Chapter 4: The Information

In fact, forgetting his crush right now ended up meaning 'not today'.

Jim sat on his bed after work, clutching his phone. What did Thomas Edison say? I have not failed. I have found a thousand ways that won't work.

Well, he had found two ways, both of which failed, so that left only 998 other methods.

Calling Jennifer was method number three, certain to help him forget Pam. Three's the charm, as people said.

Yet ten minutes passed by, and he didn't press a single digit. His tongue had frozen; he couldn't even focus on the screen. His mental collapse reminded him of when he had broken up with Jennifer. Unable to explain his reasons beyond a vague feeling that something wasn't right, he had just said, “I don't know. Let's break up.”

Jennifer's insults still rang in his ears like tinnitus, hence his subsequent late nights binge-watching Titanic. If he called her now, she'd want to know what made him repent. Maybe if he used a Dunder Mifflin sales pitch, listing all the benefits of returning to her old supplier, she would relent and allow him to forget the last two days in her arms.

Maybe.

He leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes. Words would come.

Except, they didn't. Instead, he saw images of a woman with honey-brown hair, who was fiddling with a blue pen. Then he heard a ghostly phone ring, and the woman reached for her receiver with a bored, yet resigned expression.“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.”

Jim smiled, dropping his phone into his lap.

“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. Dunder Mifflin, this is...”

By six, he had forgotten Jennifer.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the second day of his new resolution, his efforts began surprisingly well: Pam wasn't at her desk.

But at eight-fifty, she crept in with a guilty smile, trying to conceal a Michaels Art Supplies carrier bag. Then he heard rustling after she sat down. Perhaps her fiancé, suffering from post-engagement fever, had given her a present.

Next minute, Michael entered, and he saw Pam hide whatever she was doing.

“Mitchell and Sanderson want callbacks,” she said, giving Michael some message slips.

“Why didn't you tell me before, Pamelax? Get it? Because you're lax with communication?”

Jim shook his head and continued filling an invoice. Poor Pam. Still, the mystery of the rustling paper continued, whether it was any of his business or not. He hadn't spent most of his childhood reading Hardy Boys stories for nothing.

Besides, this mystery had a link with yesterday's mystery, during which Pam had also smiled guiltily as she scampered off to the kitchen for a pot of yoghurt, then spent the next ten minutes savouring every morsel. Her smile only disappeared once the pot was empty. So, this was an important clue; detectives always sought consistency.

Once Michael had gone, Pam brightened up. He watched her dash to the photocopier, trying to hide a white book. After shoving this below the lid, she pressed about a hundred buttons until the machine began whirring and flashing. Then she dashed back to her desk with her secret cargo.

Was she a spy? Not that it was any of his business if so. These mysteries had shipwrecked his ability to 'forget the crush'. Then again, detectives were surely obliged to see a case through to the end, all personal issues aside. Once he had wrapped up the Beesly case, he would retire from his one-man private investigator firm and return to selling paper.

This much he knew: Pam wasn't working. As far as he could see, the only things she enjoyed about her job were using correction fluid and blowing over it two or three times, and shredding documents. In fact, those rituals had distracted him yesterday afternoon.

“Jimbo!”

He blinked and turned. Michael had left his office again. “Yeah?”

“What's happening with the daycare account?”

“Oh!” Damn it. The daycare account was a priority, yet he had just spent half an hour staring at Pam! “You know what, I was just about to--”

“No, he wasn't,” said Dwight, smirking. “He was staring into space. Maybe we should do a drugs test.”

Jim apologised and grabbed his phone. He'd get his own back on Dwight later.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Jim needed an expense form later, he strolled over to Pam's desk. This time, she wasn't there.

He shifted from one foot to another. When she still didn't come, he peered over the ledge.

Paper. Floods of paper stretched across her desk. Pam also had dozens of post-it notes stuck everywhere, filled with neatly written to-dos. The blue Bic pen, her trusty ally against Michael Scott, lay on a coil bound notebook filled with yet more tasks. Next to it was a pot of correction fluid and a Green and Blacks chocolate bar.

Aside from that, Pam had crammed knick-knacks into every available space-- assuming there was space. Five pink stress balls, a mini pillow saying “I love you”, unlit candles, a snow globe, a paintbrush, and God knew what else. She also owned at least three pen mugs, all chock-full of Bics, HB pencils, and markers.

Her gold necklace trailed across another notebook filled with yet more to-dos. How many to-dos did a receptionist need? He craned his neck and read one list.

Give Michael messages. Ensure Michael reads messages. Apologise to clients because Michael didn't read messages. Kill Michael.

He laughed quietly. Then he read a list from a few days back.

Print passwords for Jim. Help Jim set up computer. Show Jim necessary machines/rooms. Get Jim extension codes list. Get stapler for Jim. Explain sales account procedure to Jim. Find comfy chair for Jim.

Not only had Pam ticked each request, but added a smiley face, a gesture that almost brought a lump to his throat. Little had she known that his last four needs had been fictitious. Come to think of it, he should have asked Toby for most of the earlier requests.

Today, he would print his own expense form.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Guilt worked. By two-thirty, he had passed a whole three hours without visiting Pam's desk. Congratulations!

Instead, his arms hung limply by his sides. Three hours spent dialling every number under the sun did not deserve congratulations. What had he accomplished, other than repeating a script about quantities, tonnage prices, transit logistics, and budgets ad nauseam? Worse, each call demanded more paper, turning yesterday's deluge into a full-blown siege.

Three hours... and another forty damn years to go.

He dragged himself to the kitchen in search of sugar. Apricot jello usually did the trick. Before he closed the refrigerator door, he saw a pot of mixed berry yoghurt sitting in a corner. It had expired yesterday. Oops. No work snack for Pam today.

Yet no sooner than he returned to his desk did Pam vanish into the kitchen and return with a jubilant smile.

She was holding the expired yoghurt.

Dropping his jello, he rushed to her desk.

“Pam!”

She jumped, dropping her spoon. Well, he had won half the battle.

“Ah, this might sound weird, and there's no reason for me to know this, but that mixed berry yoghurt you're about to eat has expired.”

Pam's eyes went wide as she read the pot. Then she giggled. “Nice save!”

He shrugged with an awkward smile, watching her traipse back into the kitchen. On the verge of leaving, he noticed a pack of Prismacolor pencils on her desk, along with a receipt from Michaels Art Supplies and a half-finished pen mug sketch.

Raising both eyebrows, he picked up the drawing. It was the peach mug, complete with its pens, pencils, and markers. Pam had even included shadows that made him want to reach into the paper.

Wow.

He was about to replace the drawing when he saw more sheets underneath. The top sheet had mandala designs, some already coloured in. A white book was propped against the ledge. Mandala Art: 300 Spectacular Designs!

Well, that solved the photocopier mystery.

Pam had stuck a blue post-it note to the art book. Sudoku championship, BeesKnees2000. Times per square: 7m30, 6m40, come ON!

He laughed, then carefully replaced the drawing.

Two hours later, while insisting to a grumpy principal that she needed to change paper supplier, he was still smiling. BeesKnees2000. Pam clearly wasn't as modest as she appeared. It was cute.

Damn it. He'd have to forget this crush tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, Jim noticed four new pots of mixed berry yoghurts in the refrigerator while replenishing his supply of jello.

“I checked the expiry date this time,” came Pam's soft voice from behind. She was smiling awkwardly.

“Good to know,” he said with an equally awkward smile. After a pause, he added, “Can't have you poisoned, otherwise who will help me mock Dwight?”

Pam laughed, then brushed a lock of hair away from her face. Her engagement ring flashed in his eyes despite his best efforts to ignore it. Sure, the rock was smaller than he had thought, but that didn't change the message: Pam was off-limits.

Outside, he could hear Michael shouting about Corporate, a noise interrupted by screeching telephones.

Inside the kitchen, time stood still.

“I sometimes don't even read the label at the supermarket,” said Pam, leaning to the right again. “So it figures that I wouldn't read the expiration date, either. Lucky you were there. Thanks.”

After she left, Jim stared at the door for a minute. Had Pam really followed him into the kitchen to discuss expired yoghurt? Surely not.

He rubbed both hands over his face. How many days now? Three, yet she still left him defenceless. Tomorrow, he would put in a superhuman effort to conquer these feelings.

But that commitment just echoed in his skill. No fire of ambition burned in his veins. Instead, new memories filled his mind. Pam's colouring pencils, her drawing, her one-woman Sudoku championship, her post-its... even her favourite mixed berry yoghurts. Fragments of her life that drew him closer, not further away.

Surely that didn't contradict his mission? Despite Pam's humour, he had seen glimpses of vulnerability in her eyes just now, a silent cry for protection. His protection, maybe. What with Michael Scott and the drudgery of reception work, she needed someone. He could be that someone-- as long as he suppressed this damn crush.

“Jim!” Michael stuck his head round the door. “Meeting, buddy.”

Sighing, Jim followed.

From now on, he would only care about Pam, not admire her.