They spent the rest of the morning people-watching from behind the counter as the mostly-male crowd surrounded the purse girl. It was, as Jim remarked to Pam, rather like going to an aquarium at feeding time, only with less blood and more pheromones.

None of the men seemed all that interested in actually buying anything, which made Pam feel bad for the purse girl. A few women did come by, and from what Pam could tell of the products they emerged with the purses seemed reasonably nice, but for the most part it was just a horde of men preening and primping, one (and thankfully only one) in ass-plus chaps.

Dwight came in about an hour into Pam’s time in the coffee shop, and made a beeline for the counter.

“You can’t be back there.” Of course, his first words were snippiness to Pam, not even engaging with Jim. “It says employees only.” He pointed at the sign hanging off the counter near where Pam was standing. His voice had a whine in it that Pam was easily able to identify as the complaint of someone who had been told off about the sign themselves more than once. In fact, she was pretty sure that sign had not been there when she’d first come into the shop: she would put money on the idea that it was actually there precisely because of Dwight K. Schrute.

“Ah, but you see, she does work here.” Jim winked at her from the side not facing Dwight and gestured to the box of tea she was standing next to—which they had conspicuously failed to open in the last hour—with an expansive hand. “She’s our new tea-taste-tester-in-chief.”

“Say that five times fast,” Pam mumbled under her breath and was rewarded with a hitch of breath from Jim that was definitely a choked laugh.

“But…” Dwight glared. “She’s not wearing a The Coffee Roasters apron!” He pointed at Jim, who was wearing exactly such an item. “How can she work here if she’s not wearing an apron?”

Jim scoffed. “Obviously, Dwight, aprons are only for cleaning and coffee-handling staff. She’s a taste-tester.”

“Aha! But a taste-tester would have to handle the coffee to taste it!” Dwight pointed at her. “J’accuse!”

She rolled her eyes and cut in before Jim could say anything. “I’m a tea-taste-tester, Dwight, not a coffee-taste-tester. I only handle tea, which comes in boxes and bags, so there’s no residue. Obviously I don’t need an apron.”

Jim beamed and did not scotch her bullshitting, much to her relief.

“Exactly. Now, if you don’t want to order anything…”

“I do!” Dwight glared but seemed willing to be distracted from his accusations, which Pam considered to mean they had won. “One Nutritious, Undeniably Tasty Beet-Activated Glass, please.”

“…Sure, Dwight, I’ll make your usual.” Jim sighed. “3.55.” Dwight handed over what was clearly a pre-counted pile of coins and marched over to the pickup spot of the counter, a few feet away. Despite that, it was clearly a march, and Pam would have bet it was to Deutschland Uber Alles as well.

“What was that?” Pam asked as soon as Dwight was plausibly out of immediate hearing range. “What are you making?”

“It’s the Schrute on Sight. He doesn’t like the name, so he’s been trying to get me to change it. He says that if we put some more advertising into the name more people will buy it, so he wants us to talk up the benefits.”

“He does realize that he spelled out nutbag, right?”

“No, I do not believe he does.”

“Where’s my N.U.T.B.A.G?” Dwight bellowed, proving Jim’s point as he pounded on the pickup counter. “Stop pal-ing around with your fellow workers and get me my N.U.T.B.A.G!”

Jim and Pam dissolved into helpless giggles as Dwight grew increasingly red in the face.