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Story Notes:

 Starts with just Pam, but adds in Jim's POV as it goes.

 

Copyright notice: I do not have or claim copyright privileges over any recognizable characters from this or any other show. 

Author's Chapter Notes:

This is just Pam.

Copyright notice: I do not have or claim copyright privileges over any recognizable characters from this or any other show.  

It all started with a rainy day and Angela’s birthday. At least that’s what Pam told herself at the time. Later she’d admit (just to herself) that it began a bit earlier than that: with whispered conversations, shared smiles, maybe even a lunch at Cugino’s. But at the time, she wasn’t thinking of that. She was thinking of Angela’s birthday, because she’d noticed on the office calendar that it was next week, and of the rain, which was making everyone depressed—and irritable. Especially Angela. She had snapped at everyone all day. Well, she usually did that, but she had snapped…more than usual? Harder (that’s what she said)? Something like that. Anyway, Pam was thinking of her birthday, and of the snappishness, and of the rain, and she wondered what she could do to improve the situation. Maybe a birthday present might take Angela’s edge off—and her own? Something simple, of course, and wholly wholesome, or Angela would go from snappish to waspish to just impossible. She idly typed a few ideas into Google, just to see if anything would pop up that she could rush order in time for the start of next week.

 

Definitely not shoes.

 

Clothing is out too.

 

A prayer-a-day calendar? She’d tried that before, 2 years ago. Angela had marched up to her three days after her birthday, deposited the calendar in the main recycling bin right in front of her, and said something about “ridiculous liberation theology.” That was out.

 

Maybe something to eat?

 

Chocolate? Too hedonist.

 

Shortbread? Too rich, too buttery.

 

Jam?

 

Pam’s eyes had been half-closed as she mused to herself about her ideas, but they flew open at the alert that flashed across her screen:

 

ERROR: ACCESS DENIED. ERROR CODE 4178

 

Pam gaped at her browser window. She knew what 4178 meant, of course. They all did. 4178 was the code on the office computer system for content they weren’t allowed to access because it related to the documentary they’d been filming for the last couple of years. It was the code you got if you typed in your own name (she quickly searched “Pam Beesly” to confirm), or “The Office documentary,” or even “Dunder Mifflin” (a real problem when you didn’t want to look up the company directory directly: she’d had to unlearn the habit of just Googling extensions for employees at other offices and remember to use the slow-but-official internal Outlook directory). Why was it coming up now?

 

Pam racked her brains for any reason “Jam” would trigger a 4178, but came up empty. She glanced over at Jim’s desk, wondering if two heads might be better than one on this problem, but then remembered he was out on a sales call and wouldn’t be back that day—and since it was Friday, that meant he couldn’t help her until Monday morning. She glanced a little further and saw Dwight hard at work at his desk. He could probably help if anyone could. After all, Dwight had been keeping a record of all the unusual incidents at Dunder Mifflin—well, except the ones he instigated, she thought, since he didn’t think those were unusual—in an effort to document Jim’s (well, her and Jim’s) ever-escalating prank war against him.

 

The memory of her own role in those pranks reminded her that Dwight might be less eager than she had initially thought to help her out with the question of what Jam might mean. Instead of asking him, she slid open the bottom drawer of a small cabinet beside her and flipped through its contents. Manual for the kitchen microwave, contact information for the copier that broke down two years ago and was replaced, random receipts…here it was. The instruction booklet they’d all been issued when they signed up for this stupid documentary in the first place, reminding them what they could and could not do.

 

She cracked it open and flipped to the table of contents. Scranton Blackout Zone, Nondisclosure Agreement, Information Embargo/Spoilers…she thought that last one looked good, and opened to page 143.

 

Then 144.

 

And 145.

 

Finally, on page 146, she found what she was looking for.

 

INTERNET EMBARGO: All Dunder Mifflin Co. computer systems and Involved Employee personal electronic devices (as well as other devices as agreed) shall be equipped with software that prevents access to Internet sites that may reference the Show. This embargo shall be monitored and enforced by NBC Universal and its affiliates, and is not subject to review or arbitration. Inquiries as to specific site access, if necessary for work-related functions, may be made through the Producer on Site.

 

Damn. Buying Angela a jar of jam was hardly a work-related function, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to bother the production staff with this anyway. Asking them questions was a sure way to get dragged into a talking head moment, and for some reason Pam felt like she didn’t want to have to answer questions about why she was so interested in jam. It was just a condiment after all. Not even her favorite one. Better to let it go, and see if time would provide an answer on its own.

 

At least that’s what she told herself.


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