Friday, January 18, 2008

Michael Scott came into the office Friday morning with an enormous smile on his face. He'd had a brilliant idea driving into work, and he could hardly wait to share it with his employees, one in particular. He hung up his coat, said good morning to Pam, and made his way to Stanley Hudson's desk.

"Stanley, just the man I wanted to see! I'm going to make you the happiest black man since Lincoln freed the slaves!" said Michael gleefully. Stanley stared at him with disdain and disbelief. He knew it couldn't be good if Michael was bringing up race.

"Michael, I need to be on the phone," said Stanley. "Maybe you can make some other black man happy. Try Nate in Security."

"Always hilarious, Stanley. That's what I like about you people, you're just natural entertainers," Michael paused for a moment, suddenly realizing that he may have stepped over a line.

"Us people?" asked Stanley.

"Um, salespeople?" said Michael with a feeling of relief. He felt sorry for people who weren't quick-witted like he was. "To continue, Monday is Martin Luther King Day, and I had a dream, well really, just an idea, because I wasn't asleep, that Monday should be ‘Pancake Day' in honor of the King. Because Elvis loved to eat." The rest of the office was paying attention now, and Michael realized his Elvis joke had fallen flat. "Just kidding. Different king. Also from the South, though. Probably loved his pancakes."

Jim spoke up. "How does ‘Pancake Day' honor Martin Luther King, Jr.?"

"I'm glad you asked that, Jimboree, but when I tell you, you're going to feel stupid for missing it. We're going to have King-sized pancakes! And there'll be Aunt Jemima syrup to remind Stanley of his mammy, which is what black folks call their moms."

"No, we don't."

Acting as if he hadn't heard Stanley, Michael said, "And I will bring in my revered childhood copy of Little Black Sambo to read aloud."

Jim's jaw dropped, Stanley rolled his eyes, and Phyllis sighed "Oh, dear" quietly.

Michael looked around at the reactions, confused about why no one was excited. "You people need to get on the bus! Not at the back, though! It's Black History Month, and we're going to pig out on pancakes to honor Mr. King. Reverend King. His Kingliness." Michael smiled.

Toby had come out of the break room to hear Michael's last few statements. "Black History Month is actually in February, Michael, and this doesn't seem like the kind of thing..."

"Well, Toby, I don't think they would have put Martin Luther King Day in January if it wasn't Black History Month," Michael dismissed the objection with a wave.

"Michael, it's in January because it was his birthday," said Pam.

"Right, Pam! And his birthday just happens to be on a Monday every year?" He looked at Pam with an indulgent smile and a head shake at her foolishness.

Toby said quietly, "Michael, you're supposed to get this kind of thing okayed now, and I don't think Ryan is going to approve."

"Well, nobody asked you, Toby. And nobody cares, you're not even black. Except in your heart. I'm doing this for my main man Stan, here," said Michael, placing a hand on Stanley's shoulder. "He da man."

"I'm not your man, and I don't need your pancakes," said Stanley.

Talking Head - Stanley Hudson

I do like pancakes, but I'll just stop at Perkins. Breakfast all day, and no Michael.

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Ryan was tired of dealing with the Scranton branch. It was 3:30 on a Friday afternoon -- his original plans for the day had included a few more hours of work, meeting some new friends for too-expensive drinks, and hitting on women. He had made reservations for two at the latest trendy restaurant, and he always tried to target a woman who might accompany him to dinner (and hopefully home afterwards) after his ‘date cancelled on him.' That was the part of his new life that he loved -- the enormity of New York City allowed him to burn his bridges and be almost anonymous again -- new bars, new women to (try to) conquer, and new trendy restaurants to book.

Instead, Ryan was walking into the Scranton branch of Dunder Mifflin after a two and a half hour drive, and he wouldn't be seeing New York City again for at least 3 or 4 hours. He'd probably miss the dinner reservation and need to rely on his own charm to pick up someone. He had a lot less luck that way, plus he'd probably hit crap traffic all the way back.

But Stanley had called, complaining about how Michael's plans for Martin Luther King Day were insulting, and had nothing to do with honoring the man. Ryan had told Stanley he'd phone Michael to straighten things out, but that had only incensed Stanley more, so here he was, back in Scranton, wondering why he'd ever taken Jan's job.

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An hour later, Ryan walked out of Michael's office, desperately wanting to just punch something. He had thought that temping for Michael and subsequently working for Michael were frustrating, but they were nothing compared to having Michael as an employee. It had taken a full hour to get across to Michael that he couldn't have Pancake Day, and it shouldn't even be mentioned again, especially in Stanley's presence. Crisis averted -- at least until the next crisis. Ryan knew there would be one, and it probably wouldn't take long to come about.

He spotted Pam and Jim talking at reception. He had seen them through the windows of Michael's office for the past twenty minutes, chatting, laughing, and stealing glances toward Ryan as he was trying to talk sense into Michael.

"Hey, Jim, can I see you in the conference room for a minute?" Ryan said.

"Sure, man." Jim straightened up from leaning on the counter, threw a smile and a nod at Pam, and preceded Ryan into the conference room. Ryan shut the door as Jim settled into a chair, and then he took a seat across from Jim. For a few moments they just sat, Ryan shaking his head in frustration at Michael's inanity.

Jim shook his head too, smiling, "I know, he was totally over the top today. I feel for you, having to talk him down like that."

"The thing is, Jim, I don't think I should have had to do that. You shouldn't have let things get to this point here."

"Me?" Jim widened his eyes in disbelief. "Hey, Michael's been coming up with stuff like this forever. It's not my job to handle him. It used to be Jan's job, and now it's yours. I didn't take that job, remember?"

"Yeah, Jim, I know. Everyone knows you turned down the job, and that's the reason I have it. But that's exactly the thing," he leaned in closer to Jim in his best ‘I'm in charge' manner. "You turned down the job, and now I'm your boss. So let me make this perfectly clear. Your job is to rein in Michael. You need to make sales, and substitute for Michael when he's gone. But your most important job here is to handle Michael. That's it. When he has a stupid idea, get him to change it so we don't get sued for making a hostile work environment for people of color, or people of weight, or women, or whatever."

"People of weight?" Jim mocked.

"What. Ever. Just handle him," said Ryan. "Do you understand your job here? Have I been clear?"

"Absolutely, you have," Jim said with a smirk.

"Smirk all you want, but you're the front line here, and you need to do this. Scranton survived one branch closing, but if there's more, and Michael's still running things this way..." Ryan looked Jim in the eye "Well, you know, it wouldn't be good. So when he's heading in the wrong direction, like with this Pancake Day thing, get him back on track. I mean, I've seen you handle him and everyone else in this office just for fun, so the fact that it's now your job should make it even easier."

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"So he actually admitted that the job would have been yours?" Pam asked.

"Yep. Not that I would have wanted it. I mean, once you started wooing me with yogurt lids, I wasn't about to pass up a chance at you." Jim took up his prior stance of leaning over reception, suddenly remembering the time Kevin had called him on that in front of Karen. Thinking about his unhappiness back then just reemphasized to him that he had made the right choice last May.

"Well you could have had both, right?" said Pam.

"Well, um...what?"

"You could have taken the job and still dated me," Pam explained, looking surprised that it hadn't occurred to him. "It would have been more difficult, but we could have done it. You could've come on weekends and stayed with your folks until, you know, we started, um..."

"Sinning on a regular basis?" interrupted Jim quietly, with a little sideways nod toward Angela working primly at her desk.

"Nice," Pam said, making a face. "But seriously, we could have taken turns driving to each other's houses for the weekend. If you really wanted the job, I mean. It was more money, and a way better title, if you wanted all that."

Jim considered it for a few moments before grimacing and shaking his head no. "You know, that sounds like way too much work. Driving, and packing and unpacking all the time, and dealing with a crazy new job?" Jim shuddered for effect. "See, here in Scranton, I can date you without all that, and all I have to do is babysit Michael. Aaand watch for falling lawsuits."

Pam laughed. "Okay. But, just so you know, I'd date you even if you were a corporate weasel."

"Good to know," said Jim.

"Oh! And since you didn't go the weasel route, I can help you babysit Michael. Maybe I should make a chart, you know, feeding, sleeping, developmental milestones..."

"Yeah, I think he's already missed some milestones," said Jim with a smile. "Seriously, though, I actually have to get back to work. I have a dream that I can keep Michael out of Stanley's hair on Monday, so I need to get on that."

"Okay. But no more ‘I have a dream' jokes, okay?" said Pam, grinning. "Reusing Michael's jokes is not a good thing."

Jim smiled, drummed on Pam's desk, and headed for his own. For the next fifteen minutes, he was busy typing furiously and making phone calls.

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Michael sat at his desk, trying to figure out how he could still pull something good out of Pancake Day. Sure, Ryan had forbidden him to do it, but it was such great idea! Even if he had to shelve it, he wanted to pay tribute to the day somehow. It would show everyone that Dunder Mifflin Scranton was a Rainbow kind of place.

There was a knock on the partially open door; Michael looked up as Jim entered, and suddenly another great idea popped into his head.

"Jim, I've got it! For Monday, how about an ice cream bar with rainbow sprinkles for one of the toppings, you know, like ‘we're all colors here'?" said Michael.

"Wow. That's another really good idea, Michael, but, um... ice cream is sort of melty," said Jim, nodding wisely. Michael's face fell. "And actually," said Jim, "I was coming in here to tell you about a way you can make a big difference on Martin Luther King day, and I know everybody would be really impressed."

Michael perked up a bit. "Oho! Something better than Pancake Day?"

"Yep. And I already talked with Ryan -- he approved it and said he'd make sure it gets in the newsletter."

"Pre-approved by the Ryinater and free publicity! Sounds good! So what is it?"

"Well, it's definitely better than Pancake Day, because that was just breakfast. But my thing is an all-day celebration of what King was about." Jim handed Michael a slip of paper.

Michael glanced at the slip of paper, and then up at Jim. "All day? And Ryan approved it?"

"Yep. And Stanley will love it, too. So you just go to that address there," he pointed to the slip, "at nine o'clock on Monday morning, and they'll set you right up."

"Okay, so what is this place on...Spruce Street?"

"All you need to know is that anybody who's anybody in Scranton, and wants to celebrate Dr. King, is going to show up there. Just go, and they'll tell you what to do. Also, they'll feed you lunch."

Michael's eyes lit up. "A free lunch, and hobnobbing with my fellow King lovers. Rainbow party! I am there! How about you? Are you in? Are you in?"

"I'd like to, but I should probably watch over everybody here while you're gone. You know, keep things going," said Jim.

"Right! Excellent! So who else is coming?" asked Michael, thinking about who would make for the best day. "Stanley, of course. It's too bad Martin left, because he would have loved this. And Pam? Is Pam coming?"

Jim smiled and said, "You know what? I'm gonna let you be surprised, but I think it'll be a very good Martin Luther King Day, especially for Stanley."

"I can't wait, Jim! I will be there! Thank you very much, sir."

"No problem, Michael. Have a good weekend, enjoy yourself Monday, and I'll see you Tuesday, okay?"

"Okay, Jimbo! Happy King Day!" Michael waved as Jim backed out of his office, closing the door. He could hardly wait for Monday.

Stanley Hudson walked into the office Monday morning fully expecting to see Pancake Day in full swing, despite Ryan's efforts to halt it on Friday. He had included a stop at Perkins on his way to work, and had taken his time. Stanley was prepared to honestly say he'd already had some King-sized pancakes, thank you very much, so he wasn't hungry.

He and his wife Terri had talked for a long time that morning, trying to guess what horrible theme the Party Planning Committee had chosen for a Martin Luther King Day celebration -- probably brown, black, and tan streamers, with photocopies of the cover of Michael's cherished book tacked up all over. Maybe they'd go with the ‘rainbow' theme, Red Indian, Orange Floridian, Yellow Asian, Green... they hadn't been able to come up with what Michael might have suggested for Green, but they knew it wouldn't be good.

With the mound of pancakes sitting in his stomach, and possible Pancake Day themes swirling in his head, Stanley walked into the office with a heavy heart and heavy footstep and hung up his coat on the coat rack. He turned toward his desk, fearing to look at the walls and into the conference room. Knowing that a delay would only make it worse, Stanley scanned the room. Then he scanned it again. Not only were there no streamers of any color, but the office seemed strangely quiet.

Stanley looked at each desk. No Dwight. No Phyllis. No...Michael? No Michael! On a normal day, Stanley beat Michael in by about an hour, but Stanley was well over an hour later than usual. Michael's office was dark; it was clear he hadn't come in.

Jim Halpert looked up from his desk and noticed Stanley, still standing astonished next to the coat rack. "Hey, Stanley!" said Jim.

"Michael better not have gotten the day off for free," said Stanley with no preamble, "or I am going to call Ryan again."

"Nope, actually, Michael, Dwight, and um...Phyllis are all at Scranton's Day of Service."

"They're what?" said Stanley.

"They're volunteering for Martin Luther King Day, helping out wherever the volunteer center sends them - they're painting, moving gravel or dirt to grade lots, whatever. Basically, churches, schools, rec centers, anyone who needs work done, but doesn't have the money to pay for it, is getting some free labor today," said Jim with a big smile.

"Michael, Dwight, and Phyllis?" Stanley chuckled. The horribly painful day he had envisioned had just turned unimaginably bright -- no Michael, no Pancake Day, no incessant honking nose-blowing from Dwight (Why couldn't he get rid of that cold?), no stinky perfumes, and no whispered too-personal phone calls between Phyllis and Bob Vance.

"Also," said Jim, "I hope you don't mind, but Pam's going to forward all of Dwight's client calls to you..."

Stanley walked to his desk, chuckling, "Jim, nothing would make me happier." He well remembered a sick day last year when Dwight had managed to steal three of his clients. It was going to be a glorious day.

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Michael showed up at the address at nine o'clock, just like Jim had told him to. He was somewhat troubled to see that the building was the Voluntary Action Center, but he brightened up when he saw the banner which read "Day of Service." As he searched the crowd for Stanley and others from his work family, Michael wondered what sorts of services would be provided. Jan had been after him for months to get a professional manicure, so it would be perfect if they had those. A massage might help his neck, as long as the masseuse didn't ask about how the muscles got so tight. Maybe he could think up a reason for that. He hoped he wouldn't have to get his eyebrows waxed -- the wax was so hot, and the one time Jan made him get it done, the clean shiny space between his brows looked sort of girly. If he had the chance, he'd try for a manicure and a massage, and stay far away from the line for waxing. Michael finally spotted Phyllis and Bob Vance in the crowd, and headed toward them. Maybe they'd have one of those seaweed wraps for Phyllis -- those were supposed to be slimming. Maybe she could have a few of those.

A familiar voice called out from behind him. "Michael! I'm here!" Of course, Dwight was there. It looked like none of the popular people from Dunder Mifflin had shown up, and not even any of his rainbow people. The services better be worth being stuck with Dwight and Phyllis and Bob all day. Michael wondered what Martin Luther King Day had to do with a day of pampering. He thought Kelly should definitely have come to this -- she loved manicures and stuff, and it honored Reverend King at the same time, somehow.

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Jeff Donnelly had been watching the arrivals at the Voluntary Action Center since about quarter of nine, looking in particular for a few people his buddy Jim had described to him. Most of the people would be randomly assigned to jobs, or be allowed to choose, but the specific requests Jim had made for his Dunder Mifflin co-workers would be no problem to accommodate.

Phyllis was easy to recognize from Jim's description, part of which was "her husband will be with her -- tall guy, late 40s/early 50s, adoring her and hanging onto her every word." Recognizing Dwight Schrute was no problem either; Jim had been talking about that guy for years, and his skills of mimicry had brought Dwight alive more than once. Michael Scott took a little longer to find, although part of it was that he wasn't early like the others, so Jeff kept evaluating people he'd already seen. Then a dark-haired man with a goofy and excited smile on his face joined the rest (Goofy, check! Excited, check!); he also seemed to be searching the crowd for someone he knew. When Jeff saw Dwight get Michael's attention, he knew that the Dunder Mifflin gang was all accounted for.

Standing on the top step of the VAC with the other coordinators of Service Day, Jeff held up a hand. "Good morning, everyone!" His voice carried to the furthest volunteer, the product of years of yelling instructions to his fire crew and citizens in trouble. A few "Good morning!"s came from the crowd.

"Welcome to the Scranton Day of Service! I'm Jeff Donnelly, and I'm in charge here today. I want to say upfront that we all really appreciate you coming together in the spirit of Martin Luther King, Jr. to help out your neighbors!" Jeff smiled inwardly at the puzzled look on Michael Scott's face; Jim had said Michael wouldn't have any idea of what was in store for him.

"We have a lot to do today, and we're going to be splitting up to get it all done. As I go through the list, I'll let you know who to sign up with for each job, and then we can go ahead and break up into groups. I have my eye on a few of you for specific tasks I think you'll be especially good at, so if I come talk to you directly, I hope you'll go with my recommendation." Many people in the crowd nodded; Michael still looked confused.

After reading through his list, Jeff watched as people started milling around the various group leaders to sign up. He made his way over to the Dunder Mifflin people who were standing together discussing the options.

"Hey, let me help you all out -- I can see you're having trouble deciding."

"I don't know, they all sound good," Phyllis said with a shy smile.

"You know, I think I should probably just go in to work," said Michael. "This isn't really what I was expecting, and they probably need me there."

As Phyllis said, "We all work together; they don't really need him there," Bob Vance leaned in to Jeff and said quietly, "He thought it was ‘services,' like he was going to get a manicure."

Jeff looked at Bob and then Michael. He managed to keep from laughing out loud, and instead smiled at Michael. "You were actually one of the people I had my eye on for a specific place. Your name is...?"

Michael puffed up with self-importance. "Michael Scott, Dunder Mifflin Scranton. I'm actually the manager of that fine establishment. That's probably why you noticed me -- you recognized the leadership spark in me."

Bob Vance rolled his eyes at Michael's statement, but Dwight was nodding through the whole thing.

"Jeff! I am Dwight Schrute, Dunder Mifflin's top-selling salesman. Here is my card," he handed Jeff his business card. "I can take care of all your paper needs. Anytime. All my phone numbers are there. Also, like Michael, I have a leadership spark." Dwight had leaned closer and closer to Jeff; his head was now uncomfortably close to Jeff's, as if to ensure his leadership spark would be seen clearly.

"Yeeesss. Well, I had already noticed that, and I was planning to put you at the same place as Michael. We need a lot of go-getter types at the church site."

Dwight pumped his arm in the air with a "Yes!" and flashed a triumphant smile at Michael, who in turn looked annoyed.

Turning to Phyllis and Bob, "As for you two..."

"Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration," said Bob, shaking Jeff's hand. "My wife, Phyllis Vance." Phyllis smiled sweetly.

"Nice to meet you folks; thanks so much for coming. I was thinking you two could help out either at the Progressive Center or over at Mountain Rest."

"Phyllis, Mountain Rest sounds great for you," said Michael. "You'll fit right in with the nursing home crowd."

Bob Vance glared at Michael; Phyllis looked hurt, but commented to Jeff, "He and I are the same age; he just pretends he doesn't remember."

Jeff nodded, and Phyllis went on, "The Progressive Center, that was helping the people who are teaching the teens about the Underground Railroad?"

"Right, and also serving sandwiches for the march to City Hall," said Jeff. "Oh, excuse me; I've just remembered something."

He ran up the stairs of the VAC again and used his bullhorn voice, "Everyone, hello! I forgot to mention this! Your group leaders have the details, but starting at 4:15 there are a lot of things going on, including a march to City Hall and speeches. Also, please join us for cake and hot cocoa at the Scranton Cultural Center at 6:30, and an interfaith service at Salvation Temple Church at 7:00!" Jeff saw Michael Scott's eyes light up at ‘cake.'

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It was nearing sundown as Stanley drove along a run-down street in Scranton, scanning the buildings for an address Jim had given to him, promising one more treat for the day. 124... 138... 144... there it was. Stanley pulled over to the curb; it was a church, and since everyone he saw was wearing matching T-shirts over their coats, he figured it was the right place. Impatiently, Stanley scanned the yard of the church. Aha...there he was -- Michael Scott. His face was all smudged with dirt, like he'd repeatedly wiped off sweat with dirty hands. There were large circles of sweat around the underarms of his T-shirt, on which was printed:

Scranton Day of Service

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

January 21, 2008

Michael was currently painting a door of the church with broad strokes, splattering himself with blobs of white paint. Suddenly, Stanley saw Dwight break off from the other workers. He was wearing a home-made sash over his T-shirt which read ‘Supervisor,' and he said loudly "Michael, I showed you three times how to wield your brush!" Michael appeared to protest -- the two men tugged the paint bucket back and forth between them until Dwight suddenly released it. Paint splashed onto Michael's chest, crested over him like a wave, and started to drip back down.

Stanley started to laugh, a big laugh that started down deep and burst forth like water over a dam. He hadn't thought Michael Scott could get any whiter, but a bucket of paint proved him wrong. He watched a few more minutes before driving away, savoring the image of Dwight fussing over Michael trying to wipe off the paint. Stanley would remember this day forever. From the quiet, steady workday without bothersome interruptions, to stealing four of Dwight's clients with folksy friendliness (two of his own back, and two new ones), to seeing a sweaty, dirty, paint-covered Michael, it was a golden day.