Author's Chapter Notes:
Title 5 Times Jim Halpert Planned Too Far Ahead (or How To Get Stuck in a Career at a Mid-Size Paper Company in Scranton)
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: My (very, very late) answer to the 5 things meme, because “5 reasons Jim Didn’t Go to Australia” is stuck at number 4 and has been for months. This fic sprung entirely out of number 3, because I was just in London. A lot of the way Jim thinks in this fic was pulled straight out of my head and the way I think. It’s this tendency I have (and I think Jim does, too), to think about the end result and forget about the path you have to take to get there. Anyway, I hope that translates. Oh, and there may be a sequel (5 times Pam Beesly Didn’t Plan Ahead Far Enough or How To Get Stuck in a Career at Mid-Size Paper Company in Scranton) if I can manage it.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: My (very, very late) answer to the 5 things meme, because “5 reasons Jim Didn’t Go to Australia” is stuck at number 4 and has been for months. This fic sprung entirely out of number 3, because I was just in London. A lot of the way Jim thinks in this fic was pulled straight out of my head and the way I think. It’s this tendency I have (and I think Jim does, too), to think about the end result and forget about the path you have to take to get there. Anyway, I hope that translates. Oh, and there may be a sequel (5 times Pam Beesly Didn’t Plan Ahead Far Enough or How To Get Stuck in a Career at Mid-Size Paper Company in Scranton) if I can manage it.
1. December, 1985
“Daddy and I are going out tonight, okay Jimmy?” his mom asks as she sets a plastic plate (“Star Wars,” which he hasn’t seen yet, ‘cause he’s too young, but his big brother Danny talks about it all the time so it must be pretty awesome) down in front of him. There are carrots on it and he doesn’t like carrots, but he takes a bite anyway.
“Is Cassie coming over?” he asks. “I like Cassie.”
His mom ruffles his hair a bit (she’s been talking about taking him for a hair-cut for over a month now, and his curls are all over the place). “I know you do, sweetie, but Cassie can’t make it tonight. Her friend Sue is coming instead.” She squats down next to him and pushes aside his curls to look him in the eye, “you remember Sue, right?”
He does remember Sue. She wears shoes like his moms with pointy, pointy heels and her hair is huge. “Sue talks on the phone too much,” he tells his mom. “She never wants to play with me…and she smells funny.”
He wasn’t trying to tell a joke, but his mom laughs and kisses his forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetie. We’ll get Cassie to come the next time, okay?”
“But why can’t she come this time?” He’s determined not to cry, because Danny’s in the room and the last time he cried Danny made fun of him.
“She had to baby-sit for someone else tonight. She said she was very sorry that she couldn’t come baby-sit for her favorite 6-year-old, but Jack Campbell’s parents asked her first.”
His throat feels really tight like that time he almost choked on a green bean and he blinks really hard. “I’m going to marry Cassie someday and then she won’t be able to baby-sit for Jack Campbell anymore!” he finally announces. “And she won’t make me eat carrots, either!”
2. November, 1993
When he gets his first high school report card at the end of ninth period he tucks it into the front pocket on his backpack without looking at it. He’s really not sure what to expect, he’s not a science whiz like Danny, his grades have never been anything to gloat about. All he knows is that he’s better off opening this on his own.
When he gets home he locks himself in his room even though the house is empty. The envelope feels too light in his hands, it’s probably just one sheet of paper, but when the principal spoke at the beginning of the year he said “you are 16 report cards away from graduation,” and the weight of his future started crushing down on his shoulders.
It’s just a square of cardstock with rows for each of his classes and columns marked “grade,” “absences,” “tardies,” “teacher comments.” The notes are scribbled in various shades of ink and he has to squint at some of his teachers’ penmanship. He takes the rows one at a time.
Geometry. C+. 3. 2. James shows promise, but lacks follow-through.
World Studies. B. 3. 1. Jim’s presentations and essays are strong, but his test scores need work.
Gym. A. 3. 0. Jim could have a future in basketball. He has excellent teamwork skills.
Biology. C-. 4. 5. I have advised James to seek additional help to improve test scores.
Band. A-. 3. 2. Jim is progressing quite well with the clarinet.
English 1. A+. 3. 1. Jim is an excellent writer and speaker. He shows incredible promise and is a pleasure to have in class.
Along the margins are additional notes. “Tendency to talk in class,” “very social,” “friendly.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. He knows his mom will be on him about the C- in bio, but he’ll let Danny pretend to tutor him for a couple weeks and she’ll let it go. It could be worse.
He hears the lock turn on the front door and rereads his English teacher’s comments before stuffing the page back into its envelope. “Show’s incredible promise,” he repeats to himself. “Wow.” He’s never really thought of himself as much of a writer.
“Jimmy? You home?” his mother calls from downstairs. “I need some help with the groceries.
“Down in a sec!” he calls back. He picks up the short story sitting on his desk, a creative writing assignment due next week. He can already see the cover of his first novel.
3. March, 1996
He wasn’t even going to go on the band trip this year, because last year they only went to Philadelphia and it was the most boring thing ever, but when Mr. L announced the trip to London he was the first to sign up.
Paying for this takes up most of his savings (it would be all, but his parents chip in a couple hundred bucks as a Christmas present) and he’s really glad he took all the lawn-mowing jobs he was offered over the summer. Mr. L is promising lots of time for sight seeing and he picks up a travel guide the next time he’s in a bookstore. He makes lists of everything he wants to see, lists that run on for pages and pages and he spends hours whittling them down. They’ll only be there for five days, he can’t do everything.
The exchange rate is decent, about $1.50 to the pound, but his mom stuffs an extra fifty bucks into his hand as they’re boarding the plane. “For postcards,” she tells him, like she really believes that’s what he’ll spend it on.
When they get to London it’s 7 in the morning and pouring rain, and navigating the tube with 23 kids and their luggage proves nearly impossible. When they make it to the hotel everyone is soaked and freezing and tired and only Jim is smiling.
“We’re in London,” he tells his roommate (a senior, Christopher) when asked what he’s so cheerful about.
“Whatever, dude. I’m fucking exhausted.”
They spend most of the day on buses, touring the city in the rain. Jim picks up postcards almost everywhere they stop. They say things like “wish you were here” and they’re covered with images of Big Ben and Buckingham Palace. He scribbles hasty notes and addresses across half of them and dutifully tapes the other half into a travel journal he found at the airport.
By day 2 he’s already made the official decision that he’s moving here when he’s out of college and on day 3, when they’re finally given the chance to wander on their own, he navigates the tube with the ease of a native. The last night there he writes in his journal about his future. Little girls with little accents that call him “Dad” and only seeing his parents every now and then when he can afford a trip back to the States.
4. December, 2002
He asks the new receptionist to lunch over e-mail. It’s only her first week and they’ve had a total of 3 conversations, most of which have concerned the fax machine and the problems that have arisen as a result of it also being a shredder, but when he made a joke about how most memos get shredded anyway she laughed and her whole face brightened in a way that gave him courage.
They take separate cars to Cuginos. The heat doesn’t kick on in his car until he’s pulling into the parking lot (she’s following behind in a truck that looks far more equipped for the snowy weather than his Corolla) and he lets it blast a few seconds before climbing out to meet her.
Cuginos is packed and they have to wait five minutes for a table. They stand by the door and brace themselves as it opens and closes, cold wind hitting their faces each time. He asks her where she’s from, what’s brought her to Dunder Mifflin and just how impressed she is to be working with an official volunteer Sheriff’s deputy with the Lackawanna County Sheriff’s department.
When they finally do get a table it’s a small booth, too close to the kitchen. Her cheeks are bright red from the cold air outside and they fade to a soft pink in the heat of the crowded room. She sits leaning forward a little, her hands clasped in her lap and her voice is almost too quiet for him to hear over the noises from the kitchen. He leans over the table as he eats, trying to get a little bit closer to her.
By the time they’re finished eating he knows that she’s giddy for Christmas next week because it always makes her feel like a little kid again and she’s aware that he spent two years in college fancying himself a novelist and that his mom still calls him Jimmy like he’s 10. She’s pulled a pen out of her purse and is doodling on a napkin and when he asks her about it she shows him a caricature she’s drawn of the couple sitting at the booth across from them. She ducks her head down when he tells her how good it is and a bit of her hair falls across her face.
He’s about to ask if she wants to see a movie sometime—the new Lord of the Rings, maybe, or Chicago—when she mentions something about her boyfriend. “He actually might apply for a job down in the warehouse,” she says as she swipes a piece of crust off his plate. “Michael mentioned that they were looking for someone and he’s got this terrible job right now doing repair work at a local high school.” She smiles brightly. “You’re not going to eat this, right?”
5. May, 2006
His head is spinning when he slides into his car and he takes a minute to breath before turning the key in the ignition. His hands feel cold where he was holding hers and they’re still tingling from her fingers sliding off his own.
For a minute there he’d been able to picture it, it’s an easier thing to plan when it’s just one word away, but that’s come crashing down around him just like every other plan he’s ever made.
At home there’s a message on the machine from his mother and Mark’s taped a note to the fridge reminding him they’re out of beer and it’s his turn to buy. He trods up the stairs to his room slowly and when he collapses he nearly misses the bed. He can still smell her on his sweater and the scent is making him sick.
In the morning his head hurts like he’s had too much to drink and he’s still wearing the clothes from the night before. It’s early enough that he can call in sick without having to talk to her, but he sucks it up and takes a shower, gets dressed and heads in.
She’s not there when he gets there, it’s really only Dwight, Creed and Oscar. People shuffle in slowly, most of them late, but Michael doesn’t seem to care much. He’s telling anyone who will listen (and several people who won’t) about the action he got from his realtor.
She’s the last person in and he doesn’t even try to pretend he’s not watching her as she settles into her chair. He’s debating the merits of trying to get up and talk to her when her phone rings. “Jan for you,” she says like they’re not best friends, like he didn’t just tell her he loves her, and she transfers the call.
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