A few days later, Jim and I arrived at the office early to put our new prank into action. Jim had stolen Dwight’s stapler and after a few failed attempts, was able to encase it entirely in green Jell-O. When I met him twenty minutes before work, I nearly died laughing when I saw how it had turned out. We hurried in and placed it on Dwight’s desk, covering it with a towel, then began to get ready for work, both of us anxious to see Dwight’s reaction. Dwight, however, was late that day and as a few hours passed, we both began to worry that maybe he wouldn’t show up at all, though neither of us had heard from him.
At a quarter to eleven, Michael approached my desk.
“Hey, have you seen Dwight?” I asked.
“What, Dwight’s not here?” Michael said looking around. “Oh, whatever. Um, Pam, I just got some unfortunate news. Apparently, Tom from accounting is no longer working for us so we have to put the word out that we’re hiring—“
“Why, what happened?” I cut in. “Did he quit?”
“No,” Michael responded slowly. I could tell he was uncomfortable by the way he was avoiding my eyes. “No, uh—he seems to have shot himself…in the head.”
“Oh my god,” I gasped, covering my hands over my mouth.
“Yeah, uh,” Michael was at a loss for words. “You know, just put the word out that we’re hiring. Make sure you mention that we’re looking for a young, hot person, doesn’t have to be male but preferably a young me that I could mentor.”
I nodded, still a little dazed from the news.
Michael began to continue on about the criteria for the new hire when the door opened. I figured it would be Dwight, but instead, two middle aged gentleman, who I had never met before, both dressed in grey suits, entered the office.
“Hi, we’re looking for Michael Scott,” the first one said.
“Oh, I’m Michael Sc—“ He barely got the words out when Dwight came raging in behind the men.
“Hey, Dwight, we’re ya been?” Jim asked as Dwight huffed over to his desk.
“This has been the worst morning ever,” Dwight said rather loudly. All of us, including the two men, stared at Dwight as he ranted on. “First, Mose gets himself stuck in the tractor and that took forever to work out then the chickens were on the loose. I think we have a fox around. And then some jackass steals my parking spot and---“ Dwight stared down at his desk. “What is this?”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “There when I got here.”
Dwight unceremoniously unveiled the stapler in Jell-O. He stared at it for a second, as if trying to figure out what it was. When he finally did, he was fuming. “Jim!” he screamed.
“What?” Jim replied casually.
“Oh, don’t play dumb with me,” Dwight said in a menacing voice. “I know it was you.”
“What was me?” Jim asked.
“Why did you take my stapler?” he accused. “Why?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jim responded.
The two men, who up until this point had silent and steadily watching the little show, began to clap. Smiles broke out on their faces and then they began to laugh.
“That was excellent,” the first one said. I looked dumbfounded at them. The rest of the office did, too.
“Bravo,” the second added. “What an excellent show.”
“Uh, yeah,” Michael agreed, even though he had no idea what he was agreeing with. “It was all planned. All of it.” He looked at me confused and I shrugged my shoulders.
“Thank you, Mr. Scott for that,” the first one said. He held out his hand and Michael shook it hesitantly. “We’re the producers of the American Workplace Documentary and thank you for entertaining us upon our arrival but I assure you, what we really want to see how your office functions just in the everyday setting.”
“Oh, well,” Michael said, his eyes growing wide when he realized who was there. “It’s always a production here.”
“I’ll bet it is,” the producer remarked. “Let’s talk in your office.”
As the producers went into Michael’s office, Jim and I exchanged stunned looks.
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This story is part of the series, Autobiographies.
